She's All That (8 page)

Valeria is shaking her head as if to say,
Ah, you ignorant
Americans
.

My Nana's mouth is still open, and she shoves her plate away. “I'm not hungry anymore.”

“Nana, I thought you wanted me out of Sara Lang?”
That's
right. Go with Plan A. Nana's ideas are always best.

“I want you out of design. You're getting too old to be playing these games, Lilly. It's time you found a real job with your education. You were always telling me about those boys who got this degree and that but never got a job! How is this any different?”

I bite my lip. “I never really wanted to do finance, Nana.” I've tried to tell her this before, naturally, but Nana has a special way of avoiding words she doesn't want to hear. I don't want to hurt her; this is the woman who raised me when no one else would! But again, I can't devote my life to getting James Huntington III a new Mercedes either.

“I'm sorry, Max.” My Nana puts on her low
I-didn't-raise-her-
like-this
tone. “Lilly seems to bring a tornado with her
when
she graces us with her presence. She's not good for the digestive system.” Nana turns back to me. “Sometimes, Lillian Jacobs, life isn't about what we want. Sometimes it's about what's best for us. It's fine to have dreams when you're young, but you also need to think about a pension at some point. You're not getting any younger.”

Why? Why didn't I stand up to Nana when I was eighteen
before my undergraduate? Why not when I was twenty-three and
getting ready for my masters? Why now, when it's all said and
done?
I know why, of course. She's my Nana, the only constant I've ever had in my life, and I'd do almost anything to make her happy.

“I'm sorry.” I stand up. “Forgive me, Max. I didn't mean to ruin your dinner.” I turn back to Nana. “I'm irresponsible; I'll give you that, but finance makes me feel worthless, Nana. I can't be someone I'm not just for money. Fashion is my calling,” I say weakly. It sounded so much better in front of Poppy and Morgan.

“Poppycock.” Nana slams her hand down. “I wanted to be Esther Williams too. The terrible thing was, I couldn't swim. But oh, I could have kissed that Van Johnson all right. I could have made his toes curl.”

Oh, ick.
I put my hand up. “Oversharing, Nana.”

“Lillian Jacobs, the world is your oyster. Quit throwing your pearls before swine.”

“Nana, that makes absolutely no sense.”

“Just go.” Nana closes her eyes, and I can see she's had her fill of me.

I hate to see her disappointed. I want to tell her right now,
Forget everything, I'll take the job. It's not too late.
But I can't get the words out.

I walk out of Max's house slowly, hoping my grandmother will stop me, but she never does. She just grumbles to Max and Valeria about how ungrateful I am. When I reach the porch, I look back at the door. My eyes start to sting. Suddenly, my calling feels incredibly selfish. One thing is certain: my Nana's money was not free—it has a distinct, reverse-mortgage feel.

“Maybe having a real job again wouldn't be so bad. I'm older now. More mature,” I mumble.

Max follows me out. “I wanted to get the gate for you.”

“So as not to let it hit me on the way out?” I ask.

“I'm sorry, Lilly. I wasn't thinking.” Max actually looks repentant, and my heart softens toward him just a little. He lives with my Nana. I have to admire him for that feat—more difficult than any Bond stunt.

I shake my head. “It's not your problem.” He lets me out of the gate, and looks at me through the bars. “I suppose you think I should go back into finance too?”

Max laughs. “You really have no idea who I am, do you?”

“Should I?”

“I think you should do what you want in terms of jobs. You're a grown woman.” He pulls off his glasses, and his eyes crease with a smile. “You're always welcome here.”

I smile back.
There's a special place in heaven for a man who
puts up with Nana.
I look up to the blue sky, quickly being covered by the evening fog, and mutter, “I never meant to call him a geek, Lord. Forgive me.”

chapter 6

I
have just nullified my weekend with a guilt-induced trip to Nana's—do the math.

The fact is, I cannot ever do what I want with her approval. She'll live as long as Moses, so waiting it out isn't an option—and how wrong is that anyway? Nana wants me to be a banker, which strikes me as extremely odd. One gander at my apartment would tell her that I have no clue what to do with money, considering that I have none. People who “get” money have a gift, one which I'm clearly missing, in favor of the gift for how to cover my lanky frame—and calm the stormy sea that is my wavy coiffure. And frankly, that's the gift I needed.

After a harrowing mid-evening bus ride, I unlatch the locks on my door. The locks make it appear to the ignorant that we have something valuable behind the door—which we don't. But they came with the place. Even though we only lock three of them, they are trying my patience after my evening. I mean, Max-the-TV-King is dating a foreign Angelina Jolie, and they'll probably give my grandmother “great grandchildren.” And even though we're not related, it will be one more aspect of my open failure to Nana. I'm through the second lock when Nate opens the door.

I look around him. “Nope, no nice computers or television sets. I am definitely on the right floor.”

Nate shrugs. “Kim called me to be her designated driver tonight. She's on her bed, laughing wildly at something now. And she smells like the gutter.” Nate hands me my Lysol bottle, which I've traded in for the essential oils mist that Poppy gave me to “get off the hard stuff.” Nate continues. “I thought I'd wait until you got home, if it wasn't too late, just to make sure she didn't try to escape or anything. I've never seen her this bad.”

I can hear my roommate talking to herself and giggling uproariously.

“You should have seen the bar she was in. I would think you could catch something just by walking in.” Nate's top lip curls. “I'm glad you didn't pick her up. What a dump.”

“Sorry, Nate. I was at my grandmother's.”

“No problem. I wasn't doing anything, just watching
Desperate Housewives
in TiVo, which says a lot about my own life, wouldn't you say?”

“Sort of, but at least you don't get paid for watching it.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

“How was your girls-and-goop weekend?” Nate asks, and isn't it cool he remembered?

“Nullified by my Nana. As most moments of joy are in my life.” I plop my stuff down in the entry and head to the kitchen. I'm dying for Diet Pepsi. “Do you want something to drink? Or a pickle, maybe?”

“I made some espresso for Kim. Do you want some? You look like you could use a cup. Or a pot.”

“But we don't have a coffee maker,” I say, pointing out the obvious.

“I brought my espresso maker down when Kim got settled. All it did was prolong her sleeping it off, but I didn't know what else to do for her. Kim sure knows how to make a guy feel useless.”

He brought his espresso maker down!
For some reason this makes me want to cry. Why can't I be attracted to nice guys like this? “Nate,” I say, with a well of tears in my eyes.

“Don't say that I'm a nice guy, Lilly. No guy wants to be told they're nice! It's like being told that you're a golden retriever, when women want a bulldog. So just hold that thought because I'm embarking on a new life. I'm going to be the complete jerk from here on out. Kim's rescue was my last attempt at knight in shining armor. I'm going for Bond from here on out.”

I start to laugh. “You gotta lose Charley then, Nate. No jerk puts up with a dog whose ear drains and smells like something Roto-Rooter comes to fix.”

He thinks about this for a minute. “Yeah, that's my trouble, huh? I'm a sucker for the dog. Charley's not leaving. He's more welcome than any woman. I'll have to be jerk enough to overcome him. I'm not really a leather jacket sort.” He rubs his chin. “I was thinking jeans with a tight T-shirt.”

“So, Marlon Brando in
On the Waterfront
?”

“Sort of. Maybe Brad Pitt to bring it into the modern era.”

“He wore a dress in
Troy
. Too metrosexual. What about George Clooney?” I think about this. “Nah, too noncommittal. You'd never pull it off.”

“That's it: George Clooney, or Simon Cowell from
American
Idol
. That's what I'm going for: noncommittal. I want women to fear me, think I'm completely unattainable, a guy who will always have a twenty-something babe on my arm no matter how old I get.” He swings his hand through the air. “Line up to get your heart broken. You know, Trump without the comb-over.”

I shake my head. “It's not possible. The dog gives you away. If you can commit to a dog, a woman is the next logical step. A guy with a dog is practically begging for a woman in his life. The only thing worse giving you away is the loft you own. Owning your own place, having a dog—you practically scream ‘Desperately ready to commit!'”

“I don't believe it. Bond probably had a dog.”

“Bond definitely did
not
have a dog. He was attached to his sports cars and martinis, remember? Besides, I've always imagined Bond with terrible breath for some reason. You're not Bond. You're minty-fresh.”

“Your nose,” Nate taps me on the tip of it, “is in the wrong business. You should be in perfume. Although you've probably done lifelong damage from all the Lysol you inhale. You're probably killing off brain cells at a rapid rate, which might explain your dog issue.”

“Speaking of smells.” I grab my handy can of essential oils spray and give the loft a thorough spraying, but it's not strong enough, and I'm quickly reaching for the Lysol. “Can you show me how to use this machine? The espresso smells even better than Lysol. Could it be that a little coffee pod could spare me buying Lysol in bulk?” I walk over to the gleaming, stainless steel espresso machine. It glistens with opportunity, and I reach out to stroke it.

He walks over. “No pods. Okay, you take some ground coffee. Only freshly-ground,
capisce
?”

“
Capisce
,” I echo. “You're so metrosexual,” I purr, which just cracks him up.

“You tamp it down.” As I watch Nate, his eyes meet mine. I don't think I've ever looked him in the eye. They're hazel, and there's a spark in them that belies his boring exterior. My mouth is hanging open as I study him as if for the first time, and suddenly, we both snap our attention back to the machine. He finishes the rest of the espresso lesson without saying a word. “Everything here seems to be fine now. I'm going upstairs.” He looks toward Kim, whose voice has gotten considerably less bubbly. “You have got to get her help, Lilly.”

I nod. “I know.”

Nate hands me the espresso with a perfect blanket of cream in an espresso cup. A jerk would never own a specialized espresso cup. That's as metrosexual as they come. The strong espresso scent beckons my nose. I can hear Poppy's liver warnings as I taste my first sip. “It's heavenly.”

Nate nods nervously and heads for the door.

“Do you have to rush off? Come sit down for a while.” I pat the kitchen chair.

Nate shakes his head. “I've got to get back to Charley.”

I think I scared him.
I'm not usually so needy, but man, tonight I'm like Anna Nicole Smith-needy. “Your espresso machine!” I shout after him.

“I'll get it tomorrow.” The last part is muffled behind the closed door.

I just noticed the color of his eyes, for goodness sakes.
I wasn't going to maul him. Maybe I'm giving off desperate vibes, like the wives he's been watching on television. I'll admit I'm depressed after seeing Nana. It seems as though she respects everyone else's career, but nothing is good enough for me. She can actually fawn over a guy who sits on his duff and watches TV for a living, but thinks fashion design is akin to street-walking for me. I know she wants what's best for me, but why do I have to fit in such a small round hole when I am clearly a square peg?

I look down at the new dog pillow I'm making for Charley because of his ear drains. I hate for the poor thing to have a smelly bed, and washing it doesn't work, so I make Charley a fresh doggie bed every month.

Kim comes staggering out from behind the screen, her shirt hanging off one shoulder. “I need another drink. Tail of the dog and all that.”

“You need to go back to bed,” I say, tempted to aim the Lysol can at her. Now I may not be CFO material, but I know enough not to have alcohol in the apartment. “We've got nothing but Diet Pepsi. Go brush your teeth. You'll feel better.”