More Than Words(4)

Brent joined Priscilla, and the two of them chatted with Rafael, while Nina flagged down the waitress and ordered herself a Sauvignon Blanc and Rafael a vodka soda, heavy on the soda.

She walked over to some of the other women there, people she knew from the board of the New York City Ballet, which she and Pris both served on.

“When are you going to see the Balanchine?” Maggie Lancer asked, after hugging Nina hello. “I hear it’s just fantastic.”

“Tim and I have tickets next month,” Nina said. “But I heard that Romeo and Juliet this summer is going to be even better. Zachary’s dancing Romeo.”

“Zachary is stunning,” Maggie said. Then over Nina’s shoulder, she saw a couple walk into the room. “Oh, Hayley’s here! I have to talk to her about our dinner plans next weekend.”

As Maggie walked away, Nina cast her eyes back toward Rafael. A small crowd had gathered around him, and they were all laughing at something he’d said. There was no denying his presence, his ability to draw people toward him. But at the same time, it looked to Nina like her friends were treating him as the night’s entertainment. It made her slightly uncomfortable.

She was just about to walk toward him when she felt arms wrap around her and lips on the top of her head. Nina took a deep breath. Redken shampoo. Shea butter soap. Sandalwood shaving cream. Ever since he started shaving, Tim smelled exactly the same, a mixture of those three scents. That was one of the most comforting things about Tim; he was such a creature of habit. Nina could predict what she’d find in his refrigerator on any given day. She could even buy his clothes: Brooks Brothers slim-cut jeans in indigo denim, striped button-downs, V-neck sweaters, and navy blazers where he stuck his spearmint gum—always Eclipse, where you popped the white square through a thin piece of silver foil. There were never any surprises with Tim, and that was so much of what she loved about him.

Nina turned into Tim’s embrace and fit there perfectly, tucked right underneath his chin.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said into her hair.

She tilted her head and rose on her tiptoes to give him a kiss. “Barely late at all,” she said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks.” He squeezed her shoulder with one hand as he waved a waiter over with the other. “Just wine tonight?” he asked her.

Nina shrugged. “Technically I’m working,” she said. “Want to meet my boss?”

“Of course,” he answered. “I’ve heard enough about him.”

Once Tim placed his order and said hello to a few of their friends, she led him toward Rafael, who was now in a conversation with Priscilla and one of Brent’s work friends.

“Tim!” Pris exclaimed as they got closer. She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Rafael,” Nina said. “This is my boyfriend, Tim Calder. Tim, my boss, Rafael O’Connor-Ruiz.”

The two men shook hands.

Pris looked at Nina standing next to Tim and grinned. “I predicted this,” she told Rafael. “Back in high school, I knew the two of them would end up together. It’s just . . . it’s like they were born to be a couple.”

“Oh?” Rafael asked.

“Our fathers were college roommates,” Nina explained, just as Tim said, “We grew up together.”

“And Tim’s dad is the CEO of Nina’s dad’s company,” Priscilla added. “So they’re basically like family already.”

Rafael smiled at them, but it wasn’t his Daily News grin. “It must be nice to be with someone who knows everything about you.”

Nina looked up at Tim. He probably did know everything about her. Or at least as much as one person could ever know about another. She wondered if Rafael’s smile had dimmed because he hadn’t felt that way about his ex-wife.

“Have you met the Lancers yet?” Nina asked him. “They were big donors during the presidential election.”

“Point me their way,” he said, and this time his smile reached across his whole face, though Nina was beginning to realize that there was a difference—small but perceptible: sometimes that smile was genuine, and sometimes it was just for show.

As Nina guided Rafael in the Lancers’ direction, he threw a quick look over his shoulder at Tim.

“Your boyfriend seems nice,” he said to Nina.

“Thanks,” she said. “He is.”



* * *



? ? ?

    Later that night, back at Tim’s place, as Nina was brushing her teeth with the electric toothbrush he had gotten her, she thought about that word: “nice.” It was a perfectly fine way to describe someone—complimentary even—but it was tepid. Flat. That was how Rafael saw Tim. She was surprised by how much it bothered her.





4



New Yorkers in Nina and Tim’s circle brunched on Sundays. It was a citywide tradition. A cultural touchstone. And the Sunday brunch at The Gregory on the Park was legendary. Nina’s grandfather had personally crafted the menu when he opened the hotel in the early 1930s. It was four courses. Decadent. And served with champagne. Tourists knew that if they wanted New York City’s finest afternoon tea, they went to the Palm Court at The Plaza. And if they wanted the finest Sunday brunch, they went to The Grove at The Gregory on the Park.