Someday Maybe (5 page)

Chapter Six

Taking advantage of one of the blue sky Saturdays, Meghan and I put on shorts and headed to the wharf. After loading up on clam chowder and sourdough, we veered toward the marina at Pier 39 to check out the pack of sea lions lounging on floating planks. We found a spot at the railing and just stood and watched. It was like staring at a campfire or a lava lamp—there wasn’t a ton going on, but it sure was hypnotic.

“So, finish telling me about your dream,” Meghan requested, after she’d glared at her cell phone for the hundredth time in an hour. “You had webbed fingers, and…”

“That was it,” I said. “But that’s not the one I want you to analyze.”

The late afternoon was sunny, not much fog or wind for a change, in the mid-sixties, and just a salty hint of San Francisco Bay in the air. Damn near perfect weather.

“Webbed fingers.” Meghan rubbed her chin and leaned against the railing, her strawberry blond spiral curls blowing in the breeze. “There’s something in your life you can’t grab onto. Something you’re dying to scoop up and reclaim, and yet you’re trying to paddle away from it at the same time.”

Megs had always been something of a mystic. I humored her most of the time when she offered to read my palm or the bumps on my head. As for me, I’d always been a dreamer; not in the romantic sense of the word, but the literal sense. My dreams were quite detailed and vivid, and—according to Meghan—they absolutely intertwined with my wakeful self.

“Okay, now let me tell you about the other one. The only thing I clearly remember is this rusty cup lying in the middle of the hiking trail. I didn’t want to touch it, but someone kept whispering for me to pick it up.”

Meghan didn’t reply, but frowned down at her phone, flicked its face, and sighed. “You’re on a journey,” she finally said. “Or you’ll be going on a journey soon. Dunno. Dreams are funny sometimes, there’s no science, you never can tell.”

I stared at her, opened-mouthed.
This
was not Meg’s typical analysis. But I didn’t call her on it right then or pick a play fight, because I didn’t have the energy. First, the weird dreams waking me up at all hours, then the fact that I’d been at work until almost one a.m. the night before, proofreading ads for cell phone apps. Both Bruce and Claire cut out hours earlier. I’d worked over twelve hours a day for the past week and still felt like everyone looked at me like a flunky. Yep, word about the Vondome and my botched proposal were the hottest water cooler topics. As the days progressed, I felt like I was on the chopping block.

Work sucked, but I was over halfway into my ten-year plan, well on my way to where I wanted to be at the end. A lot rested on my job at NRG Interactive. There, I could finally start adding to my savings account, and I’d just opened a 401(k). But career and finance weren’t the only facets of my life requiring stability. I wanted marriage and a family someday. But I also needed balance between work and relationship—and that was something I’d failed at in the past.

Meghan and I moved to a bench outside a bakery—the glorious, pungent scent of sourdough in the air—with a view of the tour boats headed to Alcatraz. She had a gluten-free green tea ice cream cone in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other. I doubted either was within the limits of her most recent cleanse.

Even after I added a few more details about my dream, it was obvious Megs hadn’t heard a word. “Earth to Meghan,” I said. “Why do you keep checking your cell and snubbing me? I will not be snubbed.”

“He hasn’t called.”

Ah. There was a “he.” Now we were getting somewhere. “Who’s the guy?”

She sighed and finally looked at me. “We met a few weeks ago at Tim’s party—”

“Wait.” I sat up straight. “This is the guy you picked up? You programmed your number into his cell?”

She gazed off like she was remembering something blissful. Confirmation confirmed. “He’s from Iowa, or Indiana. One of those corn-husker states. He works down in SoMa.”

“He’s a techie?” I asked, knowing many of the major dot-commer software companies had offices in the South of Market district.

“I think so. He works in that big building across from the Jewish Museum.”

“Is he cute?”

“
Hot
,” she tweaked. “And he’s, like, a grown-up.” She set down her soda and ran a hand over her grinning mouth. “I can’t think of the last time I was interested in someone who wasn’t still in school or working at Chuck E. Cheese.”

“What’s his name?”

She grinned. “Rad.”

“Rad?” I echoed, not bothering to hide my mocking. “Like, short for Radcliff? What—is he from a regency novel?” When Megs didn’t catch on to my teasing, I added, “Why am I just now hearing about this guy? How long have you been dating?”

She cut a quick glance at me, her ecstatic expression faltering a hair. “We’ve only been out once—technically. He and Tim live in the same neighborhood now. They knew each other in college, or maybe it was one of the other guys who live up there in North Beach.”

“Ahh, North Beach. So he’s a techie
and
a beatnik.” I laughed. “That’s quite a mash-up. I do love that neighborhood, all those cool restaurants and Victorian houses. Wait.” I grabbed her arm. “Is that why you wanted to eat at Mama’s the other morning? Does he live by Washington Square Park and do sunrise tai chi
 with the other Chinese seniors?
”

“Rad doing sunrise tai chi.” She bit her lip and grinned. “How smokin’ hot would that be.”

Despite my teasing, I was proud of Meghan. It was like she said: she never dated
men
, genuine emotionally available men. Perhaps this guy was the one to drag her into an adult relationship.

“What about you?” She nudged my shoulder. “Got your eye on anyone super-sexy-special?”

“Right.” I snorted. Currently, the only males on my mind were my brother, Moron Bruce, and—thanks to that unplanned detour around USF campus—Oliver Wentworth.
Le sigh
. “If you hadn’t noticed,” I continued, “I’ve been busting my ass trying to not get fired. Please say I don’t normally have such massive bags under my eyes. I’d trade a man for a good nap any day. I think I’ll have that put on business cards.”

Meghan wadded up a napkin in her hand. “You’re too cynical, so afraid of taking chances or getting hurt. You’ll never get a boyfriend with that attitude.” She froze and stared at me, looking startled at what she’d just said. “Oh. Sorry.”

As I stared back at my best friend, each beat of my heart hurt. Meghan looked away. Not only did my heart hurt, but now my head hurt. “That was bitchy,” I said in a flat voice. “Tell me how you really feel.”

“I’m sorry, Rach.” She stared down at the ground. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

“Reasons for what?”

She lifted a quick smile and jumped to her feet. “Nothing, nothing. Maybe I’m PMS-ing. I mean, I obviously need more chocolate, right? It’s getting late. Let’s hit the bricks, chick.”

I knew when someone was dodging a question. I was queen of that. And Megs was definitely dodging. I followed her to a trash can to dump our wrappers, and we washed our sticky fingers in an open fountain behind the carousel. Afterward, she busied herself by digging through her purse, probably trying to blow off the way I was glaring at her profile. Though I was glad she’d cut herself off when she’d started in about how I wouldn’t take risks with my heart. I so didn’t want to go there.

Aside from my new job and moving to San Francisco, Rachel Daughtry
not
taking risks was the norm. Megs knew my ten-year plan almost as well as I did. Freshman year, she didn’t know Oliver. She thought I’d been sneaking around with some random guy behind Roger’s back, but she didn’t know the truth. In the six years since, I’d never filled her in.

The sun was just starting to set as we walked in silence toward the trolleybus stop. Well, I was silent while Meghan chatted about something I couldn’t be bothered to care about. On the bus, she was playing on her phone while singing the new American Idol song—which gave me time to stare out the window and remember a time when I wasn’t afraid of getting hurt, or hurting someone else the way I’d hurt the one person I’d never meant to hurt, the one person I loved more than anything, trusted explicitly, could stand completely naked before and know he saw nothing in me but perfection and love, and how he would touch my—

“And don’t forget to watch Monday night. Rach?”

I gasped and twitched, returning my attention to Meghan one seat over. “What?” My whole body felt hot and glowy as I flushed at a memory that felt way too recent. I made the motion of scrubbing my cheeks with my hands so Meghan wouldn’t notice my burning face. What would I tell her anyway? That I’d been ignoring her while fantasizing about someone I’d known during a part of my life she knew nothing about?

“They’re replaying it at eleven o’clock,” she added. “Channel sixty-five. I don’t come on until nine minutes in.”

Megs went on to talk about her newest pulled-from-the-pages-of-history movie project, while I exhaled, long and quiet. Off the hook.

We hopped off the trolley across the street from Golden Gate Park. To the left was the café we’d talked about eating at, and to the right was the street toward home. Before I could come up with an excuse for skipping on dinner, we both headed right.

“Okay,” Meghan said, “I can tell you’re totally wiped out. Get some sleep, bestie. We’re all going out tomorrow night, no?” When I gave her a doubtful look, she got right in my face. “You promised, Rach. You totally bailed last weekend.”

“Okay, okay.” I laughed, as we stopped on the corner between our two apartments. “I’ll be there.”

She stepped in front of me, her head tilted to the side. “Take care, you.” She kissed me on both cheeks, something she’d been doing for years, attempting to appear more Hollywood. “Mmm, you smell dreamy.” She stuck her nose to my neck and sniffed. “What
is
that? Lemon zest?”

“Tangerine and chamomile oils. It’s supposed to be grounding.” I took a whiff of the inside of my elbow. “You like it?”

“Totally yumsville.” Megs grinned and did a little twirl on the corner, waiting for the light to turn green. “Have a good night, Rach.” She stopped in the middle of the crossway and turned back to me. “Hey. Just think, maybe you’ll meet Mr. Right tomorrow night. I’ve got hot friends.”

“Works for me!” I waved good-bye, catching sight of her again as she crossed the next street. Her apartment was two streets over from Roger’s. I could actually see her porch light if I squinted just right.

After I made it up the steps, I leaned my elbows on the ledge and gazed up at the sky. It was wide and bursting in a colorful sunset. The kind of sky a Californian could be proud of. I sighed, feeling a bit more grounded and at peace at being here.

Right on the heel of that peace came a pang of the old regret. I hadn’t expected Oliver to invade my thoughts so much.

Face it, Rach. You’ll never be ready to meet a Mr. Right, a Mr. Almost-Right, or even Mr. Maybe-For-A-Few-Hours until you banish all memories of Oliver Wentworth.

After I zeroed in on one silvery star, I wrapped my arms around myself, moved inside, and bolted the front door, hoping I wouldn’t dream about Oliver again.

Chapter Seven

April, Freshman Year

Roger was uncharacteristically quiet as we moved around his kitchen, preparing our traditional Sunday morning sibling brunch. After eight months, we were like a well-oiled machine at it. Though it was odd not to be making even small talk. Graduation was looming and Rog had been accepted to both Stanford and NYU for grad school, though he hadn’t yet decided if he was ready to give up being a West Coaster.

I figured that was what occupied his mind, until he said, “How serious is it, Rachel?” He was cramming two pieces of bread in the toaster. “With you and Oliver Wentworth.”

Hearing that name come out of Roger’s mouth made me drop the egg-covered spatula I’d been holding. I stared at my brother across his kitchen, my mind going a million miles an hour in a million directions. He stared back, his expression giving nothing away. Was he pissed? Shocked? Disappointed?

I glanced at the front door, wondering if he could catch me if I tried to flee the scene without answering.

“Um, serious,” I finally replied, moving the pan of scrambled eggs off the heat before I burned them any worse.

“When can I meet him?”

“Ha!” I couldn’t help snorting. “You guys are so
anxious
to meet each other, why don’t I set up a date for just the two of you?”

Roger’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s been wanting to meet me?”

My stomach dropped. This wasn’t a joke. I brushed past him to dish out the eggs. “How did you find out?”

He folded his arms and leaned against the counter. “So it
was
a secret.”

I scoffed and rolled my eyes, doing my best to play the role of surly little sister.

“Let’s go out tonight,” he said, both of us dodging each other’s questions. “We’ll do dinner—my treat, no pressure.” He smiled, though there was a dare behind his eyes. “Unless you have something to hide.”

Of course I had a choice; my brother wasn’t lord and master over me. But he was a master at hitting where it hurt. “I’m not
hiding
him, we’ve been busy,” I said, bending the truth to the point of almost snapping. Because the glaring truth was, Roger would be pissed to high heaven if he found out about my sucky grades. Though, knowing my big brother, he’d be more pissed at Oliver. “Why do you always suspect I’m up to something?”

“Because you always are.” His calmness while being logical made me crazy.

“Fine, Roger, fine. You wanna meet him? No problem whatsoever.” I gave him a tight smile, holding my eyes wide and steady, taking his dare. “Just say when and where.”

“Excellent.”

“Sure is.”

It hadn’t registered—what I’d just agreed to in my irrational haste—until smirking Roger was programming the address of the restaurant where we’d be meeting into my phone. Dammit. I braced myself against the sink, feeling queasy and feverish, sweat breaking out under my hair. Maybe if I said I was coming down with West Nile Virus, Rog would cancel.

But Oliver would learn I’d weaseled out of the meeting, and that would crush him.

Oliver held open the door to let me enter first, but I wasn’t ready. “You’ll do great,” he said, touching the small of my back.

“Yeah, you too.”

He laughed and gazed past me into the restaurant. “You’re the one who’s worried, Rach. I’ve been looking forward to this for months.” He was grinning when he looked down at me, but it dissolved, maybe sensing that I was stress-sweating under my clothes and that my stomach was tied in a very complicated sailor’s knot. “Hey, hey, it’ll be fine, seriously.” He pressed his lips to my temple. “Don’t worry, sweet pea.”

It shouldn’t have surprised me that the guys got along, had typical guy things in common. They were only three years apart, though Roger always seemed like a “grown-up” rather than a peer. I wanted them to get along—I did. Two of the most important men in my life. But the stress-sweating kept up all through dinner.

Right as we agreed to order dessert, Roger scooted his plate and glass away, folded his arms on the table, and leaned forward. “So, tell me, Oliver.” There was a slight clench to his jaw, the first hint of aggression all night. “What are your plans for the future?”

“Rog,” I said, squirming in my seat. “What happened to your promise of no pressure?” Though, secretly, I’d been wondering this same question for months.

My brother didn’t move his eyes from Oliver. “Can’t he answer for himself?”

“
Roger
.”

“Rach.” Oliver touched my knee under the table. “It’s cool. He’s in big brother mode now.” He moved his eyes from me to Roger. “I respect that.” Then he cleared his throat and spoke of his plan to lifeguard back home over the summer, and of a job his uncle had waiting for him with his construction company.

Evidently, Roger had been holding back during dinner, because he went on to question Oliver about everything, from his still-undeclared major to his student loans. I couldn’t pretend those issues didn’t irk me, too, but I wouldn’t voice that in front of Roger. I’d never really voiced it to Oliver, either.

My brother wasn’t letting it go, though, and the tension of not being able to help was unbearable. I had to do something to get him off Oliver’s back.

“You should probably know, Roger,” I interrupted when I couldn’t take it anymore. “We’re moving in together next year.”

Oliver did a double take at me. “We are?”

“Yes.” I nodded, glancing at him first, then glaring at my brother. There was no way he would call my bluff.

Roger actually chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Did you tell Dad?”

I huffed. “It’s no one else’s business.”

“So, that’s a no.”

I was ready to bare my teeth and go for his throat, protection instinct kicking in, and more than a little sibling annoyance.

“Rach,” Oliver said, slipping a tiny bottle of lavender oil into my hand. “Why don’t you take a walk?”

“I’m not leaving you with him.”

He laughed under his breath and glanced across the table. “I swear not to throw the first punch if he promises the same.”

The first smile in a half hour crossed my brother’s face. “Deal.” He nodded toward the courtyard. “Give us a minute, Rach.”

I glanced back and forth at them; both of their expressions were eerily blank, so I gave up. “Okay.” After coating my pressure points in lavender, I made exactly one loop around the parking lot then returned to the dining room. Neither guy was smiling anymore, but I didn’t notice any blood, either. I took that as a good sign. Oliver was on his feet by the time I got back to the table.

“If I don’t hear from you this week,” Roger said to me, “I’ll see you next Sunday at breakfast.” He nodded at Oliver. “Wentworth.”

“See ya,” Oliver said. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” Rog leaned back in his chair and had his phone out, paying no further attention to us.

“Um, bye,” I said.

Oliver clasped my hand and had to pull me away from the table. “I only wish we could do that every night,” he said the second we were outside the restaurant.

“What happened in there?”

“The president of the student body grilling me, you mean?” He dropped my hand and put an arm around my shoulders as we set off to walk the six blocks to my dorm.

“Was it bad?”

He chuckled. “Not even a little, Rach.”

I scrubbed at one eyelid. “Wow. You’re braver than me.”

He pulled me into his side. My limbs were shaking from leftover adrenaline, but I wasn’t as relieved as I thought I should be. In fact, the whole thing was kind of…disappointing. Had I
wanted
there to be blood? Had I wanted Oliver to throw a punch or demand my hand in marriage? Or had I expected Roger to
order
me to break up with him?

“What a relief,” I said, smiling at him, while gnawing the inside of my cheek. “I was afraid you might cut your losses and head for the nearest sorority house in search of a less complicated girlfriend.”

“Sweet pea, I crave your kind of complication.” He twirled me under his arm then into a hug. He was so damn happy. After he planted a kiss on top of my head, he said, “So, we’re moving in together, huh?”

My heart thudded inside my ribs. I still wasn’t sure why I’d thrown that into the conversation. “Um, if you want to.”

“Hell, yeah. Are you kidding?” He took both my hands and laced his fingers between mine. “This”—he tugged me forward to kiss my forehead—“all day, every day.”

“Yeah,” I said, trying my best to sound as jazzed as him. But a brick sat in my stomach, and a heavy, antsy feeling I couldn’t explain made it hard to breathe.

He draped an arm across my shoulders as we walked. “You’re constantly surprising me, Rach.” In silence, I played with his fingers until we reached my dorm. “Thank you for setting up tonight. It meant a lot to me.”

He sounded really happy, which made me happy that I could do that. The moment we kissed, that brick of dread in my stomach got blasted to bits by an eruption of heat and love, making my knees buckle, making me want to do more than kiss him.
This
…this was what I wanted.
This
was all that mattered. Why couldn’t my head and my heart ever communicate properly when it came to Oliver?

“You’re so sexy when you’re my superhero.” I squeezed him tight. “Wanna sneak up to my room so you can show me who’s boss?”

He exhaled a playful groan into my hair. “I’m dying to, but we can’t get caught again.”

“What about your place?”

“The guys are having a party; there’ll be fifty people over.”

“Okay, then. I’ll drag you into the bushes. It’ll only take six minutes.” I knotted my fingers in the back of his hair and kissed his neck. “Maybe less.”

His body shook with laughter. “You’re so sexy when you’re trying to be hilarious. I love that about you.” He dipped his chin to kiss the spot behind my ear. “Wait until the party’s over at my place and spend the night. I want to watch you sleep.”

“Oliver,” I said, giggling into his warm neck. “You don’t really do that.”

He cupped my face, lightly running his fingertips over my eyelids. “All the time,” he said. “I can tell when you’re dreaming about me.”

I giggled again, a little self-consciously, like he truly did know how often he frequented my REM cycles.

He kissed my eyelids. “When you’re just waking up, too. That might be my favorite moment. It’s what I picture when you’re not right here.” He touched his forehead to mine. “Every night I’m not with you, I can still see you waking up beside me.”

The fluttering in my heart was almost painful, but I felt warmth, followed by an acute sting behind my eyes that wasn’t at all unpleasant. He pressed me against the glass doors that were about to lock me out for the night, kissing me one last time. When we were done, he waved good-bye through the window and turned toward home, leaving me to drift upstairs to my room.

Despite the surprising success of the evening, my subconscious would not allow me to rest. I tossed and turned all night with intense, stormy dreams. There was thunder and rain, earthquakes, and I woke up sweating bullets, my covers kicked to the floor.

The sun had barely risen when a knock sounded at my door. I scrambled out of bed, expecting to see Oliver. But it was Roger, holding two cups from Starbucks.

“Rach.” He extended a cup. “We need to talk.”