More Than Water (29 page)

My happiness falters when the weight of our boundary creeps slyly between us. He’s sitting less than three feet away, and I miss him. I miss us—the us we were, the us I want, and the us we’re never meant to be.

The corners of Foster’s mouth turn downward and a dimple forms in the middle of his brow. He leans back and pulls out the cell phone from his front pocket. It buzzes in his hand. Sighing, he swipes open the screen and then turns toward the desk where he commences to text.

Allowing him his privacy, I face my monitor and check for new holds. Sure, I just checked half an hour ago, but one can never predict the demand for volumes on petroleum refining, diesel engine mechanics, or centrifugation technology.

However, there are none. I’m zoning out at a blank screen.

Foster grunts, tossing his phone onto the desk with a heavy clunk.

Curious, I peek over my shoulder to where he’s sitting with his glasses perched near the top of his hairline as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Is everything okay?” I ask, concerned.

“Yes. No.” He exhales. “It’ll be fine.”

“You don’t sound very convincing. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Foster laughs to himself.

He drops his hand to his lap and then laughs even more. The volume of his cackle rises, gaining the attention of two of the students in the nearby periodical section.

“Foster, what’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head, humored. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you though.”

“Sure,” I reply, confused. “No problem.”

His phone buzzes on the desk, sending a vibration along the surface.

Foster once again grunts.

He doesn’t move toward the call.

“Are you going to get that?” I question.

“No. There’s no reason to.”

After about another fifteen seconds, the phone stills.

I scoot my seat closer to the desk, and moments later, his cell alerts him to a call once again.

“Wow. You sure are popular tonight,” I comment. “Did you start a dating hotline?”

“Like I need something like that.”

It stops and then starts again.

Twice.

Becoming annoyed by the nonstop vibration, I grab his phone from the desk.

“What are you doing?” he asks, reaching for his property.

“I’m playing secretary,” I remark. “Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.”

“Evelyn…” he scolds.

Ignoring Foster and without any regard for who might be on the other line, I accept the call and say, “This is Foster Blake’s answering service. He’s not available at the moment.” I swat at Foster’s hand reaching for the device at my ear. “He’s presently impersonating an annoying fly. Would you like to leave a message?”

“Who is this?” a confused male voice asks.

“Ms. Cunning. I’m Mr. Blake’s new Secretary of Constant Callers. And who might you be?”

“This is Parker,” his friend, who I met just a few days ago, says. “Can you put Foster on the phone?”

“Oh, hey, Parker. It’s EJ. I was just kidding around.” I swivel around in my chair. “Sure, he’s right here.”

“Actually, I’d rather talk to you.”

“Of course you would. How might I help you?”

Foster holds out his hand, waiting for me to give him the phone. I shake my head and hold up my index finger, indicating for him to wait.

“Well,” Parker begins, “you see, the thing is, I’m getting married this weekend.”

“I remember. Congratulations. Hillary’s great. You’re very lucky.”

“Thank you. I tend to agree,” Parker states proudly. “So, here’s the deal. Hillary’s mother is down my fiancée’s throat about this damn seating chart for the reception, and it’s driving my bride-to-be absolutely insane, thereby making me extremely unhappy.”

“Yes, planning any event can be quite a task. I don’t envy that part one bit.”

“No kidding. I’m starting to understand why people hire wedding planners, but her family insisted on doing everything, so we let them. Hillary said there would be no fighting her parents on this point.” He pauses. “Anyhow, I’ve gotten off track. The problem is that, apparently, I mistakenly put down my dear old friend, Foster, as having a plus-one, assuming that no one in his right mind goes to a wedding event alone—and certainly not Foster. He wouldn’t want to be that guy.”

I swallow to contain the rise in emotions at the thought of Foster dating anyone. “No, he certainly wouldn’t.”

“But when I asked him about who he was bringing, he told me that he’s coming solo. Now, this is something I don’t understand, especially when he knows you.”

“Oh…” My heart pounds a little harder.

“I take it, he hasn’t mentioned it to you then?”

“Um…” I turn my back to my coworker, whose stone cold gaze is on me. “No, not at all.”

“I told him to ask you, but he didn’t think that you would want to come.”

“It’s kind of complicated,” I whisper.

Over my shoulder, I glance at Foster. He’s focused on his feet, intently listening to my side of the conversation.

“I’m going to put Foster on the line now. It was nice talking with you, Parker.”

I quickly deliver the phone into Foster’s waiting hand, rise from my seat, and then meander out from behind the desk. I begin to collect books and magazines from the tables to be returned to the shelves. I take my time, giving Foster the freedom to speak freely to his friend.

When the last magazine is filed into its place, I pick up the short pile of books and walk back toward the desk where Foster is thankfully off the phone, watching my every move.

“Hey,” I say, resting the stack of volumes between us. “Sorry about that. I overstepped my boundaries.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He grabs the top bound edition on molecular mechanics and scans it to be reshelved. “You didn’t know.”

“Still, it was inappropriate.”

“I’m not mad,” Foster states reassuringly while shortening the pile before him. “It’s who you are.”

In silence, I place the remaining books, one by one, into his hand, and he goes through the process of checking the bar code for their location. When the final volume has been scanned, I arrange the organized stacks onto a nearby cart to be filed later in the evening, and then I take a seat once again at Foster’s side behind the desk.

“So, Parker’s giving you a hard time?” I ask, edging into the topic that isn’t being discussed.

“Per usual,” he huffs, sitting up straighter. “Somehow, he’s gotten it into his head that I won’t be able to handle seeing Sasha at the wedding. Apparently, she’s bringing her boyfriend from Europe with her.”

I exhale sharply. “That’s understandable.”

“He’s overreacting. I’m not that pathetic.”

“Of course you aren’t.” I bite my lip. Knowing it’s emotional suicide, I tell him, “But, if you were to ask, I’d go with you…to the wedding.”

“I couldn’t ask that of you. Things are awkward enough between us.”

“I agree, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re still friends. You’ve helped me so many times when I’ve needed it, and maybe it’s time I return the favor.”

“What are you saying?” he questions, his voice desperately low.

“I’d be more than happy to go as your plus-one.” I pause. “Your wingman.” I giggle. “Your arm candy.” I grin. “Or your friend, if that’s what you need.”

“I can’t believe you’re going away with him this weekend,” Chandra comments, leaning into my bedroom doorframe with her arms casually crossed just below her chest. “And to a wedding. You know what that’s going to be like, don’t you?”

“It’s going to be fine,” I insist, stuffing a set of pajamas into an overnight bag filled with my other belongings. I then zip it closed. “It’s just a wedding and just for one night. It’s not like a romantic getaway or anything.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Yes. He and I discussed it. I’m going as his date but as his friend. Nothing more.”

“Right.” She titters. “His friend…with benefits.”

“I told you, we stopped that. No more sex.”

“So, you thought a night away, at a wedding, while sharing a hotel room would be a genius idea?”

“Are you playing some kind of mom card with me right now?” My fingers lightly comb through the soft highlights of my sideswept locks cascading in waves over my shoulder.

“No. But you do realize that this isn’t the greatest idea. You’re playing with fire, and the burn is going to hurt so bad.”

“Yes. I do know there are potential consequences, but he’s my friend, and whether he wants to admit it or not, he needs some support right now. Plus, weddings blow when you go alone. So, I’m making sure he’s not.”

“And you’re the best person for the job?”

“Yes.” I slip a modest yet classic set of sapphire earrings through my ears and then fasten the matching necklace at the back of my neck. “No one knows how to play a part better than me. I’ve been doing it my entire life.”

Chandra sighs, dropping her hands to her sides. “It’s not healthy.”

“It’s just one night.” Pulling an elegant knee-length dress from my closet, I face my roommate with it draped across torso. “What do you think about this one?”

“It’s stunning.” She sighs. “Not too gaudy, unique enough to be noticed, and not too extravagant to detract from the bride.”

“That’s what I thought. Plus, it’s blue—the color of peace, harmony, and tranquility.”

I quickly slip off my yoga pants and tug the comfy T-shirt over my head, tossing them both into the laundry basket. Releasing the fine clothing from its hanger, I step into the garment and push my arms into the sleeves, opting to dress now in case there’s nowhere to change when we arrive. The zipper on the back sits in an awkward spot, so I step over to Chandra and spin around, nonverbally asking her to help me dress. She does so willingly and then adjusts the fabric at my waist.

I circle around and ask her, “How do I look?”

“Way too pretty for just friends.”

I frown.

“But,” she continues, “you do look beautiful, and this color is perfect.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. What shoes are you going to wear?” my fashion-loving roommate asks, her curiosity taking over.

“Nude strappy pumps with a modest heel.”

“Perfection.”

“I’m glad you approve.” I return to my bed, pick up my bag, and then slip into a comfortable pair of shoes for the long three-hour ride to Hillary’s hometown. “What about you? Anything fun planned for the weekend?”

“Just the usual with Jeremy—hanging out and homework.”

“How are things going with him, by the way?”

“Really good.” Chandra steps back from the doorway, out of the way, for me to leave the room. “He’s starting to put in job applications for when he graduates.”

“Oh, yeah?” I close my door, and then we both tread down the hallway toward the living room. “What about you? Are you applying as well?”

“A little here and there.”

“In the same cities as him?”

“So far, yes.”

“It’s that serious, huh?”

“It could be.”

I set my bag on the sofa and retrieve a wool three-quarter-length coat from the hall closet, placing it on top of my luggage. Chandra takes a seat in the red chair and begins to thumb through a fashion magazine. As I’m about to join her, there’s a gentle knock at the door.

“I bet that’s Foster,” I say to Chandra.

“Nothing like stating the obvious,” she quips back.

“Behave.”

When I open the entrance, dressed handsomely in a well-tailored charcoal suit accentuated by a cobalt tie to match his eyes is Foster.

“Evelyn,” he gasps. “You look…” His eyes roam over my body. “Nice.”

“Thanks. You’re looking dapper yourself.” I rest a palm on my hip. “I clean up pretty good, don’t I?”

“That is a complete and total understatement. You look amazing.”

“It must be the shoes.” I point the sneaker-clad foot in his direction. “They make the outfit.”

He lowers his gaze, absent of his signature glasses, to the ground and laughs. “Those are something special. Unique.”

“I thought so. I packed a fancy pair for later.” Taking a step backward, I grab my coat, slip my arms into the sleeves, and then shrug the travel bag over my shoulder. “Are you ready to go?”

“I’m just waiting on you.”

“Then, you are waiting on no one.” I blow a kiss in Chandra’s direction where she’s still sitting in the chair. “I’ll see you later.”

“You two behave,” she warns, masked in sarcasm.

“Yes, mom.”

“Have a good weekend, Chandra,” Foster says, waving to my roommate.

“You, too, Foster.”

Exiting my apartment, I join Foster in the hallway, and we descend the steps together and head out the building. He takes the bag from my arm, leads me halfway down the block, and stops in front of a black Lexus. He pops the trunk.

“Did you get a new car?” I ask, wondering what happened to his well-loved Honda.

“Nope.” He stows away my bag, closes the compartment, and then opens the passenger door for me to get in. “This is my grandmother’s. I borrowed it for the drive since it’s a bit of a hike.”

“It’s all fancy.”

I slide into the beige leather interior, and Foster closes the door. He then circles around the rear, takes off his jacket, lays it on the backseat, and then joins me inside the car.