Page 4 of That Friendzone Feeling
“Iwasn’t controlling.Shewas perpetually late, soIalways worried something had happened to her.That’scare and concern, not control.”
Idown the rest of my coffee. “AndI’vetold you.Idon’t have time to mess with pointless dating.Ifthere aren’tsparks in the first thirty seconds, there’ll never be sparks.”Idrop the cup into the recycle bin. “Andthere are never sparks.”
Myfeet hit the ground firmly afterIpull them off the desk. “Anyway, these drinks are supposed to give us the energy we need to get through the night.”Inod toward the stairs. “Hearthat music and the sound of joyous customers down there?”
Shenods and half smiles, but her chin wobbles.
“Well, knock back that cup of sugary sludge.Wehave aNewYear’sEveparty to host.”
Insteadof picking up her drink, she conjures the wadded tissue from the palm of her hand and blows her nose.
Myheart twinges for her. “You’renot in a party mood, are you?”
“I’mfine.”Shesniffs and drops the soggy mess into the waste basket.
“Youdon’t look fine.”
“Gee, you know how to make a girl feel good.Maybethat’s why you’re so un-datable.”
“Ididn’t mean you don’t look good.Youlook amazing.Ofcourse you do.Butunderneath all the stuff.”Igesture from her made-up face to her sparkly feet. “You’renot fine, are you?”
Shefixes her eyes on mine as they fill up again.Andthere’s another heart twinge.
“Iwill be.”Hervoice cracks a little.
Ifshe hadn’t obviously spent so long forming perfect waves in her hair,I’druffle it about now.
“Anyway.”Shestands and smooths her dress down over her thighs. “Noneof that matters.”Shethrusts her shouldersback. “Fromnow on, it’s one hundred percent business, zero percent men.”
Creditwhere credit’s due, that’s a damn good effort at a game face.
Shechecks her phone. “Stillnothing fromMarcus.”
“He’sprobably at some fancyWallStreetparty.It’llbe fine.”Ioffer her my elbow. “Comeon, partner.It’sparty time.”
2
EMILY
Reflectionsfrom the five-foot-wide glitter ball sparkle on the bare brick walls of the old printing factory.Theair of our packed pub is alive with chatter, laughter, and the buzz of hopeful energy.
Leon, our front of house manager, reaches over the bar and squeezes my arm. “Youokay there?”Hetosses the dangling end of a pink feather boa over his shoulder. “Lookslike you’re in a trance.”
“Fine, thanks.”Ismile back at him. “Justtaking it all in.”
“Youshould be proud.”Hesweeps his hand toward the huge room. “I’llleave you to it.Ineed to go break it to a diner that we can’t switch the tofu in the power bowl to filet mignon for the same price.”
“Thanksfor all your hard work,Leon,”Icall after him as he waves the pink feathers at me.
Aftera daunting day, it’s gratifying to take a second to tuck myself into the one calm spot in the room, where thebar meets the wall, and wallow in the fruits of the years of labor it took us to get here.
Butstopping work for a second leaves space for the gnawing pain ofAnthony’slittle “Thisrelationship isn’t working” speech to creep back into my stomach.
Hurlingmyself headlong into work did get me through the day just fine, though.Well, apart from a little lunchtime cry between a stack of pilsner cans and a pile of boxes of party poppers.
Oh, and the hour of sobs beforeIhad to wash my face, get changed into party gear, do my hair and put my face back together.
TellingWalkerabout it just now almost tipped me over the edge again.Ibarely managed to fight back the tears and save my makeup.
