Sometime Soon (28 page)

The office is quiet as I get
settled at my desk and boot up my computer. I check my personal email after
skimming my work emails and see that I have a message from Karthik. My heart
immediately starts to race. I click it open only to see a brief note asking me
to call him. I write down the number, grab my purse, go downstairs and outside
to the sidewalk. He picks up on the second ring.

“We’re ready to make you an offer,”
he tells me.

“Really?”

“So, you’re interested?” he asks.

“I am,” I reply, purposely calming
down. Sounding too eager wouldn’t be good.

“I know you put down what you’re
currently making on the job application, and we’ve got your references. You’ve
been made aware of the benefits?”
“Yes.”

“Good. We can bring you in here
with a three percent bump in your salary. How would that be?”

 “Well,” I begin, trying to
play it cool, “BTS hasn’t given me a raise in some time. I think I’m very
underpaid right now. I would really need to be making more money.” I take a
breath.

 “Well, here’s what we’re
prepared to do.” Then he adds about twelve grand to amount we started at.

“That’s as far as they’ll go?” I
ask calmly, even though I’m thrilled.

“Yes,” he says. “Don’t forget,
there will be a stock package, too.”

“That could work for me then,” I
answer evenly in spite of my accelerating heart rate.

“If we can get the written offer to
you by the end of this week, you could give your notice by Friday and start
here two weeks later.”

“Thank you Karthik,” I tell him
sincerely. “This is a great opportunity, and I really appreciate it.”

“You’ve earned it,” he replies.
  

Rather than going back to my desk I
call Mom, and then I call Laura, and I give them both the news. Then I catch my
dad on the golf course, and I tell him, too. After swearing about hitting a
slice into trees, he tells me he’s proud of me.

I’m giddy now as the horrible
feelings of the previous evening are almost completely erased by today’s
events. I still feel too restless with excitement to go back to my desk, and I
consider calling Bryn to meet me at Starbucks. But then I think of Mike and his
new living arrangement, and I know I don’t want to discuss that with Bryn
today.

It’s a bright, crisp fall
afternoon, and I decide to take a walk. I stroll through the park, past the
mall, and over to the river. It’s too early for the leaves to be changing, but
it isn’t too early for the college students to invade Cambridge. Crew teams are
practicing on the Charles River, and I listen to the calls and watched their
oars slice through the calm water.

My professional life is going
gangbusters, and my personal life is going nowhere. But this is pretty much the
status quo for me. And maybe there’s nothing wrong with that. I just have to
learn to be satisfied with what I have. Maybe the universe is telling me
something. Not everyone is meant to be married. The effort I put into my career
is paying off nicely, but that same effort, when applied to my personal relationships,
has produced absolutely nothing. Well, maybe not nothing. I hope I’m learning
from my experiences. But what am I learning? That I don’t want to date ever
again? Perhaps that isn’t the best lesson to take away here. I know that Laura
wants me to learn to be less critical, but I don’t think I am too critical. I
can’t settle for someone who doesn’t treat me well. I can’t compromise on
respect and honesty. If the right person ever does come along, I hope I’ll
recognize him, and he’ll recognize me, and all the other stuff will just fall
into place.

As I watch the college students
grunt and pull on their oars, I think how they have their whole lives ahead of
them, with all the possibilities. In a way, I envy them, but I also know that I
don’t want to go back to that stage of my life. I’m in a good place now. I’ve
accomplished a great deal in the last decade or so. I can be satisfied with
that, even if those around me cannot.

When the doorbell rings just after seven
that night, I’m startled. I’m not expecting anyone. Tiger, the brave little guy
that he isn’t, leaps off my lap and dashes upstairs. I’ve just finished a
dinner of potato chips and soda since I was too keyed up from my day to
remember that I have no food in my house. Since I haven’t invited anyone over,
it has to be either someone trying to sell me something or a neighbor wanting
to borrow something. I don’t often speak to my neighbors. All the people in my
development work all day and then keep to themselves in the evenings and on
weekends, but when I do interact with them, I’m generally sorry. I’m still
waiting for my air pump and my hammer to be returned.

I couldn’t be more surprised when I
pull open the door and see Wes standing there. His dark shock of hair is gelled
up, sticking in various directions, and his long skinny arms hang limply by his
side. He slouches on my doorstep, dressed in an olive sweatshirt and jeans,
regarding me with wary eyes. He has a heavy duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
“Is Ryan here?” he asks.

I’m so shocked to see him it takes
a minute to register the question and answer it. “No,” I reply, wondering why
in the world he’s looking for Ryan here.

His disappointment is immediate,
and he seems to sink into himself, slouching even more if that’s possible.

“Okay. Sorry to bother you,” he
mumbles, starting to move away.

“Hold on.” I step outside. He
stands in a half turn, waiting for me to say something. I glance over his head,
trying to see if there is a car in the driveway or anyone else here with him. I
spot neither. “Why are you looking for Ryan here?”

“You’re his girlfriend, right? He’s
not at home, so I thought he might be here.”

“No, actually. I’m not his
girlfriend. I haven’t talked to Ryan in awhile.”

He smirks, chuckling softly, and
shakes his head. “Figures.”

I’m taken aback by his response.
“Did you try calling him?”

“Yeah. That did occur to me before
I took two buses and a train to get here.”

I narrow my eyes at him, but don’t
comment on his sarcasm. “Was Ryan expecting you?”

“Yeah.  He probably just
forgot or something. He’d forget his head if it wasn’t attached to his neck.”

I take stock of the duffle bag and
his haggard, pale complexion. “Do you want to come in? You could try calling
him again from here.”

He peers past me through the open
door behind me, and seems to be deciding. After a few silent beats, he answers,
“Well, maybe just for a minute.” Then he follows me inside, his duffle bag
scraping against the doorframe as he passes through it. “You have a cat,” he
says.

Sure enough, there’s Tiger sitting
on the bottom step staring up at us. “His name is Tiger.”

Wes smiles. “He actually does look
like a miniature Tiger.”

I lead Wes into the kitchen where
he drops his bag on the floor and looks around. My kitchen is pitiful. I have
absolutely no food to offer him unless he’s interested in butter and ketchup.
“Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks. Maybe I could just use
your phone. My battery is nearly dead.” He motions to the cell phone in his
hand.

“Help yourself.”

 Despite his refusal, I take a
glass down from the cabinet and fill it with water as he picks up the phone and
dials. After a bit, he hangs up. “Still not answering,” he states flatly.

“Did you try his office?”

The expression he gives me says
Do
I look like an idiot?,
which I take to mean that he has tried Ryan’s
office.

“Why didn’t you leave him a
message?” I ask.

“I’ve already left like four
messages.”

I sit down at the kitchen table and
motion for him to take the other chair. I place the glass of water he didn’t
want there. Reluctantly he sits down, glances at me, and then greedily drinks
the entire glass. Trying not to smile, I stand and refill it. After he takes a
few gulps again, I wait until I have his attention and ask, “What’s going on?”

His eyebrows shoot up. “What do you
mean?”

“Don’t you have school? What are
you doing up here visiting Ryan?”

“I’m on a break,” he explains.

“A break? It’s September. School
just started, and you’re already on a break?”

He nods, his eyes traveling around the
room--not meeting mine.

The irony here does not escape me.
The last time I saw his brother I’d implied he was lying to me, and now here I
am doing the same thing to Wes. Just then his stomach rumbles, loudly. His
embarrassed eyes clash with mine as he self-consciously folds his arms across
his chest.

“You’re hungry,” I state, taking a
mental inventory of what I might have to feed him.

“I’m fine,” he says, looking down
at his still silent phone.

I realize that I can either take
him to a restaurant or let him sit in my kitchen and starve while we wait for
his brother to call him back. The fact is, I’m still pretty hungry
myself. 

“I know a great place that serves
breakfast all day. You interested?” I find myself asking.

He thinks for a moment. Then he hesitantly
says, “I should really get going.”

“I could drive you wherever you
want afterwards.”

Wes unfolds his arms and places his
hands on the tops of his thighs. I notice his hands are similar to Ryan’s, with
long tapered fingers and veins, raised like a relief map, networked under his
skin. “Come on,” I announce as I stand. “I happen to be starving.”

Not having a choice, which I really
don’t think he wants anyway, he picks up his bag and follows me out to my car.

The Waffle House is located a few
minutes away, just off the highway. The salty smell of bacon fills the car as
we pull into the parking lot. It’s just after dusk now, nearly fully dark as we
walk across the half empty parking lot into the restaurant. The ride over was
mostly silent with the radio providing the only sounds. Once we are seated
across from each other in an orange pleather booth, I utter my first words
since leaving the house. “The waffles are really good here. They serve them
with fruit on top.”

Wes stares at the menu. Color
photographs of waffles and eggs are splashed across it. I think I can hear his
stomach rumble again as the waitress approaches.

I order waffles with apple topping,
coffee, and a side order of bacon. The bacon aroma is too strong to resist. Wes
orders waffles with strawberry topping and a chocolate shake.

“Not exactly health food,” Wes
comments once the waitress leaves.

“Not exactly dinner either. More
like dessert,” I smile. “I’m going to the ladies’ room. I’ll be right back.”

Once I’m inside the bathroom, I
pull out my cell phone and search my history of received calls for Ryan’s
number. When I locate it, I hit the Send button and I am not surprised to get
his voicemail. I take a nervous breath before speaking. “Ryan, this is Andrea
Whitman. Wes showed up at my place looking for you about an hour ago. He said
he went to your place first and you weren’t there, so he took the train to my
house. He has what looks like an overnight bag with him, and he says that
you’re expecting him. So, I’m wondering why you’re not home and if you are
actually expecting him. Anyway, we’re out getting a bite to eat right now. I
get the feeling something is not right here. If neither Wes nor I hear from
you, I plan to have him stay at my place. I’ll also try to make him call his
parents because they’re probably worried about him. Anyway, we’ll hopefully
hear from you soon.”

I end the call, hoping I didn’t
ramble too much and that I sounded less flustered than I feel at having to
speak to him again. If Wes has actually run away from home, I hope I’m handling
this okay. During that day we spent together on the beach, the concern and
compassion Ryan had for his brother was obvious. I find it hard to believe he
could forget his brother was coming to visit him. I really have no idea what
the situation actually is here.

When I get back to the table my
coffee has arrived, and Wes’s milkshake--an overflowing glass of melting
chocolate ice cream--sits in a puddle before him. He’s examining it, wondering
exactly how to approach it, when I sit down across from him. I ‘m relieved that
he didn’t slip away while I was gone.

“Looks good,” I comment.

He scowls at it. Then he picks up a
spoon and takes a scoop from the top. “So what happened with you guys?” he asks
after swallowing his first spoonful.

My coffee cup pauses on the way to
my lips. “What do you mean?”

He smirks at me. “You know what I
mean.”

Playing dumb isn’t going to work.
“You mean your brother and I?” I sip the coffee, needing the jolt of caffeine.

“Yeah,” he replies, engrossed in
the chocolate shake that’s now quickly disappearing.

“Nothing.” I shrug. I’m not going
to share the details with him. “We only went out a few times.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“No, that wasn’t it.”

“He didn’t like you then?”

“I don’t know, Wes. It just didn’t work
out.” I sip my coffee uncomfortably, wanting a change in subject.

“I bet he screwed it up.” His eyes
meet mine over his milkshake.

I put my cup down. “Why would you
say that?”

Wes shrugs. “He’s this big
muck-a-muck at his new company. He’s a total brainiac. He works all the time.
He’s always being sent around to talk to the money people and the customers. He
was probably too busy for you, right?”

“Actually, no.” I knew he was busy,
but I never got the feeling he was too busy for me. And I had no idea he was a
big muck-a-muck.

Wes thinks this over. “He
is
a total geek. Maybe you’re not into computer nerds.”

I laugh. “Practically everyone I
know is a computer nerd. That wasn’t a problem.”