The Girl He Used to Know(32)

Let it go, Jon.

“This is Annika,” I say.

“What an exotic name,” Brad says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you, too. Jonathan said you were very tall.” I tense because of the other things I’d said, and sometimes when Annika repeats what I tell her, she doesn’t always apply the appropriate edits. I needn’t have worried, as I watch Brad puff himself up another half inch as he shakes Annika’s hand and holds it a beat longer than necessary. He studies her, checking things off an imaginary list, and smiles when she passes the test. She meets his smile with one of her own, and holds his gaze for a few seconds before smoothly looking away.

I take Annika’s arm and lead her to a group of my peers standing next to the makeshift bar that has been set up in the room. Annika handles the introductions like a champ, repeating each man’s name as she clasps their hands, smiles, exchanges small talk about her occupation.

“What can I get you to drink, miss?” the bartender asks.

For a minute, I expect her to ask if they serve Italian sodas, but Annika smiles and says, “Club soda with lime, please.” It’s not that Annika can’t or won’t drink, but she doesn’t really enjoy the way it makes her feel. Now she can sip on the virgin drink and no one will question it.

When the cocktail hour ends, we make our way to our seats at a table for ten. Several of my coworkers and their significant others join us, and Annika handles the introductions with the same ease she demonstrated with Brad.

There’s a subtle stiffness to her posture, and I’m probably the only one who notices the slight pause she takes before she answers their questions, or how diligently she observes the other women and patterns her behavior after theirs. I also notice that a few of the glances thrown her way by the women are meant to scrutinize. The smiles are just a little too wide and calculating, and the first time I’d ever seen one in a corporate setting, it had been on the face of my ex-wife. My coworkers notice her, too, for reasons that are different from their wives. Annika appears confident, as if she attends these kinds of functions regularly and is no longer impressed by them. It gives her a sophisticated edge even though I know that Annika isn’t impressed by this kind of thing and never will be, and therefore isn’t pretending at all.

“I love your dress,” Jim’s wife says, leaning toward Annika to briefly touch the lace.

“Thank you. The lace is very comfortable on my arms because of the fabric underneath. Otherwise I’d never be able to wear it.” Annika says it very matter-of-factly and takes another sip of her club soda and lime.

“Oh, I know what you mean. I had a lace dress once that didn’t, and it was so uncomfortable. I ended up giving it away.” Jim’s wife, Claudia, who is rather quiet and is routinely cold-shouldered by the other, more boisterous wives, has finally found some common ground, and she studies Annika with quiet reverence. Annika’s cool aloofness, which is entirely unintentional, has afforded her the upper hand slightly, and I don’t think she even realizes it. But even if she did, Annika would never capitalize on it to make herself seem more important. It simply would never occur to her.

“You should try silk,” Annika says. “I have a blouse that feels absolutely wonderful against my skin.”

“I will,” Claudia says. “Thanks for the tip.”

The waiters serve two different wine pairings with the meal, and I’m surprised when I see Annika sipping the white. She only drinks half, but she’s eaten a full meal and it doesn’t seem to have affected her. Everyone at the table has consumed enough that I doubt they’re paying attention anyway.

Brad catches me on my way back from the restroom. “I like her,” he says, as if I should care about his opinion on any aspect of my per sonal life. I don’t, and I haven’t forgotten what he said to me when I told him Liz and I were splitting.

“Just remember, there’s no need to bring your personal life to work with you,” he told me, despite the fact that in an attempt to avoid going home to my depressing and empty bachelor apartment, I’d been working more hours than I ever had.

Thanks for being sympathetic to my personal, life-changing event, Brad.

You asshole.

“I like her too,” I say to Brad, hating myself for playing the game. “She’s got so many great qualities.”



* * *



“You were wonderful tonight,” I tell Annika as we leave the hotel and walk hand in hand into the warm, late-August night. She smiles and squeezes my hand.

“I’m glad I didn’t mess anything up for you.”

“Of course you didn’t. Don’t think that way.”

One of the best things about reconnecting with Annika is how natural it feels to be with her. Standing on the sidewalk, I wonder if she remembers how it felt to be in love with me.

I haven’t forgotten how it felt to be in love with her.

As soon as we’re settled in the back of the cab, she snuggles up next to me. Her body relaxes until I can feel her melting into me. She goes limp and falls asleep with her head on my chest. I don’t mind at all, and I hold her until we get home. With my arms around her, she feels like mine again.

It’s only when we’re inside her apartment that I realize the evening—and the performance required of her to endure it—has taken everything she had and there’s simply nothing left.