In a New York Minute(50)

Ah, Marianne, her best friend since high school. They seemed to spend most of their time discussing what their kids were up to. Marianne’s daughter, Ruby, a year younger than me, worked as an RN at the local hospital’s pediatric ward and was pregnant with her second kid. Plus, she and her husband lived ten minutes away from Marianne.

By Mom Measurements, Ruby was always beating me handily. Even as kids, it always felt like we were held up against each other, her very active school sports schedule compared to the time I spent doodling in notebooks. Needless to say, we spent our childhood in very different friend groups and never had much to say to each other when our moms got the families together.

“I’m working on a big office opening right now,” I said, giving her information that would hopefully make her stop worrying. “I’ll send you and Jim pics when it’s all installed.”

“I’d love that,” she said. “Honey, I wanted to see if you had time to help plan Ruby’s baby sprinkle. I’m hosting it, but you know I don’t know the first thing about decorating. I thought maybe you could send me some ideas, make one of those Pinterest things of what I should buy. And then come help me set up at the house. It’s on a Sunday.”

“A sprinkle?” I asked. It sounded like some sort of sex-fetish party.

“Yes, you know, it’s like a baby shower, but for the second kid. A sprinkle.”

I rolled my eyes. The last thing I had time for was putting together a mood board for a baby shower, much less taking the train out to their house for a day spent dragging plastic tables around. But she was my mom, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that letting her down would be worse than saying yes.

“Okay, yeah. Sure,” I said. Saying yes felt like a good way to reset the cosmic balance of me not yet telling her about Anna’s existence.

A text interrupted us, and I glanced at my phone to see what it was. I’m officially in a committed relationship! wrote Lola, followed by a row of shocked-face emojis.

“Mom, that’s a work thing I gotta go answer,” I lied. So much for cosmic balance, I guess.

“Okay, sweetie. Bye.”

Phew. That was easy. Back to Lola. I sent off a row of bright-red exclamation-point emojis. For anyone else, a committed relationship might not have been a big deal. But this was Lola, who had always leaned into her reputation as someone who never settled down, who preferred ending things before they got serious, who couldn’t stand the feeling of being tied down. For her, proudly declaring herself off the market meant something.

Big deal! Cleo responded seconds later. Who knew Fran bumping into a hot weirdo on the subway would get YOU a girlfriend LOL

Without even thinking, I typed out He’s not a weirdo and then let my finger hover over the little blue arrow that would deliver the message to my friends. I tended to avoid conflict; I’d always rather steady the boat than rock it. But something about the phrase “hot weirdo” got under my skin. I mean, sure, he was a little awkward. And, yeah, he wore a tie like 95 percent of the time and refused to eat sugar. But the Hayes I’d gotten to know was also kind and witty, quiet and thoughtful. I liked those things, and I liked them enough to finally hit SEND, conflict be damned.

*



I took the train back into the city on Thursday afternoon to finalize measurements for the window shades we were installing. Hayes and Eleanor had given me an extra set of keys to the office, as well as the alarm code, so I could come and go as needed. Yesterday, I’d been there bright and early with my coffee, to oversee the electrician handling the fixtures and wiring. Finally, I was doing the hands-on work I’d dreamed about, getting to dork out about every step.

“Hello?” I called, even though I knew no one was there, feeling both relieved and disappointed that I wasn’t going to see Hayes today. Inside, the office was lit up by the sun, and the tall palms that had been brought in for the reception area cast lightning-bolt shadows across the floor. Already, the space had the soothing energy of a spa, and my breath immediately settled in my chest. But the quiet was interrupted by the sound of someone walking across the wood floor, and Hayes emerged from his office, in light-gray suit pants with a white collared shirt tucked into them. No tie or jacket to be seen.

“Franny, hi.” He ran a hand through his enviably thick hair.

“Hey,” I said, smoothing the front of my wrinkled overalls. Suddenly, I could feel the sweat on my forehead, smell the body odor coating my armpits. I tucked my hair behind my ear and desperately wished I’d remembered to put on some lip gloss before walking into the building. “I didn’t expect you to be here.”

“Sorry, I had a long day of meetings. I needed to get out of the office,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets and smiling. “My brain was hurting. On top of this new office and the party, we’re figuring out the strategy for opening a West Coast office, in Seattle. Plus all our other work on top of that.”

“So you got out of the office and came to…your office?” I said, teasing him.

He shrugged with a bashful laugh, which was low and husky and hit me in a way that felt like longing, igniting parts of my body that ached to be touched. I stuck my thumb between my teeth and bit it, taking a deep breath. It didn’t help.

“Hey, I get it,” I said, not wanting him to feel self-conscious by my joking around. “When I need to think, I go to the Laundromat down the street from my apartment.”