Sometime Soon (18 page)

“Great!” I exclaim, happy for a
valid excuse to go back inside.

Laura gives me a funny look.

This is how I spend the afternoon.
I keep my head down and work my butt off, bustling around the kitchen, carrying
food in and out of the house, washing dishes, appearing far too busy to chat
with anyone.

“Andrea, let me do that,” Mom
offers, coming to stand beside me at the sink. “Go outside and enjoy yourself.”

“It’s okay. I’m almost done,” I
reply before glancing around for more dishes to wash.

“Thanks, sweetie,” she says. The
she puts an arm around me and squeezes. “You’re really terrific. You know
that?”

“Yes, I do,” I joke, feeling
guilty. My motives aren’t exactly pure.

When Mom leaves, Laura appears with
a dishtowel in hand, and she starts drying the pots I’ve laid on the counter.

“Where’s Jonathan?” I ask. I
realize that I haven’t seen him all afternoon.

“Mr. Kates got a hold of him.
They’re out front looking at his Mustang.” Mr. Kates is one of our parents’
friends. With unnaturally black hair and jeans that are inappropriately tight,
he has a death grip on his youth. The Mustang is part of the illusion.

“Does Jonathan care about his
Mustang?”

“Not a bit,” she replies. “I may
not get him to come to another one of these.”

“If he can come up with a viable
excuse, I will be in awe.” I plunge my hands into the warm soapy water and go
to work on a charred pan.

“His name is David Rose by the
way.”

I glanced at Laura, confused.
“Who?”

She rubs the pot dry and avoids
eyes. “The lawyer I told you about. That’s his name.”

I feel my shoulders tense. “What
kind of a last name is Rose?”

“I think it was changed from Rosen
or Rosenberg, maybe. He’s cute. He looks a little like Matthew Broderick.”

“Matthew Broderick isn’t cute.”

“Well, maybe not when compared to
Channing Tatum or Brad Pitt. But compared to the average guy on the street,
Matthew Broderick is pretty cute.”

She’s has a point. As she finishes
the pot, I hand her the clean pan. “No,” I answer firmly.

“Come on Andy,” she whines, jutting
her hip out. “What have you got to lose?”

“It isn’t about having anything to
lose. I’m just not up for it, okay?”

“I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“You don’t have a choice.”
“I already gave him your number.” She bites her lip and then winces as I stare
wide-eyed at her.

“You’re joking,” I exclaim in
disbelief.

She shakes her head. “I’m sorry.
But I had no idea you’d say no and actually mean it.”

“You gave him my number before you
even asked me?”

She nods, looking contrite.

“What if he’d called? I’d have no
idea who he was.”

“He wouldn’t have called you yet
because he was going to be away visiting his family in Montreal, and he isn’t
going to be back until tomorrow.”

“He’s Canadian!”

“I guess. So what?”

“Nothing.” My shoulders slump in
defeat. I can’t think of anything wrong with Canadians. I’m just upset in
general.

“Come on,” she nudges me with her
hip. “What’s the big deal? At worst, you’ll get a free dinner out of it.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” I
mutter.

“How many times do I have to tell
you,” she points the dishtowel at me. “You don’t offer to pay for dinner when
you’re on a date.”

I hold my hands up in silent
surrender. I’m not getting into that discussion again with her. “He probably
won’t call anyway,” I say. Everyone is always trying to indiscriminately set me
up with single men they know or barely know. I stopped protesting too
vigorously because, generally, none of them ever actually called me.

The washing is finished, and I feel
the need to soap the greasy water off my hands. I grab my purse and head for
the bathroom, leaving Laura to finish up. I also want to check my cell phone to
see if Katie has called. She’s been on my mind all day. Happy to see that I do
indeed have a message, I dial into my voicemail. But no one ever calls when I
expect them to.

“Hi, Andrea. It’s Ryan. I ended up
having to go to New York last week, so I wasn’t around. But I hope you’re having
a good holiday weekend. Give me a call when you get a chance. Talk to you
soon.”

I pull the phone away from my ear
and stare at it. Had I imagined him asking me out for Thursday last week and
telling me that he would call me? He left a message as though he hadn’t
completely blown me off. Maybe it’s me. I shake my head at my phone
incredulously.

If I were to look for an example of
a long, happy marriage, I wouldn’t have to look any further than my parents. They
have their issues, and they certainly do their fair share of fighting, but they
love each other and they are able to weather all issues that arise--not
necessary easily or even gracefully--but eventually. Their caring is evidenced
in everything they say and do. They are an entity unto themselves and have been
for over thirty years, Jack and Karen. When you say one name, you automatically
say the other.
We leave the barbecue just after the dessert, homemade strawberry shortcake,
was served. It’s the earliest we could make our exit without seeming rude.
Laura and I finished the main meal cleanup, leaving my parents with only the
dessert dishes to handle.

“So you think I should call him
back?” I ask. I told them about the message from Ryan once we were back in the
car.

“He could have forgotten about your
date,” Jonathan suggests. “It happens.”

“Compared to not walking you to
your car, this isn’t quite as bad,” Laura adds from the front seat.

I shake my head. “Why are we always
measuring how bad, on a general scale of badness, something a guy did was? Why
can’t anyone just be nice and normal? Act courteous and kind? I don’t get it.”

This is a rhetorical question as we
all know, but Laura scowls in commiseration with me. “Because guys are idiots!”
she proclaims.

“Hey.” Jonathan protests on behalf
of his gender.

“You know what I mean,” she chides,
reaching out to turn on the radio. Suddenly Van Halen’s “Ain’t Talkin’ bout
Love” is blasting at us. She smiles ruefully at me as she turns down the
volume.

But I’m not sure Jonathan does know
what she means. He looks a little put out.

I receive a call from Katie later
that evening. She finally sat Mike down and told him.

“He was shell-shocked at first,”
she tells me. Her voice holds an undercurrent of excitement. Mike is at a Red
Sox game with some friends, allowing Katie to relate the story to me without
having to whisper. “He just stared at me and didn’t say anything for a long
time.”

“Uh-huh,” I comment, anticipating
the rest.

“But then this kind of slow smile
crept across his face. He was so adorable, Andy. He gave me a huge hug. He’s
happy about the baby. He really is.”

“That’s great.”

“I feel so relieved. I don’t know
why I waited so long to tell him.”
“What did he say exactly?”

“He asked me how I was feeling and
if everything was okay. He couldn’t believe he was going to be a dad again. And
don’t go reading anything into this, but he thinks we should postpone the
wedding plans until after the baby is born. I can’t be planning for a wedding
and a baby at the same time, and I definitely can’t be walking down the aisle
with a belly out to here.”

“I’m not going to read anything
into that, Katie.”

“Yes, you are. I know how you
think.”

Her comment rubs me the wrong
way--even though she’s mostly right. My impression of Mike hasn’t spontaneously
generated itself. I take a deep breath. This is none of my business. “I’m glad
you’re both happy about the baby. And I’m here if you need anything. You can
talk to me about anything, and I promise not to make any judgments. Okay?”

“Okay,” she repeats.

“Besides, celebrities are having
babies out of wedlock all the time. It’s totally trendy right now.”

“That’s me. Always following the
latest trends. I bought the new iPhone and soon I’ll have a baby bump.”

I finally get around to leaving my
car at the shop to have the bumper repaired, and I rent a car from the
conveniently located rental agency next door. I depart the repair shop in a
blue Hyundai Sonata that rattles and smells of mold.

“Rob wants to see you,” Joan states.
I nearly stroll right by, ignoring whatever greeting Joan has offered this
morning. But then my caffeine deprived brain realizes she’s said something
else.

“What?” I ask stopping several
paces past the reception desk, my full coffee sloshing in its cup.

“Rob said he wanted to see you as
soon as you got in.”

Rob never asks to see me through a
third party. He always just stops by my cubicle or relates information to me
when he runs into me in the hallway. I stare at Joan as though her uninterested
expression holds the answer.
Her eyes focus on a spot behind me. “Good morning,” she chimes. A new sales
guy, whose name I don’t know, nods and walks by.

I turn and hurry to my desk,
dropping my bags on the floor of my cubicle, and taking my coffee with me to
Rob’s office. If I were being laid-off, I didn’t think it would happen this
way, although the nervous butterflies in my stomach obviously know it’s a
possibility. More likely, it’s about the white papers again, and the fact that
features are being pulled. But why would he have Joan instruct me to go to his
office for that?

I find Rob in his usual position,
behind his desk, banging on his keyboard, the top of his head reflecting the
fluorescent lights.
“Hey Andrea,” he says when he notices me in his office doorway. “Why don’t you
shut the door and have a seat.” He taps a few more keys, finishing whatever
he’s working on, as I sit down in one of the two chairs across from him. Then
he turns and focuses his attention on me.

“Did you see my email about the
features being pulled?” I ask. “I’ll have the rewrites for you this week.”

He thinks for a second, seeming to
scan his brain for information. “Oh, right. Thanks.”

I begin to tap my foot nervously on
the carpet. Obviously, that’s not the topic he has in mind.

 “Andrea,” he begins, folding
his hands on the desk in front of him, “as you’ve heard, we’ve been doing a lot
of talking with Napa out in California.” He pauses for a reaction.

I nod for him and stop breathing in
anticipation of his next sentence.

“Based on those discussions, it
looks like we’re going to be combining our marketing groups. Starting
immediately, two of their people are going to join our team.”

“Oh,” I say taking a breath, the
butterflies slowly dispersing.

“They are going to work remotely
from the California office,” he continues, “but they’ll report to me and get
all their project work from us.”

I nod again, wondering why this
warrants a private meeting with me.

“They also want to move their
wireless security group into our group. Again, reporting to me.”

I grin at him, trying to look
impressed. Rob must be pleased to be growing his empire.

“But with our group doubling this
way, it’s going to be hard for me to keep tabs on all the project work. So what
I’d like to do is appoint project leaders. I’d like you to be the wireless
project lead.”

“Oh,” I respond, blinking with
surprise.

“What do you think?” He watches me
for my reaction.

“Um, well, thanks for thinking of
me, but what exactly does being a project lead mean?”

“It means that you would be my
point of contact on projects, and you would manage the others and their
contributions. You would give them their assignments and review their work
before passing it on to me. And you would continue to have your own project
work to do. It’s a very good opportunity, Andrea. I know you’re up to it.”

I plaster on a grateful expression
as I wonder exactly how to word my next question. I am flattered to be asked,
but I’ve seen too many promotions around here that equal lots more work with no
more pay and no real upside. I also think of the awkwardness of having to
manage Nate, who has been here longer than me and in my opinion has seniority.
“Is this a promotion?” I finally ask.

Rob runs a hand over his smooth
head. “It could be a promotion,” he says carefully. “Tom and I discussed it,
and we’d like you to take the project lead position for a trial period. If it
goes well, then we can make the title official. At that point, it could include
a jump in salary and maybe some stock options.”

He is still watching me, and I feel
my heart rate speed up. Just like I thought, he wants to give me more work with
no more pay, at least not in the short term, and his wording has the left the
possibility of no official promotion ever occurring. But other than time, I
suppose I have nothing to lose by accepting the project lead position and
continuing to interview for other positions. The title of project lead would
look good on my resumé.

“This sounds like an interesting
opportunity,” I finally say. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

His patient expression transforms
into a pleased grin. “Of course we thought of you. You’ll do a great job.”

And just like that, I’m project
lead.

“I’ll send out an announcement to
the group later in the week, along with information about the department
changes,” Rob continues. “Until then, let’s keep this to ourselves. We’ll talk
more about what you’ll be doing as project lead later in the week after the
announcement is made. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” I answer, standing
up to leave.

“Oh, Andrea, don’t miss
The
Bachelor
tonight.” Rob starts to turn back to his laptop, but stops midway
to impart this important piece of information to me. “They’re getting down to
the wire. Who do you think he’ll pick? I bet it will be the blonde,” he says.