Heart of the Matter - Emily Giffin [69]
“I don’t think I can do this,” I told her, pacing along the Asianinspired screen separating my bed from the living area.
“You want him to start dating someone else? Or worse, forget you altogether?” she asked, the master of scare tactics. “C’mon. Timing is everything.” She removed an emery board, a bottle of nail polish remover, and several cotton balls from her mammoth purse and began giving herself a manicure.
“I’m not ready for a relationship,” I said.
“Who said anything about a relationship? Maybe you’ll just have hot sex for once in your life. Would that be so bad?”
“For once in my life?” I said. “How do you know Ryan and I weren’t having hot sex?”
She shuddered as if I were talking about her brother—which wasn’t far from the truth given the fact that we had operated as a chummy threesome during much of college. “Well? Were you?”
I shrugged and said, “It was decent.”
She shook her head, filing her nails into a shape she called “squoval.”
“Well, we’re aiming for something north of decent. So pick up the damn phone and call him. Now.”
And so I did, dialing the number on his business card, and taking a deep breath as the phone rang. Then, upon hearing his unmistakable hello, I read from my script, somehow managing to end all my sentences with a period.
“Who?” Nick said.
“Um . . . We met on the subway?” I said again, completely flummoxed and deflated.
“I’m kidding,” he said. “Of course I remember you. How are you?”
“I’m good,” I said, wishing I had practiced beyond the first three sentences. I looked to Cate for reassurance as she gave me a thumbs-up and a hand gesture to keep the conversation rolling. “How are you?”
“Can’t complain . . . So how was the honeymoon?” he asked, no hint of lightheartedness in his question, although weeks later he confessed that it was an attempt at a humorous icebreaker—but that he felt insensitive as soon as the words were out.
I let out a nervous laugh and told him there was no honeymoon, no wedding.
“Oh,” he said. And then—“I’m sorry? Congratulations?”
“Thanks,” I said, which seemed to cover both sentiments.
“So? Are you just calling to share your news?” he said smoothly. “Or to ask me out?”
“To share my news,” I said, his banter making me bold. “The asking out is up to you.”
Cate raised her brows and grinned, clearly proud of my response.
“Well, then,” he answered. “How ‘bout tonight? You free?”
“Yes,” I said, my heart thumping wildly—a reaction I never had with Ryan, not even seconds before our first time.
“Are you a vegetarian?” he asked.
“Why?” I asked. “Is that a deal breaker?”
He laughed. “No . . . I was just in the mood for a burger and a beer.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said, thinking that sprouts and tofu would have sounded just as appealing. Anything with Nick Russo.
“Okay. I’ll meet you at the Burger Joint at the Parker Meridien . . .Do you know it?”
“No,” I said, wondering if it was something I should know—if it gave me away as the homebody I was with Ryan, something I had vowed to change.
“The hotel’s on Fifty-sixth—between Sixth and Seventh, closer to Sixth . . . Go into the lobby—and right between the check-in desk and concierge stand, there’s a little curtain and a sign that says BURGER JOINT. I’ll be there, saving our table.”
I furiously scribbled the instructions on the back of my script, my hands now sweaty and shaking. I asked him what time, and he told me eight.
“Okay,” I said. “See you soon.”
I heard the smile in his voice as he replied, “See you soon, Tessa from the subway.”
I hung up the phone, closed my eyes, and screamed a giddy, girly scream.
“Holy shit. Go, Tess,” Cate said. “I mean, technically you should have told him you had plans already. Next time, at least mute the phone and pretend to consult your calendar. And never agree to day-of plans . . .”
“Cate!” I said, racing to my closet. “We don’t have time for a dating tutorial. I have to find something to wear.”
Cate grinned. “Padded