Page 47 of Somewhere Along The Line
If only she could see me now, completely destroyed by a woman who I swore not to mess with lest I end up just like this. She’d be smug—delighted to see that I do have a heart—and then she’d tell me to buck up and go get the girl.
She’d be right.
Sliding my feet to the floor, I push myself up until my legs support my body. I know I should get dressed, but that means confronting the question I can’t seem to answer.How do I show up tonight and be helpful but not desperate, interested but not infatuated?
Our relationship is a spinning plate, and an accidental nudge could crash it. I don’t want to be the one who knocks it down.
I settle on a suit, telling myself it’s because I have so few casual clothes and not because I hope to stay for the gala. I peel off the T-shirt I’ve been wearing since last night and roll it into a warm ball that I sink into the hamper before grabbing a white button-down.
The starchy fabric of the dress shirt grazes my arms as I stretch them through the sleeves. The buttons are done by feel, my fingers aching with the memory of this action in reverse when Piper was here, each round button a gatekeeper we excused for the night.
A pressed navy blazer with matching slacks completes the look, a sharp crease standing at attention on the front of each leg. I spread the collar of the shirt and leave the top two buttons undone. The outfit is relaxed—unpretentious—which is the vibe I’m hoping to project. A tie bulges in my pocket just in case.
My phone alerts at 3:15, so I pick up the pace. Tossing rolls of socks within the drawer, I find the ones with the navy and green stripes, sliding them on before reaching for my loafers—the ones with the scuff from Piper’s nail.
I roll some sticky pomade between my hands before roughing up my hair to create a looser style than I typically wear. Let’s hope the look says “I’m not trying too hard” even though I’ve never tried harder in my life.
I pull up at 3:58 p.m. to what looks like an abandoned warehouse, and while it’s not in a bad part of town, it doesn’t scream “event space.” Not that I have much experience with event spaces. I grab three of the boxes from my backseat and make my way to the loading dock.
Piper said she’d meet me here, so I wait, the cigarette butts and gasoline stains that line the concrete distracting me from the question of what I’ll say when she shows up.
A whistle comes from behind a half-wall as Piper rounds the corner, looking me up and down.
“Damn, Banker Man,” she says with a smile. “This was an Errand Boy task; you didn’t need to get fancy.” My teeth find the inside of my cheek and bite as I wonder if I should’ve skipped the blazer.
“The details online made it sound like a dressy event. Didn’t want to be unprepared.”
Piper gestures to herself, an old t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans hugging her body, with a bandana tied around her hair. “Well, you’re certainly showing me up!”
She says it with a self-deprecating laugh, and I think about telling her she’s never looked better, but I restrain myself. It feels easy between us right now, normal even, like maybe she truly was busy this week. I don’t want to push it.
She turns back to enter the building, and I follow her through a long hallway, past the lobby, and into an expansive room to the left. Lights are strung across the ceiling, casting a warm and inviting glow, and round tables surround a dance floor at the base of a stage with a few high tops at the perimeter.
The room is still a work in progress, as evidenced by the people who are scurrying around like ants pinning tablecloths and setting up centerpieces.
“So, how does it look?” Piper asks, wiping her forearm across her brow.
“It looks incredible, Pipes. Really well done. Your guests are going to have a great time tonight.” The boxes shift in my arms, awkward but not heavy, and she notices as I try to balance them on my hip.
“Let’s put those over there.” She leans in the direction of a younger woman near a high top. “I’ll have Sadye unload them and start doing place settings. Can you grab the other boxes and bring them here?”
A quick gesture to the left proceeds her next thought. “The auction items need my attention; they aren’t going to set up themselves!”
Piper walks over to a collection of rectangular tables where she drops a bag from her shoulder and starts unloading autographed posters. There are a variety of items lined up already, each with a sign describing the item, its market value, and a suggested starting bid. Bid sheets live neatly in front, a capped pen resting diagonally across each one.
There won’t be an empty sheet at the end of the night if I can help it—anything that doesn’t get a bid will come home with me.
“Absolutely. I’ll be back in a few,” I reply. I know she’s not asking for anything new, just the fulfillment of the agreement I made to drop everything off, but it still makes me happy to be needed by Piper.
Five minutes later, I’m back with the boxes and headed toward Sadye who is making quick work of her task. Who knew it was possible to fold napkins so efficiently? She is folding and placing and setting each table in a matter of minutes. It’s impressive.
Meanwhile, Piper’s hands are working furiously as I head over to the auction staging area, boxes and bags spilling out from underneath the tables, each one containing something else to unpack. I grab a bag, gently lifting a ceramic vase out the top and carefully unwrapping the packing paper that surrounds it.
“What are you doing?” She glances up and catches me there, and I wonder for a second if she thinks I’m trying to steal this.
“Unpacking this vase?” I say, speaking slowly and deliberately. “You said you needed to keep working on the auction set-up. I’m helping.” My shoulders shrug, tape sticking to my fingers as we talk.
“You really don’t need to,” she says, her eyebrows pulled together in question. A small grin betrays that she’s grateful for the extra hands.
