Page 40 of Meant to Be

“And you’re assuming you’d be my next choice?” I said, playing it coy and careful.

“What can I say?” Joe grinned. “I’m an optimist.”

—

That evening, Curtiscame over with Thai takeout. I gave him and Elna the update, and they had opposite reactions, as usual.

“He had his chance,” Elna said, rolling her eyes.

“He was dating someone!” Curtis said.

“Well, nowsheis. And Arlo is a great guy,” Elna said.

“I know…but Joe is so gorgeous,” Curtis said.

“He’stoogood-looking,” Elna said. “Guys like that are trouble.”

“He’s not a ‘guy like that,’ ” Curtis said. “He’sJoe Kingsley. An Americanicon. If you grew up here, you’d understand.”

“Something tells me Black folks in this country might also disagree with this icon notion,” Elna said.

“She has a point, Curtis. At the end of the day, he’s just another rich white guy. What’s he actually done to be so famous?”

“He’s famous because he’s Joe friggin’ Kingsley,” said Curtis, the master of circular reasoning. “That’s why.”

“Stop encouraging this shit,” Elna said. “It’s not good for her. She’s happy with Arlo.”

“Arlo’s her boy toy,” Curtis said. “He’s not her final destination.”

I listened as they argued back and forth for a few minutes and then said, “Isn’t anyone going to ask ifIhave any interest in Joe?”

“Well? Do you?” Elna said.

“No,” I said. “I do not.”

“Ha,” Elna said, gloating at Curtis.

“She’s lying, Elna,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t know if she’s lying tousor toherself,but either way, she’sdefinitelylying. Everyone is interested in Joe Kingsley.”

—

The following day,I received a bouquet of red roses at the store, along with a note. It read:

Roses are red,

violets are blue.

He waits for her call,

’cause patience is a virtue.

It wasn’t signed, but I knew who it was from, and I have to admit it got to me. No part of me wanted to break up with Arlo, and I wasn’t about to cheat on him, but I found myself thinking of loopholes, ways I could call Joe and still be on the up-and-up. Maybe wecouldbe friends. I could almost picture it, the two of us hanging out in coffee shops, or going to Knicks games, maybe even attending an occasional event when he couldn’t find a proper date. I imagined that Arlo would be cool with it—that Joe would win him over, just as I would win over Joe’s next girlfriend. We could beWhen Harry Met Sallywithout all the sexual tension and confusion.

Deep down, though, I knew I was just rationalizing, and that I couldn’t hang out with Joe, even as friends. I also knew that he’d move on to someone else soon enough.

But the following week, I received another flower arrangement at the store—even more spectacular than the first. He raised his game on the poem, too, this time offering a limerick:

There once was a girl named Cate.

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