Waking Up With You (12 page)

I’m probably still looking upset, so he turns to me and says, “Someone’s keeping me up late at night.” He’s waiting for a response, but I’m unable to respond.

Is he actually telling me he can’t sleep because he and his girlfriend are far apart? Does he have no filter at all or is this part of some harsh new rule on transparency we have going on? We’re friends so he thinks it’s okay to confide in me? No! Not gonna happen.

Fortunately, we’re at the airport’s drop-off point and I’m saved from saying anything. He looks fairly disappointed when I stop the car without saying a word. As he gets off and takes his carry-on luggage, I force a big smile on my face and wish him, “Happy Trip!”

“Thank you,” he says formally. His eyes sweep over my face and then an inexplicable look of withdrawal comes over his features. He walks away, just like that.

What was that about? Did he really think I would be all “Ah, you miss her. Go be with her. You have my blessings?”

Every time I think that I have the situation in hand, he throws a curveball and I’m back where I started – hurt, angry, confused, hoping, even amenable— all at once.

I decide to go to the Y for a yoga class. It might help stop me from replaying this thing over and over again in my mind. Poor Paige is on her long commute for her four-hour class every Friday morning, so I can’t vent to her. I find a parking spot easily. It’s before seven after all. Just as I’m about to store my gym bag in the locker, I check my phone for messages, tweets, and more. Since I’m a follower of Christina Sawyer, I have her tweet of the day. “See you in San Francisco #AIAFallConference.” She is, of course, referring to the American Institute of Architects, or AIA.

The blood surges to my head and I feel my face redden and my eyes dim.
Damn them both!
How could I have been so naïve?! The dream was my inner voice telling me he’ll be with Christina. He’s not there to network. He’s there to be alone with her for three days and nights.

Calm down, Emma
.
You have no right to feel this way.

That’s it. He has told me in so many words and so many ways that he’s with her. I’m such an idiot. I know that he was reacting to me like any normal male would when he kissed me those times. It was the testosterone talking. Yet, I continued to cling to that sliver of hope. Really, what’s wrong with me?

I’m so over this.

Jake’s back from San Francisco and we have been carefully avoiding one another. When we do see each other at breakfast we talk casually, but the awkwardness is back. Like we both want to say something, but don’t. We stick to the safe topics like school, work, food, or the weather. Dinners are infrequent. He’s still staying at the office till late at night. Once in a blue moon, he comes home early with take-out and we dine on the patio. This has become a pattern for us.

Right now, I’m rushing to my next class, Philosophy 101. We always have the liveliest discussions in Dr. Merritt’s class. Yesterday, the topic was when ethical principles conflict. He cited the example of when being honest may be unkind, and my mind immediately went to last Friday’s conversation. Jake was making an effort to be honest (a good thing), but was unaware that in the process he was causing me pain (a bad thing). Does this justify dishonesty then? Towards the end of the class, Dr. Merritt briefly touched on the golden rule. And I believe people should respect others’ privacy, but here I am snooping around Jake and Christina’s private life. Am I an evil person or does my attraction to my husband justify my actions?

Maybe this is why Tim and Katie warned me that I will end up wanting to tear my hair out in this class. Every question has no answer and, when there is an answer, it’s no longer in the realm of Philosophy.

I’m about to enter the classroom when my cell phone vibrates. I look at the caller ID and I don’t recognize the number, but I answer anyway because it may have something to do with some emails I sent to a couple of social media gurus.

“Hello.”

“Emma?” The man’s voice is familiar.

“Yes?”

“It’s Matt. Matthew Rourke. I hope you still remember me.”

“Matt!” I let out a squeal of joy. “How are you? How come I never heard from you again? It’s just Dan who communicates with me from your office.”

“You know…”he pauses and I sense he’s trying to find an excuse. “Busy, busy,” he finally says.

“No problem. What can I do for you?” I inquire in a friendly tone.

“Actually, there’s a new set of documents for you to sign. California enacted some changes in the law and they become effective end of the year.”

“Drop by the house then. Friday morning, if you like.”

“Uhm,” he hesitates. “May I take you out to dinner instead?” he suddenly asks.

What? Where did that come from?

“Friday night?” I ask tentatively.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he agrees. He sounds relieved and glad I’m saying yes. I can’t help but smile.

“Don’t forget the papers,” I remind him.

“What papers?” he asks, momentarily confused. “Oh…yeah, sure. I forgot about that,” he mumbles sheepishly.

After we bid each other good-bye, I proceed to my regular seat in front of the classroom.

That call was so unexpected. Should I tell Jake? Probably not. He’ll flip out again for some odd reason, and that might ruin our few moments together. I guess I just won’t say anything. He’ll probably be home late, and if he comes home before I do, I’ll just say I had dinner with Paige. Sometimes dishonesty may be the best policy. Right, Dr. Merritt?

I’m doing research on my Humanities homework while Paige and I are texting back and forth.

Me: When are you going to drop your Friday class?

Paige: Never. Need that class.

Me: Too bad. We could be hanging out instead.

Paige: Yup. I know. ( We can have dinner at Ona’s tonight.

Me: Sorry. Have a date.

No response. Paige is calling and I smile.

“You are so predictable. I knew you’d call as soon as you read the message.”

“Duh. Was that a joke or do you really have a date?” she demands impatiently.

“It’s not really a date. I just wanted to get your attention,” I tell her without giving any details.

“Emma, my hand is gonna reach through this phone and throttle you. What’s going on?” she says excitedly.

“Matt called and invited me out to dinner,” I respond simply.

“What?! When? I thought he disappeared from the face of this earth.”

“Yeah, I know. I was just as surprised. He was mumbling something about being busy and then, out of the blue, he just asked me out.”

“Em, I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I smell trouble.”

“You mean Jake? Relax, this is not a date date,” I assure her.

“Ah, yeah it is. Why would a man ask you out to dinner?”

“No! I just have more papers to sign and he probably just wanted to make up for the fact that he said he’d call but never did.”

“Emma, are you a moron? It is a date,” she pronounces definitively.

“Let’s not jump to any conclusions. After all, if he were attracted to me, he would have asked weeks ago.”

“True,” she says thoughtfully. “But I still think it’s a date.” Paige never likes to lose an argument. “But, are you going to tell Jake?”

“Nope. I don’t want him going weird again. I’m not going to have sex with Matt. I’m just dining out to sign some papers.”

“Sure you are.” Her tone is mocking.

“What do you think I should wear?”

“Versace with a neckline cut to your navel,” she jests.

I ignore her and say, “You know my black dress – the one that you love?”

“That would be perfect. Plus a silver cuff and black thin strap heels. Don’t forget to curl your hair,” she instructs me.

The dress has a criss-cross halter and a peep hole just below the chest. Its flared skirt is short. Paige says I always get admiring glances when I wear it, but I figure she’s just trying to boost my ego.

“Em, did he say where he’s taking you?”

“No, and I never thought to ask. Do you think the dress is too much?” I have second thoughts.

“Unless he’s bringing you to a fast food joint, then no, the dress isn’t too much,” she responds sarcastically.

“Why are you such a pain tonight? How’s your dad?”

“Speaking of pain, you know what they say about doctors being the worst patients? He is literally an Oscar the Grouch. My mom is a saint to put up with him.”

“What did you expect? He kept it a secret so that you wouldn’t fuss over him, and now you watch him and doubtless nag him twenty four-seven,” I tell her frankly.

“What are we supposed to do?”

“I’ve known you for the longest time, Paige. Give him some breathing space. It’s all right to be worried but it’s not all right to suffocate him.”

She’s silent for a while. “Fine. I’ll try to be more relaxed.”

I sigh, knowing that’s going to be difficult, but I say nothing.

“Em, what if the husband finds out?” She’s taken to referring to Jake as ‘the husband’ instead of ‘your husband’ because she’s angry with him for still being with Christina.

“I’ll cross the bridge when I get there,” I solemnly reply, and then cross my fingers that he never will find out.

It’s almost seven in the evening, and I’m still carefully doing a smoky eye effect. I don’t even know why I’m dressing up for Matt since I have no personal interest in him. I just want him as a friend. But, just like any other woman, I want to look my best. I’m done, finally, and I stand back to appraise my handiwork. Not bad, Emma. I used the blasted curling iron on my hair. Spent an hour on it, but the result is amazing. I have managed to transform my hair from blah to wow. I give silent thanks to Paige.

The doorbell rings and I apply a coat of lip gloss, get my purse, and walk rapidly to usher Matt in. In his dark blue suit, his classically handsome features stand out. I didn’t notice this before, but I see now that he has stunning green eyes with flecks of brown. The man belongs on the cover of a magazine.

He scans me and his eyes widen in approval. I flush, inwardly embarrassed that I’m flattered by his admiration. “Shall we go?” he asks with a smile.

I set the security code and we then step out of the house. We ride in his light grey Lexus convertible.

“It’s a lovely evening, slightly breezy, so I hope you don’t mind if I have the top down.”

“Not at all,” I answer graciously.

Matt has a great sense of humor, and all throughout the thirty-minute drive, I am in stitches because of his jokes and amusing anecdotes. We arrive at a cozy Italian restaurant in Silver Lake. I’m thankful I’m dressed just right for the crowd.

Matt is obviously a regular here, so I let him order for the both of us. He orders appetizers and salads. For me, he selects chicken breast sautéed with mushrooms and marsala wine. For himself, pappardelle pasta with mild Italian sausage and a Margherita pizza he intends to share with me.

“That’s a lot of food. Are you sure we can eat all of that?” I ask.

“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those annoying women who eats a small slice and then declares she’s full.”

“Oh, I love to cook, so it follows that I love to eat,” I respond. “Now is a good time to start bringing out those documents. I don’t think I’ll be able to move after we’re done with dinner.”

“We have plenty of time,” he says assuredly.

The calamari fritti and caprese arrive, and they are yummy. The calamari is fried at the perfect temperature, and the mozzarella and tomatoes are so fresh.

“Great choice, Matt. I wouldn’t have guessed you’re a foodie,” I say to him in between mouthfuls of the appetizer.

“I’m a quarter Italian on my mother’s side, so I know good cuisine. How about you? Do you really know your way around the kitchen?”

“Certainly. Just ask Jake.” As soon as I say his name, I realize I’ve committed a faux pas.

Matt frowns, looks at me intently, and says, “I have a confession to make.”

I blink and then focus my gaze on him, urging him to continue.

“I had every intention of asking you out a long time ago, but when I spoke to Jake, I got the impression that he wasn’t happy with the idea. So, I kind of dropped the idea until yesterday when I decided that I wasn’t going to let Jake’s reaction bother me. You told me you’re a free agent and that you were simply staying with Jake until you got back on your feet. But just now, when you mentioned Jake’s name, I had an uncomfortable feeling.” He pauses and then stares closely at me as he inquires, “Is there something I need to know?”

Dammit! What he’s saying throws me for a loop. Matt is a nice guy and I realize that I can’t lie to him. But, I also can’t divulge my marriage to Jake because that’s what we agreed upon.
What do I say?

There’s no choice but to lie. “You have every right to be angry with me, but I have to tell you the truth. I am married. Jake knows that.”
How could he not?
“But, things are not working out between my husband and me. Anyway, Jake has been kind enough to let me stay at his house until I sort things out.”

“Thanks for your honesty, Emma.”

I loathe myself
. I cover his hands with my own. “Matt, you’re a nice guy. I would love to have you for a friend,” I say with total honesty.

“Always think of me as your friend,” he affirms with a forgiving smile.

Our order arrives and we both eat heartily. We have good rapport and our conversation flows well despite the momentary uneasiness. I end up eating a bigger portion of his pizza because it is literally the best version of a tomato-cheese pizza I have ever had. He insists on ordering dessert, but I stop him. As a compromise, we both have cappuccino.

We walk very slowly towards the car when the meal is over. In the moonlight, I see that his whole face spreads into a smile and I ask, “What? Why are you smiling?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a date as much as I have with you this evening,” he reveals.

“C’mon, that has to be a lie because I’m sure you’ve gone on countless of dates,” I half-snort.

“I don’t lie,” he says in a serious tone.
I know
.
I’m the liar
.