Surprise Delivery(27)

“Yeah, so what are you doing these days?” he asks.

Other than fending off sexual predators each and every day while working a menial job that’s slowly sucking the life out of me?

“Oh, I’m working at a law firm these days,” I say.

“A law firm. Wow,” he replies. “And here I thought you’d be a nurse practitioner by now.”

Yeah, me too. The thought is bitter and resentful, so I push it away, not wanting to give in to that kind of bleak despair. I’ve got enough crap swirling through my head and don’t really need to start feeling sorry for myself on top of it. Well – feeling sorrier for myself, anyway.

“Yeah, it’s not too bad,” I say, intentionally keeping things vague, not wanting to admit that I’m a lowly secretary. “So, how do you like being a pharmacist?”

“It’s not too bad, really. It’s not as exciting as being a nurse, of course,” he says. “But I think it’s the right job for me. I think I’m where I need to be.”

“That’s terrific, Brad. I’m really happy for you.”

“Yeah, things are going well,” he continues. “Listen, we should catch up sometime.”

It’s moments like these, that I wish I had the ability to teleport myself somewhere else. Anywhere else. Brad’s a nice guy, but we have almost nothing in common and there just wasn’t that spark the last time we dated. At least, not for me.

“As friends,” he quickly adds. “I mean, just go get some coffee and catch up or something.”

I’ve never been good at letting people down. Sometimes, I wish I could be that cold, heartless bitch who’d laugh in his face and walk away. But, that’s just not me. I’m sometimes too nice for my own good – especially when they’re standing there looking at me like a lost puppy dog like Brad is currently doing. It’d certainly make a lot of things in my life a lot easier. Or, at least, a lot more tolerable.

“Yeah,” I say, trying to be as non-committal as possible. “That’d be great.”

“Great,” he says excitedly, as if he really had expected me to laugh in his face and walk away. “I’d really like that.”

“Yeah, me too,” I tell him. “Listen, I should probably get going. I’ve got a lot to do –”

“Oh, sure, sure,” he says. “I get that. Can I just get your number?”

Damn. I was hoping that in his excitement, he’d overlook that. Apparently, luck is not on my side today. But then, is it ever really? Obviously never, since in a borough of a million and a half people, me and a guy I’d rather not see go to the same damn deli.

“Oh right, what was I thinking?” I say and laugh. “Sorry, a thousand things going on in my head today.”

Brad takes his phone out and keys in my name, then looks at me expectantly. The idea of giving him a fake number crosses my mind, but with my luck, I’d run into him again and things would be incredibly awkward. I’d probably have to stop going to Monty’s altogether to avoid the off chance of him being there at the same time I am again. I almost feel like I have no choice but to give him my number just so I can keep eating at Monty’s.

Maybe I’m being paranoid again. Or maybe I really am a cold-hearted bitch. It’s possible that he really means it when he says he wants to get together and talk, just as friends. For all I know, he’s involved with somebody. Hell, for all I know, he could be married right now.

Even though we didn’t click on a romantic level, he and I used to have some pretty good conversations. He’s odd and quirky, but we do both enjoy a few common things – books and movies, mostly. Things like that. So maybe I’m jumping the gun with my assumptions and should throttle it back a little. After all, you can never have too many friends, right?

“Awesome,” he says as he finishes with his phone, then looks up at me. “It was really nice to see you again, Lexi. I’m looking forward to getting together.”

Something about the way he says that sets me on edge and casts doubt on my hope that he’s talking about getting together, ‘as friends’, like he claims he wants to. It’s nothing quantifiable, but there’s a tone in his voice and a gleam in his eye that makes me throw my guard up even higher than it usually is. A wan smile touches my lips.

“Anyway, it was good seeing you too, but I really need to get going,” I tell him.

“Oh, of course,” he says. “I’ll call you.”

I nod and turn away, walking quickly away from Brad. I’m really hoping I don’t come to regret giving him my number – though, something inside of me is telling me that I absolutely will.





“You look like you’ve got a lot on your mind, sweetheart,” Ida says.

I shrug and set the plates the guests have left on the table into the tubs on my cart. Ida is an older black woman. Her hair is shot through with gray and she has rich brown eyes – eyes that look so tired. They look like the eyes of a woman who’s seen far too much and is exhausted because of it. But her face is smooth and unblemished. She has a quiet strength and conviction about her I find inspirational.

Even in her situation – homeless herself for a few years after fleeing her abusive ex-husband, and even now only barely scraping by on Social Security – Ida has remained a charming, sweet woman with a heart the size of her native Texas. The woman, no matter how hard her circumstances – and they are very hard – never bemoans that situation. She’s never asked, ‘why me?’ or groused about her circumstances.