Learning to Love Again Page 3

  “Right,” Cassie offered, still not so sure about this.

  “I already told her everything she needs to know about you,” Holly countered with a wink in Rachel’s direction, disappearing into the crowd.

  Rachel was stunning, there was no denying it. Tall and trim, her tight jeans left little to the imagination. And, Holly had been right. Her teeth were perfect, lined up in a straight row, brilliantly white. All of a sudden, Cassie was self-conscious about the little gap between her two front teeth. It wasn’t large, but it was noticeable. She’d never had braces—her mom couldn’t afford them on a school teacher’s salary—and she now wished she had for the first time in her life.

  “So . . .” Cassie started, unsure.

  “What brings you in tonight?” Rachel was an old pro at the small talk component of bar-going, clearly.

  “Oh, not much, working through a few things, I guess you’d say. You?”

  “Oh, I’m always working through a few things!” Rachel laughed, her wavy brown hair bouncing on her shoulders as she did.

  “Aren’t we all?”

  I suck at this, Cassie thought, trying to come up with something compelling to say, or at least a legitimate question to ask. Something, anything, to get the conversation going.

  “Yeah, I guess that’s right. It was nice meeting you.” Rachel started to return to her friends when Cassie stopped her.

  “Hey, wait. Sorry. Can we start over? I’m just . . . I’m a little out of practice in the art of small talk. Could I have another chance?”

  + + +

  Cassie fared much better on her second attempt to talk to Rachel. As it turned out, they had quite a lot in common, including a healthy obsession with live music—something Jessica also loved, Cassie reminded herself—running and yoga, and an interest in spirituality, which was very different from religion, they agreed. Rachel ran and lifted weights regularly, intent on keeping her figure and not developing a “mom bod.” She wasn’t a mom, but it was still a concern, based on her own mother’s figure.

  “Listen, can I call you sometime?” Cassie asked, trying to be casual, but failing miserably, a crack in her voice escaping as she asked the difficult question.

  “I’d like that. Give me your phone.”

  Cassie forked over the phone and watched as Rachel put her number into the contacts list. Ten seconds of agony ensued while she considered if she was getting a real phone number or a decoy. She was prepared for the decoy, but hoped the dentist was entering her actual number.

  “I’ll see you, okay?” Rachel was gone in a blink, but she managed to leave Cassie with a cautious optimism she hadn’t felt in a while, and a good view of a toned backside—she was definitely a runner.

  “See you,” she mouthed, as she glanced down at the phone. Rachel had put her number in all right, and labeled it with instructions in addition to her name.

  Rachel, The Dentist, the contact card said, and in the notes, “Call me tonight.” What did that even mean? It was tonight, and they were just talking. Why would she want to be called tonight instead of just hanging around and talking longer?

  I don’t get women, Cassie thought, as she plotted her next move.

  The taxi ride home seemed long and was wrought with confusion. The driver must have been really cold because she was on fire in the backseat, the warm air blasting out of the vents making her feel like she was in a Sauna in Africa, not in a cab in late fall in Austin. Add to that a good deal of nerves at the prospect of calling the dentist with the perfect smile, and the ten-minute journey seemed to last an hour.

  But, she made it home in one piece, if not a pound or two lighter from sweating in the car, and that was a victory. It was eleven-thirty, most likely too late to call her sister, but she couldn’t fight the urge to call someone to talk about Rachel. Her second instinct was to call Jessica, but it had only been one day since she’d told her she loved her. What kind of message would that send? Cassie previewed the conversation in her head and it went something like, “I love you, but yeah, I met someone else today—just one day after I spilled my guts to you—and I want you to help me figure out what to do about her.”

  Don’t do it, she told herself, and headed for the shower. Smoking in bars wasn’t allowed anymore—a blessing, she’d thought—but she still felt like she’d been in a bar. She knew she smelled of beer and an amalgamation of too many different kinds of perfume.

  When she finished her second cleansing shower of the day and had dressed for bed, her hand instinctively found her phone. It seemed like it was attached to her like an extra digit these days. What did we do before Smartphones?

  Cassie scanned through her Facebook feed mindlessly, flipped over to Instagram, and was officially caught up on all the supposedly wonderful and social-media worthy things her friends were doing that night. In reality, she knew to take it with a grain of salt, that no one posts the bad stuff to their feeds, only the good things, the “like-worthy” things, to boost their egos and show their circle of friends just how great their lives were, whether or not they actually were.

  When she’d exhausted all of her distractions, she flipped to her phonebook app. Call me tonight, the note said, and it haunted her. It was well after midnight. If she called Rachel, a woman she’d spoken to for a mere twenty minutes, would it seem desperate? Would it seem like a booty call? Did she want a one-night stand?

  She didn’t know.

  Cassie instead did what she knew. She relied on her training. Law school had to come in handy sometimes, didn’t it? She took out a yellow legal pad and wrote down what she knew about the situation in quick little bullets, starting with the obvious.

  In Favor of Calling

  She’s smoking hot. Those legs. Those perfect teeth.

  She has a job and a house and a car. Trifecta of stability fulfilled.

  No crazy ex-girlfriend issues; at least that might appear immediately.

  We have enough things in common to talk about, I think.

  Against Calling

  Jessica. I am in love with Jessica.

  I haven’t had sex with a woman in five years—that’s a lifetime—no gold star for me, and it could be an issue.

  I don’t want to seem needy.

  I don’t know if I can finish what I start. I’ve been in the closet too long for this.

  Her list continued, and she suddenly felt like Ross recapping why Rachel was or wasn’t a good fit for him in Friends. Strangely, she was also making a list about a Rachel. The irony wasn’t lost on her, and she remembered that the list making on the TV show didn’t end well. Cassie decided to stop the madness and ripped up the sheet she’d just filled out in half, dropping the pieces to her coffee table.

  Without another thought, she picked up her phone and hovered her finger over Rachel’s name just long enough to press “call,” and then listened for the ring. On the fifth ring, she almost hung up.

  And then.

  “Hello?” A hoarse voice answered.

  “Um . . . hi, is this Rachel?” Cassie asked, tentative. It didn’t sound like the woman in the bar. Had she been fake-numbered?

  “Yep, it sure is. Cassie?”

  “Oh, what a relief. I thought maybe you’d given me a fake number. Is this an okay time? I know it’s late.”

  “Yeah, of course, I’m glad you called. I’m actually just getting home.” Rachel must have been telling the truth, because at that moment, an audible click of a door closing came through the line loud and clear.

  Cassie felt relief wash over her. The connection she’d felt wasn’t—at least at this point—in her imagination.

  “I really enjoyed talking to you tonight. I wondered . . . do you want to get brunch tomorrow?” In an instant, Cassie realized what she’d done, that it might be too soon, and backtracked. “Or, some other time. I just heard myself say that and it’s probably too soon, huh?”

  “Hey, calm down. I’d love to have brunch with you tomorrow,” Rachel said, sensing there was something driving
the insecurity on the other end of the line. “I’m curious, who stomped on your heart to make you so insecure?”

  “Is it that obvious?” Cassie asked, ripping up the legal paper she’d used to make her list earlier into smaller and smaller pieces. Those damn nervous hands got her every time.

  “It’s a little obvious . . .”

  “Well, the story is probably more than you want to hear tonight. How about I defer and we can maybe talk about it tomorrow. Benedict’s? 11:00?”

  “I can’t wait,” Rachel said, and meant it. She found the uptight lawyer intriguing, and having never seen her around, was genuinely interested in learning more about her. She wasn’t the same old, same old re-circulation of women in and out of relationships with each other that often happened when you frequented the same bar.

  FIVE

  Jessica Taylor sat at her desk in her high-rise building downtown and looked across a row of low cubicles for a view out the window, taking in the night sky and illuminated tall buildings in her view. It was past seven in the evening and she was still at the office. The life of a young associate was anything but glamorous. In law school, she’d had big dreams of making a difference in the world. Of defending the innocent and helping lock up the bad guys and impressing her colleagues with the depth and breadth of her working knowledge of the law. Of her passion for the law.

  Reality was a fair bit different from that dream. Sure, she had a job that people thought was impressive, but she didn’t do anything that mattered. At least to her. She spent her days reading old judgments to help find small snippets that could help in cases that the more senior associates and partners were working on. Five years in the business—three at her current firm and two at a small law practice right after college—and she had yet to try a case. Hadn’t really even been in a courtroom, truth be told. Her skill was research, for better or worse. She was typecast as the one who could find any precedent, could find a case to support just about any argument, no matter how far-fetched.

  That Monday, her mind wandered. The weekend had been weird, all because of dinner with Cassie on Friday night. She hadn’t slept well, and hadn’t done much more than stream movies and surf the internet.

  Cassie.

  Jessica’s heart was broken over her best friend. Cassie had been there for Jess. Through men and family issues and health scares. Through everything. Now, years of friendship had evaporated, and Jessica felt helpless about it. She still wanted to be friends. She could overlook Cassie’s attraction, but she also understood why Cassie couldn’t. It was a dilemma, and she couldn’t figure out a way to fix it. She just wanted everything to go back to how it was three days prior.

  “You’re still here?” A shadow in the hall questioned. It was Steve, another junior associate. They’d actually gone to law school together, and by some act of fate, had ended up at Anderson, Smith and Smith together. They’d never dated. Steve was gay, so it wasn’t an option. He was handsome—square jaw, dark hair, and thin, athletic physique. They often joked about the line in Steel Magnolias, “All gay men are named Mark, Rick, or Steve.” Steve had said this wasn’t totally true, but it sure was a good indicator.

  “Yep, still here. Just finishing up my last file for the day. What keeps you here?” Jessica was relieved to see him. He’d always been an ally, even back in their law school days. They didn’t hang out regularly, but when they did, it was generally enjoyable.

  “Oh, you know, the usual. I’m a few hours short on billables today, so . . . just taking care of that little requirement. Want to get a drink later?” Steve had moved into the opening of Jessica’s cubicle and was leaning in to look at the pictures she’d pinned to her cork board. She’d been on vacation on the coast a few weeks ago and had printed a few photos of the beach to remind her that there is a world outside of the six-by-six square that defined her workspace.

  “That would be fantastic. Give me thirty minutes?”

  “You got it. Back in a few.”

  + + +

  “So,” Steve started, “How’ve you been?”

  They were in a piano bar not far from the office, but instead of show tunes and singalongs, a band was setting up next to the piano on the small stage.

  “Oh, not too bad,” Jessica replied, looking over her companion’s shoulder at the band hauling their gear onstage.

  “What’s that mean? Man trouble?”

  “I wish, honestly. More like woman trouble.”

  “Hmmm? Woman trouble? I didn’t know you swung both ways. Tell me more.” Steve was intrigued, his manscaped eyebrows rising reflexively.

  “Oh, I don’t. I guess that’s part of the problem. You remember my friend Cassie?”

  “The uptight blonde? Works for the State? Deadbeat dads?”

  “Yep, that’s Cassie.”

  “Okay, so what about her? Did you two have a girl feud?”

  “Not exactly. We get together on Fridays to chat and have dinner, drink a little, complain about our jobs, you know the drill. Last week, she told me she loves me. As in, she’s in love with me.” Jessica drained her rum and Coke. She needed another, and motioned to the bartender by raising her glass and pointing.

  “Holy hell. That is a dilemma. I’m guessing you don’t feel the same way? Did you not know?”

  “Well, I love her, I do. She’s my best friend . . . was my best friend. She doesn’t want to be friends anymore because she doesn’t think I can handle it. Doesn’t think she can be friends with me without the benefits, I guess. And, no, I had no idea. She totally hid it from me, which breaks my heart even more.”

  “Ah yes, I know this one well.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course I do! It’s a pretty common one, girl, where have you been? Imagine being a guy and falling in love with your best friend. It’s happened to me, and it’ll happen to my kind until the end of time. Women have it easier. Sometimes, the best friend is open-minded and will consider it. Men, nope. That one’s a lot less likely. Women are more receptive to trying new things, at least in my experience.”

  “So, what are you saying? I should give it a try just to save the friendship? That seems like an even bigger recipe for disaster.”

  “Well, I think you could do worse, honestly. Your dating track record isn’t really stellar, now is it? But, I can’t tell you what to do. You’re straight. You might enjoy fooling around with her, who knows—have you never tried it? Not even in college?”

  “Well, yeah, I mean, I went to college. Things happened, but it wasn’t for me. Have you tried being with a woman?” Jessica had made out with a few girls in college, but that’s as far as it went. She’d never thought much of it after the fact.

  “Of course I have. It wasn’t for me, either. My name is definitely Steve.”

  Just then, Jessica’s drink was ready and she hopped up to retrieve it along with another beer for Steve. As she sat back down, she placed their drinks on the table and caught the eye of the drummer on stage tuning his drums. She was a sucker for drummers, and he was cute. No, she told herself, not again.

  “So, what do I do? I don’t want to lose her as a friend. I’ve been in a total dazed and confused funk since she told me we couldn’t see each other anymore.”

  “Give it time, sweetie. You probably can be friends again, in time. She needs to mend a broken heart. You know what that’s like. It takes time. You just remind her of what she can’t have, and it hurts.”

  “Yeah, you’re probably right. So, changing topics, how’s your love life these days? Still with Michael?”

  “Phssttttt. Nope. We were a disaster together. Complete drama. Great at sex, bad at life. I’m past the point where sex is enough, you know? I need depth. I need things in common. I want a husband, not a boy toy.”

  “Yeah, me too, I’m afraid. But I sure do attract the boy toys . . .” Jessica couldn’t help but survey the room, her eyes landing back on the stage and focusing on the drummer with the sleeve of tattoos covering both of his arms.

  �
�I see what you’re doing—don’t think I don’t.” Steve said flatly, knowing exactly where Jessica was looking, knowing her penchant for the bad boy rockers.

  “You caught me.” Jessica grinned sheepishly. She knew better. She’d been down that path more times than she could count, and every time it ended in heartbreak. Every. Single. Time.

  Steve had been helpful. He’d provided a perspective she hadn’t considered, and he’d stopped her from approaching the drummer. She found herself thinking if he weren’t gay that they would be quite compatible. That’s when it hit her. She immediately understood what Cassie was going through. She hadn’t, not really, until she just had a similar thought about Steve.

  When she finally got home that night, Jessica took a few minutes to collect herself, and then decided to send Cassie an email. Email was better than text, she decided—it was less intrusive. She wanted to let her friend know she understood and she would be there, whenever Cassie was ready.

  Cass,

  I didn’t want to bother you with a phone call or text, but I do want to share my thoughts with you, for what it’s worth. I admit that I was blindsided with your news on Friday. I’m sure you got that picture, so we don’t need to get into that anymore.

  I thought about it all weekend. I couldn’t help it. I want you in my life, so it makes me sad that you don’t think we can still be friends.

  I do understand what you’re going through, though. I hope that time will make it easier. I hope some space will give you what you need, and that someday we can be friends again. I love you. You are my best friend, and that job will remain unfilled until you’re ready to take it back.

  XO,

  Jess

  SIX

  Cassie stared blankly at her inbox. It was early, and she had a bad habit of checking her email before getting ready for work. She knew she shouldn’t; she knew the practice just derailed her mind and erased the early-morning bliss of not knowing what was coming for the day, but she couldn’t help it. She always checked her email before doing anything else.