Lucy Wagner Gets In Shape (A Romantic Comedy) (8 page)

“Actually, I was just leaving.” Why is he dropping by without calling? I have a life, you know.

“Oh, well…” he stops himself, and I think he’s finally looking at me for the first time since I opened the door. “What, are you going biking or something?” There’s a hint of a smirk on his face. Okay, so it’s not
that
hard to hate him.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Does that amuse you?”

“No, no…” he protests, but he’s grinning, damn him. “I think it’s great. Really.” He leans on his shoulder against the doorjamb, and I swallow hard. Keep it together, Luce.

“Why don’t I stop by your office tomorrow morning and we can have a look at the offer then?” I ask dismissively. I really want him to leave now, but it doesn’t look like he’s going any time soon.

“So what made you decide to take up biking? You never had any interest when we were together.”

“Sure I did,” I lie, shifting my weight from foot to foot. “I just…never had time when I was working on my dissertation. Now I do.”

What?

“Oh, really?” My tone is nonchalant. I will not ask, I will not ask, I will not ask—

“We’re not really doing anything together anymore. We didn’t work out as a couple. She was a little too intense for me.” He has the decency to look sheepish, but I hardly notice.

They aren’t together anymore? She was too
intense
for him? Who the hell is too intense for Paul? He makes most suicide bombers look relaxed.

After an awkward silence, Paul clears his throat. “So, are you going to come ride with me or not?” He gives me a ridiculously sexy smile.

“Umm…I think I’ll pass.”

***

This is kicking my ass. Literally. Even with my butt pads in place, I am so sore I can hardly walk once we end our fifteen-mile ride. Will is putting our bikes on the rack mounted to the back of his jeep, while Jen and I plan my interview wardrobe strategy.

“You should definitely wear the Kate Spade skirt with the J Crew cardi. And you can borrow those silver pumps of mine, the ones with the t-straps.” Jenny is my fashion consultant—left to my own devices, I’d wear something way too girly, as my instincts run more towards Holly Hobby than Versace. But I’m learning.

“Are you sure the silver ones will go with that cardigan? I don’t know--I’m not really a silver kind of gal.” I’m dubious.

“You’re not a silver kind of gal? Well, what color are you then?”

“I’m thinking I’m a pink? Or a beige? Beigey-pink?” Jen’s look tells me I’m full of shit, so I stop talking. I feel the text message alert from my phone buzz against my hip.

How was ur ride? TOU, P

How was my ride? He’s
thinking
of me? Oh, for crying out loud—

“What?” Jen’s on to me.

“Nothing.” I shove the phone quickly in pocket, but she lunges, reaches in, and neatly plucks it out. As she reads the text, her face clouds over.

“Is this from Paul? Why is he texting you?”

“I don’t know. He came over this morning to show me an offer on the condo. We started talking about biking. I guess he’s just trying to be nice.”

“Not true,” I mumble, and do my best to avoid Will’s questioning gaze. Goddamn Jen and her big mouth. “C’mon, we’ve got to get a move on if we’re going to make that shower.” Jen and I are going to a bridal shower for Corrine, one of our grad school friends. It’s hard to believe that anyone from our group is actually getting married—grad school tends to keep you single and penniless, and for a long time, I was the only one in our cohort with a boyfriend. Fat lot of good that did me.

“Hey, are you okay?” Will’s looking at me intently, and I feel…God, I don’t know
how
I feel. Embarrassed? Disloyal? What the hell is wrong with me?

“Of course! But we’re horribly late. Would you mind taking the bikes to your place? Then Jen and I can go straight back in her car and get ready.”

Jen and I drive back to my condo in silence. My mind is on a million things…Will, Paul, my upcoming interview, my dad. Jen seems to recognize my need for quiet, so she doesn’t speak until we’ve made it to the condo and dumped our equipment in a heap by the front door.

I take a deep, fortifying breath. “Okay. Last Friday…” Jen raises her eyebrows at me when I pause. “Last Friday night Will kissed me. And then I kissed him.” Her eyebrows remained raised, as if waiting for a punch line that I’ve failed to deliver.

“
Aaaand
?” She prompts. I’m expecting a shocked gasp, an unhinged jaw. But I’m getting nothing.

“And I
kissed
him, Jenny! That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“Bitch, please--o
f course
it was supposed to happen.” The shocked look on my face seems to annoy her. “You are
not
that blind, Lucy Wagner. You might be in all kinds of denial, but you know that man is in love with you.”

“Will?”

“
Will?”
She mocks me in a fluttery, high voice. “Of course, Will! Do you not have eyes, or ears, or a freaking brain? That poor doofus has been in love with you for years, and you tease him, and bait him, and string him along…Good lord, how can you possibly sit there and act surprised?”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“Because you are infuriating! Both of you! Do you have any idea how difficult it is to watch the two of you fumble around and fuck up so badly?”

“What are you talking about?” My voice is high and thin—I sound freaked out. I am freaked out.

“Lucy. Think about it. You started grad school, what, four years ago, in September…” I nod silently. “By November, Will had broken up with his fiancé, whatshername.”

“Diana.”

“Whatever. Why do you think he did that?”

I swallow hard, and I can feel a trickle of sweat running down my back. When did it get so hot in here? “He didn’t love her. He told me.”

“Right. He fell out of love with her, because he fell in love with you.”

I’m already shaking my head. She has this so wrong. “No, Jen, he never loved her. It had nothing to do with me.”

“Maybe you’re right, maybe he never loved her. But you’re full of shit if you think it had nothing to do with you.” Her eyes are wide and serious. How does she know all of this?

“Jen…you’ve made all this up in your head. Will’s never shown any interest in me—I mean, not romantically. If he had feelings for me, he would have asked me out after he broke things off with Diana.”

Jen is silent for a long moment. I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully. “What if he was going to? What if you went out of town, to a wedding, and he spent the whole weekend planning a surprise first date for the two of you--drinks, a romantic dinner, then a few rounds of bowling…” Bowling. Only Will and Jen know of my intense passion for bowling—it’s my secret shame. I feel a sick rumbling in the pit of my stomach.

“And what if you returned from this wedding, lit up like a top, talking about this wonderful doctor you met, and how beautiful and sexy he was, and how he’d asked you out. How you thought he was
the one
.” She emphasizes her words with air quotes.

We’re silent for a long moment. My whole body is numb and tingly. “Did he tell you that?” I finally whisper.

Jen sighs heavily. “Most of it I pieced together on my own. But yeah, one night, we were at Uncle Charlie’s, and you left early with Corrine—I think you had a paper due the next morning or something. Will and I were at the table, and the way he stared at you as you left…I mean, he was so obviously
lovesick
. So I asked him. And he was drunk enough to tell me the truth.” She shrugs one shoulder, and I’m suddenly angry.

“And you tell me this
now? Now?”
I feel weak with shock. “Jenny, how could you keep this from me?”

“Luce, he made me promise not to tell. You were with Paul. He was worried it would ruin your friendship. And what good would it have done? Would you have left Paul if you’d known about Will’s feelings?”

“I…I don’t know.” God, the pain in my stomach is traveling to my head. My emotions are all over the map. Why didn’t he say anything? But what was he supposed to say? Like Jen said, I was with Paul--we were committed, we bought a condo together…

God.
God
. I really can’t process this right now. In a bout of uncharacteristic tenderness, Jen places her hand on my arm. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to upset you, but I thought, since you guys finally kissed…” She trails off awkwardly.

“But we talked about it, at work on Monday. I told him I thought the kiss was a mistake and he
agreed
with me.”

Jen looks at me seriously for a moment. “Well, maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he’s over you. You’re not that loveable, you know.” Ha-ha. I slap her hand off my arm with a grin, but her face remains serious. “Just to talk to him, Luce.”

Chapter Nine

I’m alone, in my hotel room, eating out of my bag of sweeties and watching CNN. It’s midnight, and I know I should be asleep, but I’m too keyed up. My interview is tomorrow, and I’ve been over my job talk and teaching demonstration a thousand times. My outfit is meticulously ironed and hanging on the shower rack in the bathroom. I’ve even got a briefcase that I borrowed from Jen, since I can’t very well show up to a job interview with my black and aqua Jansport backpack.

It’s been a long week. After Jen and I talked, I wanted to call Will and get everything out in the open, but I couldn’t—I still can’t. I’m reeling with regret and confusion. How do I feel about Will? How does he feel about me?

So, I’ve been keeping to myself. I work out at the gym on my own in the mornings, and beg off after-work activities. Will and Jen both offered to help me with my interview preparations, but I put them off. For some reason, I just want to be alone.

Of course, it doesn’t help that Paul keeps calling and texting. Maybe he does want me back, now that Langley is out of the picture. Amazingly, when I think of Paul now, all I picture is his snarly face, the day he found his DVDs in the bathroom cabinet…and how he yelled at me…and how Will came and kicked him out. Then I think about how Will sat on the couch and ate Red Hots and watched Regis and Kelly with me until I fell asleep. I pick a Red Hot out of my bag of sweeties. As I suck on it, I wonder if this is how he would have tasted if he’d kissed me that day…

Jesus, Lucy,
get a grip.

When I finally turn out the lights and go to bed, I sleep fitfully, and dream about market protectionism in the European Union.

***

“Have a seat, Lucy. I’m just going to get the rest of the committee, and we’ll get started in a few minutes. Would you like something to drink?” Dr. Richards, the department chair, is really very nice. He’s given me a campus tour, and introduced me to some of the faculty. I’ve done a teaching presentation, and now I’m meeting with the hiring committee to present my job talk. This is when I talk about my research agenda, and explain what talents I will “bring to the department”. I can cross my toes, and name every single episode of Dawson’s Creek, but somehow, I don’t think those are the talents they’re looking for.

“No, thank you, I’m fine.” When he leaves, I take out my notes and try some deep-breathing exercises. This won’t be so bad. I can talk forever about my research—

“Hello!” A middle-aged woman with a seriously unfortunate case of horse-teeth comes in and introduces herself as Susan Scranton. She’s on the committee, and is the comparative politics scholar in the department. I vaguely recognize her name from some class I took first-year, so she must be well-published.

“Are you enjoying your visit?” she asks, taking a seat beside me. I want to say ‘No, day-long interviews are hellish, and these stupid silver heels are pinching my pinkie toes something fierce,” but instead I smile pleasantly and we engage in some meaningless chit-chat until the rest of the committee arrives.

“We all want to thank you for coming in to meet us, Lucy. Why don’t you come on up and tell us a little about yourself, and then we’ve got a few questions for you, okay?” Dr. Richards kind of reminds me of my Dad. I mean, if my Dad was older, and bald, and had an American accent.

I stand up and try to sound confident as I launch into my prepared talk. I get about five minutes into my discussion of state budget outcomes under divided partisan government, when Mrs. Ed interrupts me. “Do you have any funding options lined up?”