In Pursuit (9 page)

“Ready?” I ask the trio that doesn’t match. Claire and Harris are still in their work clothes, but Harris has since shed the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his blue shirt. When we walk to the elevator I feel like an ant next to three giants.

“So, I guess you didn’t get any taller in the last few days?” Greg teases when Harris pushes the call button for the first floor.

Claire places her elegant hand on Greg’s shoulder. “Isn’t our little mouse cute?”

Greg raises his eyebrows at the comment. It might have been my imagination, but it sounds like Harris growls, a low-pitched sound that contrasts sharply with the background classical music.

“I would never call Eddie a little mouse. Actually, she’s probably the strongest person I’ve ever met.” Greg’s voice is full of fondness, and again I drop my eyes to my feet. He must sense my awkwardness, because he changes the subject, asking about the history of the building.

Of course, Harris’ SUV is parked in the driveway, waiting on demand. Greg and I take the back, Harris and Claire in the front.

“Where are we going?” The growl that I think I heard in the elevator now takes life in Harris’ voice, the words fierce.

What crawled up his butt?

“Shack. Have you been?”

“Oh, I love that place!” Claire says, turning around.

My imagination seems to have taken full control of my conscious, because I think she unbuttoned the top of her shirt-dress, letting her lacy black bra peek out.

“You’ve been there?” Harris’ disbelief is apparent.

“I do some things without you, you know,” Claire says folding her arms across her chest.   

The rest of the short drive is silent. No music haunts this car ride. Greg and I flicker smiles at each other across the back seat of the car.

When we enter the restaurant, that does in fact remind me of an upscale shack, I realize why Harris doesn’t believe his sister has visited this place. The restaurant is two large rooms. One has picnic tables and an open kitchen, and the other has round and square tables scattered about. You order your food from the counter, collect a number, and then a waiter brings it over. We order our dinners and drinks (not without a fight; Harris demands to pay for everyone, much to Greg’s chagrin) then move into the second room for chairs with backs.

We sit boy, girl, boy girl, forcing me in between Harris and Greg. Luckily, this allows me to angle my body toward the male I feel more at ease around.

“Forgive me for dominating this conversation,” Greg says to the Grant siblings, “but I need to hog Eddie for a few minutes.”

“What’s going on?” I ask him, leaning forward, remembering Sarah’s earlier unease.

“Nothing, stop worrying. I just...” He trails off and gazes over my shoulder. For a few beats nothing is said.

“Spit it out, Greg. I’ve never known you to pussyfoot,” I say and Claire giggles. Even Harris looks like he is fighting a smile at my word choice. “Sorry, that’s a weird word to use in the twenty first century.” 

“Stop with the old school vocabulary. It dates you,” Greg says.

“Go on.” I nudge his foot under the table. But when my toes brush against the leather, Harris' eyes dart up to mine.
Shoot, that was most definitely not Greg’s foot.

“I’m proposing to Sarah in a few weeks,” he bursts out.

“What!” I push my chair back and jump over to my friend, throwing my arms around him.

“You heard me,” he grumbles good-naturedly into my hug, but I can hear a beaming smile in his tone.

“It only took you eight years to figure out she’s the love of your life. Not bad, Greggy.” I’m referring to the total time he’s known Sarah and me. Including the two years it took for him to work up the nerve to ask my best friend on a date.

“Ha, ha. You won’t be laughing when you hear what I have to ask you next.”

A gangly teenager arrives with our food, saving me from whatever is in store. A plate of pulled chicken arrives in front of me.

“Does Sarah know you’re planning on asking her soon?” But this is my best friend Sarah that we’re talking about, the one who guesses the ends of movies three minutes in with her intuition. She must know that this is coming.

“You know, as hard as I try, I can’t hide anything from her. But you are going to help me with one surprise for our wedding day.”
            I know what he is about to say before I hear the words.

“I want you to sing.”

“You sing?” Claire interjects, reminding me that she is at the table, too. When she leans toward Greg with wide eyes, it’s hard to miss the pouty lips curled into a slinky smile.

“Full disclosure,” Greg says, turning to Harris and Claire, a beam of a smile highlighting his cheerful face. “This will emasculate me, but I’m going to say it anyway. Eddie pretty much sounds like an angel when she sings, and she plays the piano, too.”

Dropping my fork with a clank, my hand shoots across the table and grabs Greg's wrist. “How have you heard me?”

“Sarah may or may not have recorded you once. Your eyes were closed the whole time, you probably didn’t even realize she was there.”

“What song?” I ask softly, but again I know the answer, because I did remember her recording it, even though that night mostly remains shrouded in a drunken haze. I know what he will say and now I’m waiting for the fallout.

“
I Think of You
– I’d never heard it before, but Sarah says you play it all the time.”

Yep, that’s the one. It just drove me into an unrelenting emotional prison a few nights ago. No big deal whatsoever.

“Harry, are you choking?” Claire begins patting her brother on the back, who is coughing and spluttering. He holds up his hand to wave her off.

“Just went down the wrong pipe. I’m fine. Are you referring to the song by Rodriguez?” he asks Greg, avoiding me.

 “That’s the one.” Greg gives Harris a strange look, but now I’m refusing to engage him, too, so I keep my attention tuned to my friend.

“I – ”

“Don’t say no, Eddie, please.”

“I was going to ask you what song you want me to sing,” I say quietly.

“Yes! It’s your choice what you perform.” He raises his hand for a high five, and I oblige. “You won’t regret this, Ed. Sarah is going to love it.”

A small smile curls at my lips. This is a gift I will gladly give my best friend. No matter how much anxiety I have about performing in front of a large crowd, I
want
to do this for her.

The topic is closed, and we continue with our meal. Mostly, Claire and Greg fill up the silences with chatter and I attempt to add some bulk, but I’m having a hard time with Harris silently brooding next to me. I can’t help but wonder what he's thinking. Does he regret how he judged me? The apology was repentant enough.

Something else is not right at this table, though, and Claire lurks behind the bad omen. She’s eating up every word Greg says, leaning in to him when he speaks, and using every opportunity that presents itself to touch him. Her fingers brush his shoulder, she playfully pushes his arm when he jokes. I know Greg well enough to recognize the signs of his distress: tugging at his shirt collar, rolling his head from side to side like he is stretching his neck and saying ‘um’ on repeat. Didn’t Claire hear him say that he wants to
marry
my best friend?

Soon, we’re back at the apartment, the car humming as it idles in the driveway. Claire begins fumbling with the door when her brother interrupts her.

“Stay. I need to speak with you.” He turns half way toward the back of the car and nods at Greg. “Greg, nice to meet you. Eddie.”

He says my name uncomfortably, and I know that means he wants me out of his car like yesterday, so I scurry out without a word. Greg and I exit the vehicle, and he walks around to my side, opening his arms for a hug.

            “Thanks for checking on me,” I say when we part.

“Don’t let Claire or Harris overwhelm you, okay?” He looks over my shoulder to the car, where I’m guessing the siblings are in a yelling match.

“They don’t,” I fib.

“Harris was eyeing you all night.”

Yeah, right.

“Even if you were right, I don’t think he respects me very much. Before you showed up tonight, he was questioning my career choice.”

Greg grips my shoulders, and on instinct I look up at him. “Guys say stupid shit when they have feelings for a girl. Remember kindergarten? When the boy kicked you, it meant he liked you. It’s pretty apparent that is what’s happening here.”

I shake my head in disbelief, but I’m thinking back to just a few hours earlier, when our lips touched, and the shivers of awareness that shocked through me. This chemistry can’t be one sided.

“You owe it to yourself to see what happens with him.”

I shrug noncommittally, but I want him to be right about this.

“You’re like my little sister, you know that, Eddie. When you ended it with Jared, I was so fucking happy. He’s a prick and you deserve better than some congressman’s son, who doesn’t have a job. So if this guy, who keeps staring at you like the sun is shining from your eyes, wants to go out with you, you need to say yes. Got it?”

I’m breathless. Greg thinks Jared is a prick? He wants to me to go for Harris? Maybe I’m dreaming. I pinch his arm.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“Checking to see if this is a dream.”

The car door opens and Claire bounds out.

“You got that backward, Eddie.” He laughs, used to some of my abnormal habits. Why would I want to pinch myself when I have him here?

He makes his move to leave while the SUV still lingers behind us. Then the window rolls down.

            “Want a ride?” Harris asks from the driver’s seat.

            Greg looks at me with raised eyebrows, as if to say,
See?
With one final pat on my shoulder, he accepts the offer.

Claire and I are left to watch them drive away.

“Someone is awfully generous with those rides, huh?” I ask her as we leisurely make our way back home.

“No, someone is awfully annoying. All the time.”

I begin giggling and Claire can’t help but join in. “I can neither confirm nor deny that statement.”

“His surliness almost made me forget!”

“What?”

“Franklin & Smith's annual summer soiree. This Saturday night, you’re coming as my date.”

“What?”

“Don’t make me say it again! I need a date,” she groans and kicks open the door to the apartment. “Every year, I go alone because I’m usually single in the summer. It’s a seasonal thing. In the winter, when I’m kept inside to avoid the cold, I find a boy to keep me warm, and in the summer I play the field. Everyone does it. Anyway, this year I shouldn’t go alone, and you should come with me. You can borrow something to wear.”

A feeling of distress hangs in the air, Claire is nibbling on her lower lip, and looking at me hopefully. This is unlike her practiced pouting. She looks genuinely concerned and I can’t deny her… or the chance to spend more time with Harris.

“Where do I sign up?”

S
arah: Thirty six hours.

I scowl at the cryptic text message. She knows math is not my favorite subject, even with my experience as family accountant at my dad’s request.

Eddie: Meaning?

Sarah: The amount of time you’ve had to tell me what’s going on with Harris!

Eddie: You know who he is, Greg told you everything already. What do you want from me?

Sarah: All the details, you fool!

She adds several angry looking emoticons, and I stick my tongue out at my phone like she can see me.

Eddie: I’m meeting friends for lunch – I’ll call you after.

Sarah: For the record, I’m only allowing this because you are spending time with new friends but you need to remember two things. A – no one can replace me and B – you owe me the dirt!

Sarah is right. Almost two days have passed since Thursday night’s dinner with Greg and the Grants. Instead of psychoanalyzing Harris with my best friend, which sounds exhausting, I’m waiting on Saturday brunch with Sean and his boyfriend.

The menus on the patio table thump unceremoniously at the arrival of my dining companions. Two chairs squeak as they are pulled back from the table.

“Are we interrupting a love affair with a text message?”

I greet Sean and his boyfriend, Luke, with a sheepish smile. I hop up from my seat and give Sean a hug. “Sorry, my friend is on my case. Such a nag!”

“You must be Luke,” I say as he sweeps me into his arms.

His body is thin but muscular and he smells like cinnamon. Luke’s affection feels warm and welcoming, and I instantly like him.

“Yes, and you are Edith.” 

I grin at his use of my given name.

Once we place our orders, they begin their interrogation.

“Harris Grant. Go,” Sean demands excitedly.

“Go where? What does that mean?”

“One time, I sat next to him at a basketball game. Not exactly next to him, since he had court side seats and I was a few rows back, but fuck me, he is so fucking hot. Please, tell me you’ve seen him shirtless or had sex with him. Both would be acceptable answers.”