In a New York Minute(55)

“Because you said you had a doctor’s appointment.”

I nodded.

“On a Sunday morning.”

“It’s not impossible!” I protested.

“Hayes, I’m a freakin’ doctor. Most of us stay home on Sundays, unless we’re on call.”

I tilted my head back. Maybe staring at the ceiling would save me. I wasn’t sure how to explain this to Perrine, who rarely pushed me on dating but still had a hard time hiding her eagerness for me to “find someone.” The date had been good. Great, even. It’s just that the feeling I’d expected—some uptick in pulse, a quiver of excitement, a deluge of nerves—never happened.

Even just the sight of Franny working on the floor with her earbuds on clawed at something animalistic and raw inside me: the urge to confess all my feelings, to feel the weight of her on top of me, right there on those wood floors. And when that feeling never materialized with Serena, it didn’t feel right to stay.

“So you would have rather I’d slept with someone I’m not entirely into?”

“No! No, I’m definitely not saying that. And I’m not trying to criticize you. Just getting to the bottom of what was going on.”

Freakin’ doctors. Always trying to solve things.

“I guess I just kept thinking about how much I enjoyed having dinner with Franny the other night. And how dinner with Serena wasn’t that.”

Perrine’s eyes morphed into laser beams, narrowed at my head. “You didn’t tell me you had dinner with Franny.”

Wait, hadn’t I?

“Yeah, I did.” I crossed my arms in front of my chest.

Perrine shook her head, clearly pleased that she’d gotten this information out of me.

“We had dinner at the new Arbor office.” I tried to make this sound as if it were no big deal.

“Like a date?” The high pitch to her voice told me that Perrine did indeed think this was a big deal.

“She was working!” Why did I suddenly feel defensive? “You’re the one who set this whole thing up, remember?” I continued. “She’s been dealing with stuff at our office. And I happened to be there and ordering takeout, so I asked her if she wanted some too.”

“Mm-hmm,” Perrine said, raising her eyebrows at me, forever a skeptic. I ignored her and dug back into my salad.

“I’m going with Serena to her gala event on Saturday.” My voice was resigned. “So maybe after that, I should end things.”

“Um, you like someone else. You definitely need to end things.” She said this as if she wanted to also add “you dumbass” but had refrained.

“Even if I did like Franny”—Perrine rolled her eyes at me as I said this—“I’m not even sure she’d be interested in me. I don’t know anything about the type of people she’s dated. They’re probably all, like, graffiti artists or famous musicians.”

She studied me, an amused look on her face. “Just what do you think her type is?”

“I dunno, cool people?” I imagined Franny with skateboarders and artists, punk drummers and moody poets. Free spirits who could keep up with all the magic that flew out of her brain.

“You’re cool,” Perrine said, and then laughed to herself. “I can ask Lola what Franny’s type is. Drop some hints.”

“Oh my god, Perrine, please do not say anything to Lola.” My heart picked up speed, panicked.

“Hayes, you’re a grown man. What are you so afraid of?” she asked.

Everything, I wanted to say.

But instead, I snapped back, “Nothing,” and left it at that.





Chapter Fifteen

Franny



I was supposed to be finalizing the last bit of load-in needs for Arbor’s new office, but instead I was hunched over my laptop, troubleshooting a challenging new client. My mom. Since asking for my help figuring out decorations for the baby shower—excuse me, sprinkle—that she was hosting, she’d invaded my inbox with nonstop one-line emails from her AOL account.

19 people have RSVPed, read one.

I’m renting three round tables—is that enough? read another.

Wait, honey, scratch that—it’s 18 people. Donna just canceled because she needs to go wedding dress shopping with Morgan. xxxooo Mom had arrived in my inbox just minutes ago. I had no idea who Donna even was, much less Morgan, but they’d just screwed up the order I was trying to place for folding chairs, so obviously I hated them now.

Helping her plan a casual afternoon gathering at her home now included sourcing enough tables, chairs, and place settings to rent for twenty people, a tent to cover her backyard, decorations, a cooler, and party favors. What I’d thought would be one quickly pulled-together Pinterest board had morphed into an Excel spreadsheet that took up the whole screen of my laptop, and an entire day on my calendar now reserved for helping my mom throw a party for a woman I didn’t even like. I could think of eight million other things I’d rather be doing on a Sunday.

My email alert let off a ring. Do you think you could run to Costco before the shower to get the cake and drinks? You can take my car.

I had finally had enough of the emails, and picked up the phone. “Mom,” I said when she answered after one ring.