Up & Out - Ariella Papa [17]
“Cool.” We make plans to meet at the restaurant. Kathy would tell me never to meet at a restaurant, to always be picked up, but I didn’t necessarily want to land a guy like Kathy’s fiancé, Ron.
I finally go to the bathroom, then go back to bed for another two hours of blissful sleep. It is my Saturday. I earned it.
When I finally wake up, Lauryn has bagels and coffee. She’s feeling better. I ask her what medicine she was taking to make her have such a bad reaction to alcohol. I am expecting her to tell me something about allergy medicine. I’m wrong.
“Well, Rebecca, my doctor prescribed some antidepressants.” I can’t believe it. She’s being honest, coming clean. She is just admitting it. “I don’t know if you realized, but I’ve been feeling a little, well, bummed about the whole Jordan thing, and my therapist thought I should see someone who could help me with medication.”
“Oh. Well, how come you never told me?”
“I don’t know. I guess I was worried you guys would all be worried about me. Maybe I didn’t want you all to talk.”
“We wouldn’t have done that.” I am the worst friend ever. We were doing that. Now that Lauryn is being so honest, I feel guilty.
“I know,” she says. “If you ever want to know about anything, you could just ask. I’m still getting used to this stuff, so I should probably take a break from drinking for a while. Not to be lame, but I think it’s the right idea. It’s part of the reason I’m moving out of New York. I need a break from this lifestyle.”
“I can see that.”
“Thanks, Rebecca. I’m sorry about the way I’ve been to everyone since this whole crazy thing.” She looks like she might start crying. I hug her. “Honestly, I’m feeling better and I appreciate your concern.”
I decide to tell her about Jordan becoming Gus of Gus and the Gopher. Instead of being pissy about it she just laughs and insinuates that he’d be hitting on the gopher by the first episode.
“Honestly, I think I’m coming to a place where I’ll wish him well. Today at least. But keep your eye on him.” It’s amazing she can be so okay about it. I guess the medicine is working. I feel kind of weird talking about this with her. I worry that her mood will turn dark any minute. “So, do you want to go get pedicures? Sandal season is upon us and you have a date tonight.”
I sure do, and I have to admit I’m relieved not to be talking about Jordan with her anymore.
I make it to the restaurant on time. I hate my hair. It seems to have grown out of the cut I spent too much money on. Now it is too long for short hair and too unhealthy for long hair. Plus, the red highlights I added when I got my promotion have grown out, revealing my nothing brown underneath. My clothes have failed me, too. The outfit I bought for the affiliate party smelled like an ashtray and my old standby black “sex shirt” stretched unflatteringly across my chest. So I’m wearing this loose deep red silk button-down that I borrowed from Lauryn who borrowed it from Beth. I doubt it fits me as well as either of them.
I have some things on my side. My nails, toes and fingers look damn good and I have recently shaved my armpits. I’m not saying Seamus is going to see them—but it’s sort of an insurance policy.
I don’t think I’ve conveyed how much I like food. You know I like restaurants, but did you know I read recipes for fun and watch the Food Network when I can’t sleep? I love that there is a network of mostly men cooking for insomniacs like me. I have a huge crush on one of the British chefs with a show, Jamie Oliver, but it’s really Mario Batali, Molto Mario, who gets me salivating with his fresh Italian dishes. Esca is his restaurant.
I can’t say what I am more excited about—a possible glimpse of Mario, or of Seamus, who I remember as being a little sexpot. Then I see Seamus sitting at the bar, by the crabs. He is a big sexpot. He gives me a look that says, in spite of my bad hair, I might still have it.
He gets off his stool and kisses