Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93806 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
I can’t stop the smile. It’s there, natural, just for her.
She smiles at me before responding, “Very.” She’s speaking to Rachel but looking at me.
“You made it off the subway?” I ask, wondering if she remembers me.
It’s later in the night, so the music has been turned up, making it harder to hear and hold a conversation. We do just fine, though. She blushes when we talk about the coincidence of our names. The act of blushing is endearing and quite adorable on her. Most of the women in this city lost the ability to blush years ago.
Being around her makes me sit up straighter and listen more intently. Remembering the strict etiquette courses I endured as a child, I adjust my shoulders back, fixing my posture as I stand, offering her my chair.
She declines and the brightness in her eyes and smile remain as we tease each other about jinxes and sodas. The playful banter is refreshing, considering we’re in a bar. Our conversation is easy and comfortable, extraordinary. That is until we’re both reminded that Rachel is here when she interjects some bizarre comment about me liking dogs that makes no sense. Charlie’s expression indicates she thinks it’s odd, too.
Not wanting to be rude, I focus on Rachel, including her in the conversation. I don’t want to make her feel awkward and can tell she’s feeling competitive with her friend. My eyes flicker to Charlie again when she uses a word she made up. I tell her she’s cute when Rachel teases her. I wonder if she doesn’t like the compliment because she’s suddenly trying to dash out the door. She probably would’ve preferred if I told her she was pretty or clever—which she is also.
Silent exchanges flow between them, and Charlie says goodbye before I have a chance to change her mind. I grab her hand, pretending it’s a casual handshake. It’s not. I feel a little desperate myself now.
She backs up, trying to leave, and I hold on, not wanting to let her go, not ready for her to walk away. I pull her toward me, watching the light in her eyes sparkle as she giggles. But her hand slips free, and she turns to leave. I should respect their decision, but this feels wrong, all wrong. The wrong girl is leaving.
“Now, about that drink,” Rachel says, leaning forward with her arm draped across my shoulder.
We settle into light conversation. She has an enthusiasm when she talks that makes her appear animated. She’s fun to chat with—or maybe I should say listen to. That might be more apropos.
Just after midnight, I find I’m starved and ask her if she’d like to grab a bite to eat together. She readily agrees, and we walk a block down to an all-night diner I used to frequent. Over our food, I discover she’s from New Jersey and works at an auction house. Selling dead people’s stuff sounds depressing, but she says there’s more to it than that.
She starts to ask questions about me, which kind of surprises me. I guess because she hadn’t all night. “So are you native to New York?”
I smile, and my mind shoots between all corners of my brain, searching for which answer I’m comfortable giving. “I’m from Kansas.”
It’s not a lie. I’ve spent a lot of time, summers and holiday breaks, down there visiting my great-aunt. Her house was more like a home than Manhattan ever was with my parents. My parents were too caught up in being a part of high society to worry about me and my upbringing.
My dad did take the time to teach me the importance of two things, or at least the most important to him: making money and meeting girls. That was the life advice I was given.
In Manhattan, you’re a pawn in the game of society, a willing participant to their rules. The women here tend to attach themselves as soon as they find out I’m a local. That sounds the alarm, which means I must come from money. Kansas throws them off, and it’s only a partial lie, at worst, since I did spend a lot of time there.
“Kansas, wow! I wouldn’t have guessed that. A small-town boy, huh?” She smiles and takes another bite, hoping I’ll lead into a story, but I just eat my food.
She asks a few more questions, expected ones, nothing of interest. Not saying she’s shallow, but she’s running through her list, checking off her requirements one by one. It’s fine. I can admit we’re in the age group seeking a life partner, so it doesn’t bother me. These questions are a great way to get to know the girl, too, to find out what’s important to her.
I answer her inquiries as honestly as I can and throw them back to learn more about her. After we finish our meal, we walk outside, and although I should walk her or cab it with her home, I decide to end the night. “Can I get a taxi for you?”