Imaginary Lines (4 page)

She looked down at her low-fat, whites-only omelet, and then straight back at me, nodding and putting her fork down. “There’s a speed-dating thing in two weeks.”

I dismissed that out of hand. “I’m not doing speed-dating.”

“Yes, you are. Look, it’s for twenty-one—to twenty-nine-year-olds, so it’s not creepy or anything. It’s hosted by my temple.”

I stared at her in absolute disbelief, and then shook my head. “I am not doing Jewish speed-dating.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Come on, Tam. I’m just worried about you. We all are.”

That raised my hackles. I liked Shoshi, but God, she could be patronizing, especially for someone all of twenty-eight months older than me. “Who’s we?”

“My mom, your mom, me.” She went on, flippant as though we were discussing weather. “You’ve never had a boyfriend before. That’s weird.”

I
had
had boyfriends before. Sort of. Well, almost. Fine, not during high school, as it was possible I was a little too hung up on Abe. But in college. Well, at least there was that boy in astronomy whom I spent all my time with for a semester, and everyone assumed we were a thing, even though we never actually kissed. I didn’t know why that never worked out. And then there was Alan Kim, the French horn player that I drunk made-out with at the beginning of junior year, and then continued to drunk make-out with for several months. And I couldn’t forget Patrick, the guy I’d been somewhat hooking up with this last summer, after we’d both ended up teaching SAT prep courses.

Though neither of us had been all that broken up when I got the
Sports Today
job. Patrick was like, cool, have fun, and I was like, yup. It was actually a bit of a relief to get away from his squirming tongue, though his hands definitely knew what they were doing.

So, okay, fine, maybe I hadn’t
technically
ever had a boyfriend. So what? “It’s not weird.”

“Yeah, it is.” She hesitated. “You’re not still hung up on that football player?”

I swallowed the last of my water and slammed my glass down. “Can’t I just have
not have had
a boyfriend yet? It doesn’t have to mean anything. Or you know what? It actually does. It’s mean I’m pretty damn comfortable in my own skin, and I know exactly who I am. And until I meet a guy who’s just as comfortable with himself, I’m really not interested.”

She stared at me, and then burst into laughter. After a stunned second, I joined her, and folded my head over to rest on my folded arms.

Shoshi rubbed the back of my head. “Don’t worry, Tam. You’re twenty-three years old, you have an income and you live in the center of everything. Trust me. This is going to be the best year of your life.”

* * *

The thing was, I knew people thought like Shoshi.

About me not dating, about me being hung up on Abraham, about everything.

After a lazy dinner in front of Hulu, the airport people brought my lost luggage by, and I started unpacking. I found places for my miscellaneous books and papers. I’d also brought prints that I theoretically wanted to frame and hang, but for now I stuck them to the walls with white tacky clay. And Ellie the Elephant, of course, got her own place on top of my cheap wardrobe, where she could survey her new domain without interference.

Mom called around eight, and I put her on Skype so I could keep moving around the room. She wanted to know all about my flight and apartment, so I gave her the full flood of details, including what family gossip I’d gleamed from Shoshi.

“And what about Abe?” she said near the end. “Have you talked to him yet?”

I moved out of the camera’s sight while I rolled my eyes. “Mom, I’m sure I’ll see him at some point, but I just got here.”

“I know, but he
plays football.
I don’t understand why you don’t want to see him when he could help you with your job.”

“Mom, I’m not going to use my childhood friend as a leg up at work. That’s weird.”

Mom sounded long-suffering. “That’s networking, Tamar. That’s how people make connections.”

Even so.

When I stepped out into the living room a few minutes later, a girl sat on the sofa with a computer in her lap. She had dark hair and skin halfway in between mine and Lucy’s. I lifted my hand, and then felt silly for waving inside our own apartment. “Hi. I’m Tamar.”

She looked up. “Oh, hi, I’m Sabeen. Nice to meet you.”

I gingerly sat on the edge of a chair. “So how long have you been living here?”

Her eyes flew up. “In America?”

I shrugged, embarrassed she thought I’d call her out on her accent after eight words, but curious nonetheless. “I actually meant in this apartment, but yeah, both I guess.”

She smiled a little. “Two months in the apartment. Four months in the States.”

“Cool. What for?”

“For a job. I’m an engineer.”

I must have looked surprised, which made me hate myself a little bit, because she laughed and said, “Yes, that’s right. I studied at the University of Baghdad. College of Sciences for Women.”

“Wow. And you just decided to move over here? Your job got you a visa?”

She grinned, lightning fast. “I’m still working on that. This country makes it a pain in the ass to get a visa, you know?”

I laughed, even though that seemed kind of awful. “So where do you work?”

“Downtown on the Elseneer Project.”

I nodded, and then shook my head. “I have no idea what that is.”

She laughed. It was light and soft and likeable. “Here, I’ll show you.”

She did, for an hour. I liked Sabeen, who seemed artsier than Jaz and less busy than Lucy, whom I’d met briefly this morning as she ran out of the apartment to rehearse for a show she apparently wasn’t even being paid for.

But Sabeen went out in the evening, and Lucy and Jaz were gone too, so on my second night in the city I found myself alone in the apartment. It should have been relaxing, but instead it uncovered a wellspring of restlessness, and I was suffocated by the intolerable loneliness of a night in the city with no one to see and nothing to do. The cat was back, curled on my chest and making it hard to think. My stomach buzzed with the anxiety of nothing, and my brain refused to focus. Everyone in the world had to be out there, partying until the sun came up, and I was alone and friendless and pathetic.

I paced around the apartment and tried to distract myself with videos, but really, more than anything, I wanted to be out in the city, carried along by the autumn wind like leaves tumbling in a gale.

I wanted
magic.

My phone buzzed.

Halfway across the living room, I stilled. The screen of my cell had lit up, and as I stared at it I imagined it contained all the answers of the universe, that that text could be my entrance into a secret society, my invitation to Hogwarts.

I shook my head. I was being silly. It was probably Mom again.

Crossing the room with sure steps, I picked it up. When I saw the name lit across the screen, a name I hadn’t seen there in four years, my feet started to tingle.

Abraham
.

My mom told me you’d moved to the city.
We should grab drinks sometime.

Heat and then ice swept through me, leaving me short of breath.

The last time I’d seen Abraham Krasner, we hadn’t even been old enough to legally drink.

I sat on the edge of the sofa. His
mom
told him? Well, of course Sharon did. But why did he tell me that? Thoroughness? To make it clear it wasn’t his own idea? None of the above?

I had imagined running into Abe thousands of times since I last saw him, and those daydreams had veered from inducing jealousy to inducing passion. But that ship had sailed. I had sailed, on to greener pastures, or bluer waters, or wherever ships went to catch the other fish in the sea. We were friends—merely acquaintances now—and we should meet up to make our mothers happy.

Yeah
,
that sounds good!
I paused, and then deleted the exclamation point.
I’m busy through the week but could do something Friday or Saturday.

I pressed Send.

Then I jumped up and flung my arms around like wet noodles, letting a crazed keen escape my throat and then doubling over and laughing.

I’m busy next weekend.

My heart dropped.

You free tomorrow after six?

My heart flew into my throat.

Yeah
, I texted back with shaking fingers.
I
am.

Chapter Four

Abe and I met in a small Italian restaurant on the Upper East Side, my second time there this weekend. It was an easy commute—I hopped on the N and it let me out at East 60th. For work I’d be able to continue on until I landed in the Flatiron District, where the Today Media offices were located.

But for now, I headed through the gridded streets of the city, following my phone until I landed at the right place. Everything in Manhattan was so tall and shiny and loud—I wasn’t sure I’d ever get used to it. But I was prepared to.

When I reached the café, I paused, suddenly thrilled and terrified at the same time, a shot of emotions that flew me high enough that my feet tingled.

Which was silly, because I was just seeing an old friend. I tried to quiet the hairs rising on the back of my neck. We had been such good friends once, and though I’d tried to change that long ago, we were older and wiser and different people now.

So I took a breath and walked inside.

The place was small but welcoming; not many tables and spaced far apart, not crammed like so many places I’d seen. Paper lanterns swayed above tables. The walls were painted in large blocks of colors, soothing and playful, and the whole room smelled like fresh baked bread and marinara sauce.

“Tamar!”

I stopped, right there in the middle of the restaurant. All of a sudden I was seventeen years old again and walking into the hall in my prom dress, holding my breath for his reaction and then losing it at the sight of him in his suit. And fifteen years old, following him into a football party at Justin Cole’s house. And thirteen, sitting next to him in the one class we shared that year and soaking in his presence.

I hadn’t seen Abraham Krasner in four years, but I still could have recognized him blindfolded and disoriented. He had the same scent, sand and spice and warmth, and the same easygoing baritone, like sun-warmed stone. I turned slowly. “Hi, Abe.”

If anything, he looked better than the last time I’d seen him in person. How had I forgotten how beautiful he was? The soft curl of his honey-colored hair, the darkness of his eyes, the way his lips always crooked up in a welcoming smile. And his body...I’d seen him on TV and in pictures, but it was still a shock to see how much he’d filled out in the past four years. He’d always had broad shoulders and a ripped physique, but I could barely think now that I was confronted with how good he looked. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, he was the most breathtakingly beautiful man I’d ever seen.

He stood and opened his arms, and after a brief hesitation I stepped into them. He’d always been so easy with touch, so fast to grab someone’s hand or slap someone’s back. In return, he’d become one of the few people that I was used to being touched by.

He smiled. That same smile I’d seen so often throughout the years, but now, with four years without it I felt like I’d been exposed to the sun after months of artificial light. “You look great.”

I grinned back at him. “I was just thinking the same about you.”

“It’s been forever.” He sat back down at the table, and I followed suit. “What, four or five years?”

Just like that, my anxiety at seeing him again flowed away, and I raised my brows. Please. Abe had one of the sharpest minds I knew, and he might be able to fool other people into thinking all his talent came in brawn, but he’d never fool me.

He laughed at my expression. “Fine. Four years. You visited me in May my junior year.”

I leaned back in my seat. “That’s right.”

He tilted his head. His eyes studied me with a kind of intensity that I’d half-forgotten, as though he could see straight through all the obscuring personas and facades that people put up. “And now I hear you’re some hotshot reporter.”

I laughed, because nothing could be further from the truth. “That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but I like to think so.” I turned the tables as quickly as possible, with a gesture across ours. “But look at you—you’re the real hotshot.”

He spread his hands, and his full mouth opened in a grin.

God, I’d spent hours staring at that mouth.

I squeezed my eyes shut and wrinkled my nose at that errant thought.

When I looked back, he looked vastly entertained, and I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that he could read my mind. Instead, he shrugged. “What can I say? I’m pretty awesome.”

A smile curled up my lips, and I shook my head. True. But he knew that.

He watched me with a small smile on his face, like he was astonished that I was really here before him, and like he had no problem just gazing at me as long as he wanted. So I stared my fill in return. He might smell the same, but he carried himself differently, with more confidence, more gravity. How strange. I closed my eyes and saw him a little younger, a little more eager to please.

Something changed as he watched me. At first he looked content and ready, and then a little quizzical, and then I realized I’d always filled the silence before, led the conversation, dragged it in circles around him.

And now I didn’t feel like doing that..

He cocked his head. The strangest expression crossed his face, like he was trying to figure me out—which was odd, because there wasn’t much to figure that wasn’t in plain sight. “Were you going to tell me you moved here?”

Ah, that. I looked at the painting behind him on the wall. “Eventually.”

A waitress stopped by our table. “What can I do for you?’

Abe ordered a beer, and then looked to me. I closed the menu. “A rum and Coke, please.”

Abe nodded. “And an order of wings. And fries.”