A Cosmic Kind of Love
Samantha Young
ONE
Hallie
PRESENT DAY
So what stupid thing happened to you today?”
I stumbled on one of the concrete steps that led up to my apartment as my boyfriend’s question echoed off the stairwell walls from the loudspeaker on my phone.
A flush of irritation made itself known in my cheeks even though George’s tone was teasing. “Nothing,” I replied defensively as I continued climbing, trying not to sound out of breath.
I struggled to hold my phone and my oversized purse with one hand while I opened the door with the other.
“Come on.” George chuckled. “Something had to have happened. It’s been almost a week since the last one, so that’s, like, a record.”
“The sandwich doesn’t count.” I huffed, dumping my bag onto my small dining table, which doubled as my office desk.
“Eating something that makes you nauseated to please a client counts.”
So, okay, maybe I ate several salmon-and-cucumber sandwiches at a client meeting even though the slippery, slimy texture of the salmon made me want to vomit. “Please don’t take me back there.” I gagged, but the sound softened into a sigh of pleasure as I kicked off my high heels and flattened the arches of my feet onto my cool hardwood floors.
“You’re telling me you’ve gone a full week without something ridiculous happening?”
Perhaps I was merely exhausted and low on a sense of humor, but sometimes it seemed like George only stuck around because he found me entertaining. And not in a good way.
Biting back hurt feelings, I wondered if my defensiveness was less about feeling tired and more about the fact that something stupid had happened to me today. “Fine.” I cringed. “About thirty minutes ago, I was on the subway and I saw this guy standing across from me who was super familiar, and he kept looking over at me.”
“Right . . .”
The mortifying moment was doubly awkward as I relived it. I squeezed my eyes closed against the memory, gritting my teeth. “Well, have you ever bumped into someone who you know but you can’t place them or remember their name?”
“Yeah, that’s the worst.”
“Exactly. I’m thinking, Oh God, I know this guy, it’s probably from college, but for the life of me I can’t remember his name. When he looks at me again, kind of squinting, I’m thinking, Jesus, he knows me and he thinks I’m so rude for not saying hello. . . . So I just cover my ass and blurt out, ‘Aren’t you going to say hello? It’s been forever; it’s great to see you again.’?”
“And?”
I buried my face in my hands, just moving my fingers from my mouth so George could hear my reply. “He looked at me like I was crazy and said, ‘I’m sorry, we’ve never met before. I have no idea who you are.’ Well, I couldn’t explain to him who I was because I couldn’t remember who he was, so we just stood there trying to avoid each other’s eyes for the next ten minutes, and just as I got off the subway . . . I remembered where I knew him from.”
“Where?”
My cheeks almost blistered my fingers with the heat of my embarrassment. “It was Joe Ashley, the news anchor, whom I have never met before but do watch regularly on TV.”
There was a moment of silence, and then the sounds of choked laughter came from my phone. George was laughing so hard a reluctant smile curled the corners of my mouth.
“Oh man, oh babe, I’m sorry.” George hee-hawed. “I don’t mean to . . . but that’s hilarious.”
“I aim to entertain,” I said dryly, switching on my coffee machine.
“Only you,” he snorted. “These things only happen to you.”
It certainly felt that way sometimes. I attempted to change the subject back to the reason I’d called him. “Are we still on for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Uh, yeah . . . but I was thinking you could come here and I could cook.”
A romantic dinner at his place? My earlier annoyance fled the building. How sweet. How unlike him. It was our three-month “anniversary” next week. Maybe he wanted to commemorate it. I grinned, my mood lifting. “That sounds great. What time? Should I bring anything?”
“Uh, six thirty. And just yourself.”
Six thirty was early for dinner. Why so early? I frowned. “I don’t know if I’ll have finished work by then.”
George snorted again. “Babe, you’re not a heart surgeon. You plan parties, for Pete’s sake. I’m pretty sure if I can be here by six thirty, you can.”
I sucked in a breath as his words ignited my anger and the urge to tell him to go screw himself . . . but that infuriating piece of me that hated confrontation squeezed its fist around my throat.
“Hallie, you still there?”
“Yes,” I bit out. “I’ll try to be there at six thirty.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you at seven thirty,” he cracked. “Night, babe.”
My apartment grew silent as George hung up and I stared at my phone, taking a couple of deep breaths to cool my annoyance. Lately, my boyfriend had gotten more and more patronizing. I wanted to believe he had the best intentions and that he was only teasing. But if he didn’t have the best intentions and he was just kind of . . . well . . . an asshole . . . then I’d have to break up with him.