When I See You (16 page)

I feel like I'm a college freshman being sent off for first semester. Don't do this. Don't do that. Have fun. Have sex, but only if it feels right. Or, better yet, because you''re liberated. Don't wait. Don't think. Just do it.

Her strange speech from minutes ago reverberates with me like a meditation mantra as I make my way to the waiting room door. A memory of Liz and Ashleigh's fantastic dating line-up while they were at USC comes back to me. I smile wider, turn back, and wave at her. Liz gives me the thumbs-up as I leave.

Once outside, I'm engulfed in the late summer heat of L.A. I check my watch and begin the race against time and traffic in getting to Rivera where I'm meeting Ashleigh for dinner. Max has a baby-sitter, who has already assured me she'll have him in bed on time.

Incongruent thoughts flash at me as I make my way to the parking garage.
Sex. Brock Wainwright. Ethan.
The words reach at me one at a time with every step I take.
Don't wait. Don't think. Just do it.

≈ ≈

"Sorry, sorry. God, it's been the worst day." Ashleigh sidles up beside me at the bar at Rivera.

I give her a sideways glance. "The worst?"

"Well, relative to what
normal
people experience, Jordan, yes," she says. "Sorry. I know how you hate to wait, and well, we probably should have picked a different place."

"No, it's fine. Peter's already been by to say hello and offer me employment again."

"He did? Wow, that would be fabulous. We could get a place together and be right in the center of L.A. again. Perfect."

"Slow down, Ash. What about Le Reve? Louis? Your teaching job? I thought you loved Malibu." I brush my hand across my eyes. "I can't even begin to think about that right now. I've got Max to think of, and Louis has been so good to me."

I glance over at her and detect her disappointment. "You don't have to stay with me, you know. I'm fine.
Really.
"

"Sure you are," she says with detectable sarcasm. "I just think a change might be good for you. For me. For us."

Then, she gets this miserable look and her eyes fill with tears. I'm shocked. Ashleigh doesn't cry. Neither of us are criers.

Well, I used to be that way. Now, I seem to be crying in secret all the time.

"You broke up with Michael," I say intuitively.

She plays with the menu, effectively hiding from me. "Yes," she says in a weepy voice.

"What happened?"

"We wanted different things." Ashleigh looks away toward the darkened window of the restaurant. I swear I see her swipe away at a tear.

"What kind of
things
? I thought you guys were perfect for each other. You're both afraid of commitment," I say with a wan smile. "I
like
Michael. He's good for you."

"He is good for me," she says with a grimace. "But he wanted more. He wanted to be exclusive."

"The cardinal sin."

"Exactly! Why did he have to go and ruin everything by asking me?"

"Asking you what?"

She doesn't answer. Instead, she opens her purse and carefully unwraps a flashy diamond ring from white tissue paper.

"He proposed? Oh, Ash. And you turned him down?"

"He told me to think about it and that we'd take a break for a few weeks, while he's filming in London, but he wants me to wear the ring. You know I won't do that."

She looks so sad. I squeeze her hand and take the ring from her and hold it up to the light. It sparkles from every angle.

"Maybe, you should give it a try. It's beautiful."

"No." With a heavy sigh, she leans back in the bar chair. "The thing is I
really
like him," she says with a little laugh.

"And that's a bad thing?"

"He thinks he really loves me." She turns her head and stares across the room, garnering a few interested glances from the male patrons at the other end of the bar and nods in their general direction. "But I don't even know what it's like to be in love," she says, looking back at me.

I struggle to concentrate on Ashleigh as a distant memory of Brock Wainwright returns. "I was engaged once. It didn't work out," he'd said. Now I wonder what he meant by
it didn't work out
.

"Where are you?" Ashleigh asks. "I'm pouring my heart out here and you're not even listening."

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"I said I want to be in love like that. I do. But, I'm not."

"You don't want to be in love. Look what happens when you love them? They leave," I say softly. "And, they never come back."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking. I didn't mean to make you feel bad. Listen to me go on. I'm fine. I'm okay. Michael and I—we just want different things. I want fun and carefree. Michael wants all the other stuff."

"You just said you want to be in love," I say, exasperated. I get up from the table. "I'm going to call and check on Max. I'll be right back."

"Jordan, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I wasn't thinking. I'm just all mixed up about everything."

I shrug and sit back down with a heavy sigh. "You say you don't know what you want. But what you are is scared." She looks at me in surprise. "Scared of being in love."

"How did you know? With Ethan?" Ashleigh finally asks.

I close my eyes, remembering. When I open them, Ashleigh is staring at me, waiting for my answer. I take a deep breath.

"See that table right there?" I extend my hand over to our left. "That's where we met. I came racing out of the kitchen, demanding to know which jerk it was that kept sending his food back. Ethan raised his hand. God, I don't even think I got to sit down before I knew he was the one."

I look at Ashleigh and smile, remembering the first time I saw Ethan. "Wait for him, for the one. When the right guy comes along, you'll know. You'll just know. And, even with all the heartbreak, it's worth it," I say gently. "Because he gave me so much in return."

I stand up again, pretend to toss my hair and covertly swipe at my face. A few of the guys from the bar seem to notice.

"Maybe, you need this trip to Austin to figure things out for yourself. You know. Take a break from it all." I sweep up my purse. "Right now, I just want to check on Max. We'll be out a little late and he'll be asleep soon." I glance at my watch and start to back away from the table.

"You need the break, too," Ashleigh says. "You're the one that needs to figure things out. I mean, it's been almost six months and I worry about you. I know you have Max, but what are you going to do? I think you need a change. You're just wallowing in things out in Malibu."

I study her face for a moment. "I'll be right back."

"Fine. Check on Max, but we're not finished talking about this," she says, giving me this determined look.

≈ ≈

Ashleigh has decided to make it her mission to sell me hard on the merits of living in Los Angeles again. Her face is flushed. She attracts even more interested looks from the male patrons at the bar as we pass and the hostess seats us at a table for dinner. It isn't long before the waiter comes by with two complimentary glasses of wine for both of us from one of them.

Ashleigh seems bored by the attention. She just sits there and looks amazing in her red silk blouse and her white linen pants. Only Ashleigh can wear linen without a single wrinkle. I pull subconsciously at my conservative navy sweater dress that swims on me. I've been working long hours and running too much. Liz lectured me about that, too.

"I'll think about it," I say. "But, I really don't want to have this conversation right now. I know I need to contemplate making some changes.
Maybe.
But, not tonight. I saw Liz today. She said to tell you hi."

"I bet she told you that sex would be good for you." Ashleigh laughs.

"How did you
know
that?" I ask. "She wouldn't let up about it. I got a shot of Depo-Provera just to get her off my back."

"Because Liz thinks sex is good for a lot of things," Ashleigh says with a giggle.

"I wish I could let go of all these social mores and feel like that. It would be liberating."

"Yeah, sex with Michael was supposed to be with no strings attached and look where we are." Ashleigh gets this serious look. "Did you tell her about the miscarriage?"

"I didn't even tell you; did I?"

"Not outright, but you mentioned something before his funeral about missing your period and writing to him about it." She gives me this once-over-intense-Liz-Cantor-look. "I thought you'd want to talk about it, at some point. I knew Liz would eventually talk to you about it. I'm so sorry. I tried to be there for you."

"It was early. I was barely pregnant. Six weeks, at the most."

"Yeah, but you'd just lost Ethan. Louis is right. You can't keep going along like everything is fine and nothing has changed." She gets this decisive look. "And, I'm with Liz; sex would be good for you."

I toy with my wine glass and try to ignore her words. I shake my head.

"This is
Liz
we're talking about. This advice comes from a woman who has dated the
same guy
for five years and refuses to talk about marriage with him or the two of us." I flip my hand in the air in frustration. "And then, there's you. You refuse to consider a heartfelt proposal from a truly sensational guy? By all means, let's worry about whether Jordan is getting
any
."

I glare at her. She starts to laugh.

"Come on," I say in a pleading voice. "Let's talk about Michael."

"No. Let's talk about Brock," she counters.

"What about him?" I flush as she scrutinizes me closely. "You and Liz."

"What did Liz say?"

I sigh. "When she told me that sex would be good for me, I told her I had no intention of having sex with Brock Wainwright. She said it didn't have to be Brock; any cowboy would do." I make a face.

"It would be good for you. I've been telling you that for
weeks
. You should have taken an interest in Damon."

I roll my eyes at her. A few weeks ago, I made the mistake of agreeing to see a movie with Ashleigh, only to be set up on a blind date with one of Michael's friends, Damon something or other.

"He took one look at me and my kid, but was too polite to run the other way right then," I say with a grimace.

"Damon liked you. Loved you, in fact. He just asked about you the other day when I saw him at Michael's place." She shakes her head side-to-side and then looks at me more closely. "Let's not get sidetracked talking about Damon. Let's talk about Brock. He asked about you. In Malibu, while he was with me? All the time, asking questions
about you
."

"Like what?" I gulp my wine and look away from her.

"Different stuff. What you were like in high school, at USC. How you met Ethan. What you did when he was gone." I look at her in surprise and she starts to smile. "Don't worry; I told him you barely went out and that you spent all your time at the restaurant or with Max."

"You make it sound like I have no life at all," I say, deflated.

"Of course, you have a life," she says. "Look, I just find it curious that he asked so much about you. Before, all of this." She sweeps her hand across the room and gets this thoughtful look.

"I mean there were never really any sparks between us, besides the sex," she says with her usual candor. "Maybe, he had a thing for you all along."

I take another sip of my wine. "Do I want to hear this?" I finally ask.

"I think you should. Things are different now."

"How are they different?" I ask with growing irritation.

"You're single. He's single. I'm practically engaged." Ashleigh holds up her left hand. She slipped Michael's ring on during dinner.

"Your ability to twist things around is stunning. I don't consider myself single." I twist my wedding ring and glare at her. "Why are we talking about Brock?" I shake my head in disgust. "You and Liz."

"She's right. Sex would be
good
for you."

"No. There's nothing to talk about."

"I think there is." Ashleigh takes a sip of her Chardonnay and then toys with her drink napkin. "I've moved on. I'm seeing Michael,
have been
seeing Michael. I'm wearing his ring." She holds up her hand to the light and gazes at the brilliant diamond again. "Brock's not interested in me. I think he's interested in
you
."

"His mother is the one who told me what had happened to him." I get this unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach. "Maybe, he didn't even want me to know he's blind. But, why wouldn't he want me to know?" I remember his uncanny ability to read me. I shiver and discover Ashleigh giving me this weird look. "I mean I'm sure it's difficult for him," I say. "He was so active. It must be incredibly hard on him."