Kat Fight (8 page)

Friggin’ heat!

“Thank you. I was just about to walk over and say hello. Where’s Graham?” I ask.

“At the bar with Beth and Julie.”

I turn back toward the bar to see the three of them looking over at us. I give an obligatory wave to Graham and he gives me a nod.

“So how’s everything? Work good?” I ask, and shift my body weight back and forth in my heels to keep myself from getting light-headed.

Marc puts his hands in his pockets. “Work’s been going well, can’t complain. How about you?”

“I guess I can’t complain either. Well that’s a lie… I can always muster up a good complaint, but I’ll spare you just this once.” I smile.

“My lucky day,” he says, then removes one hand from his pocket and runs it through his hair.

The thin strap on my cocktail bag keeps slipping, so I fumble to secure it on my shoulder. “How’s the family?” I ask. “Please tell your mom I say hello.”

“I will, thanks. She’ll be glad to hear from you.”

I feel compelled to trash the niceties and say something substantial, something that will stick with him tonight, because I have no idea when we’ll see each other next. Marc can be all about saving face at times, and I can tell that he’s mostly concerned with looking
confident and blasé
at the moment. He would never want to let on that he’s been remotely anxious about this encounter like I have. God, I know him so well. We continue to stand there, both of our eyes bouncing around like pinballs, not sure where to land or what to look at.

I decide to speak my mind and be honest with him. “Well, I wasn’t sure if this would be weird or not, but it’s truly good to see you, Marc. And things with me are going well,” I say with as much sincerity as I can.

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Everything is good. It’s nice to see you too, Kat,” he says with confidence.

“I mean it, Marc. I’m doing well, and I’m glad to hear that things are good with you. And you look great.” I couldn’t resist the compliment.

“Thanks, Kat,” he says, oozing self-assurance. “Well, I better find Graham. We’ll catch up later, okay?”

“Okay, sure,” I say as he taps me on the arm like he would a fellow colleague and walks over to the bar.

I stand there alone again, wondering if he heard anything I just said, and watch him approach my friends and exchange hugs and salutations. Desperate to look confident and blasé myself, I reach for my phone and text Adam.

Just saw Marc.

I text.

NFW! where?

He replies.

At Robs wedding u douche.

I say.

And???

He asks.

And not much.

I reply.

Why r u bothering me then?

Even via text he manages to sound annoyed.

I’m using you to look busy and important. Standing alone at the moment.

I text.

Lord! pls report back with something juicy. Get drunk and flash a boob on the dance floor or something.

He requests.

I’ll do my breast. Luv u.

I text and smile.

I put my phone back in my purse as Beth and Julie finally make their way back to me with my drink. I suck down half of a dirty martini in two gulps.

“So?” Julie is the first to speak. “He looks cute.”

“I didn’t notice,” I reply with my best party sarcasm.

“I’m kidding. He looks as vanilla as ever. What’d he say?” she asks eagerly.

I swirl my blue cheese olives around on their little red spear. “He was cool as a cucumber, and everything is terrific, blah, blah, blah.”

“Of course it is,” Beth adds. “You didn’t really think he’d let you think otherwise?”

I take another swig of my cocktail and catch Marc and Graham walking outside toward the patio. “No, I just expected a little more depth I guess. I mean, it’s been months since we’ve seen each other, and I tried to open up the conversation a little wider, but he wasn’t having it.”

“Well, I’m not surprised,” says Julie.

“It’s fine. My nausea has settled and the worst is over,” I say. “As soon as I get another one of these drinks we can start having some fun.”

“Woo hoo,” Julie says smugly. “How about the second we hear the band start playing ‘Celebration,’ we head for the hills?”

“Deal!” Beth and I say in unison.

I would like to spend the rest of the evening thinking about my date with Ryan tomorrow, but like a magnet, my mind and eyes keep going back to Marc. Much to my dismay, I’m longing to talk to him and spend time with him, but it’s clear that he’s doing everything in his power to keep his distance. He’s not much of a dancer, so I periodically notice he’s either at his table with his buddies or at the bar. We lock eyes a couple times by accident and exchange friendly smiles. I’m equally surprised and annoyed by how good he looks. There is still an underlying friendship between us, and regardless of our breakup I still care about him.

The first note of “Celebration” hits the airwaves at midnight. Beth, Julie and I find ourselves unexpectedly separated at that moment, but are able to reconvene at the museum’s front entrance within seconds.

“Ce-le-brate good times… come on!” Julie sings and gestures toward the exit with her head.

“Should we say goodbye to anyone?” Beth asks.

“Why start being polite now?” I ask.

“True.”

We gather our purses and not-so-discreetly head for the exit. I want to say goodbye to Marc, but he’s at his table with a group of people near the dance floor, oozing indifference. I glance over at him a couple dozen times as we’re leaving, hoping for the chance to wave or nod or something, but he never looks up. I try mental telepathy, but that doesn’t work either.

Beth notices my pathetic attempts at getting his attention. “Do you want to go say goodbye to him?” she asks.

“Do you think I should?” I ask Beth, as Julie shakes her head, no.

“I do, if you want to,” Beth says to me.

I look over at him one more time and that’s all it takes. He’s now staring back at me. Instinctively, I lift my hand and give him a quick wave goodbye. He just smiles and nods. Beth then takes my hand and leads me away.

I survived the wedding. All the trepidation surrounding this event is behind me now, and so is Marc. We’d been kind and civil and that was all I could’ve hoped for. Once we’re officially out of the building, I’m pleasantly surprised by how relaxed I feel. Normally I’d be crying, or texting, or forcing my friends to recap the evening to death. But not this time.

The three of us grab a cab and head to the Weiner Circle for a tray of cheese fries before heading our separate ways. I debate whether or not to call Ryan when I get home. I know I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t stop thinking about him. Is there a snowball’s chance in hell that he’ll contact me tonight? It doesn’t seem like his M.O. but I’m still hopeful. He knew I was going to a friend’s wedding, but I hadn’t mentioned that my ex would be there. It just didn’t seem like relevant information prior to our first date.

As I crawl into bed I am genuinely comfortable for the first time in a long time. Seeing Marc wasn’t nearly the drama-laden event I had assumed it would be, and I’m so looking forward to being alone with Ryan tomorrow night that I can barely keep from smiling. Just then the phone rings. I’ve been so lost in my state of euphoria that I actually let out a little gasp. Curtis leaps off the bed as I check the clock and see that it’s two o’clock in the morning. My prayers are answered! I knock the phone off its base and hear it click to connect as it hits the floor.

“Hello?” I say and scramble to pick it up as I regain my balance.

“Hey, it’s Marc.”

I rub my eyes. “Oh,” I answer.

“Did I wake you?” he asks.

“No, I, uh, sorry, no,” I stutter.

“I’m downstairs.”

As soon as the phone rang, I’d thought for sure it was Ryan. I’d hoped it was Ryan. I hadn’t even considered the old alternative.

“You’re where?” I ask, confused.

“Downstairs,” he repeats. “Are you sure this isn’t a bad time?”

I jump up like an obedient soldier. “It’s fine. I was just falling asleep.”

“Can I come up?” he asks.

“Sure.” The words exit my mouth before I can make sense of them.

I buzz him up, run to the bathroom and scramble to put my contacts back in. I’m assuming he’s drunk, but vanity prevents me from letting him see me in my glasses at this hour. Nothing good can come of this. I hurry to the front door as soon as I hear him knock.

“Hi, come on in,” I say. He looks oddly as comfortable as he did earlier. I, on the other hand, look like a tired tramp who just spent the last hour with her face buried in a tray of cheese fries.

“Thanks,” he says, and stops in the doorway.

“Do you want to come sit down?” I ask and gesture with my hand.

“Sure.”

I follow him to the couch and he takes his suit coat off and sits down next to me. He stays there smiling awkwardly at me while I make some pathetic remark about my pajamas.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask.

He lets out a little laugh. “I wanted to see you.”

“Not without makeup, I imagine,” I say and make my best pretty face, feeling much more self-deprecating at this hour. Brooke would be so proud.

“You look terrific, Kat.”

Gulp.

“It was nice seeing you tonight, and as always you looked great. I’m sorry if you felt like I was avoiding you. I wasn’t sure how you wanted me to act, so I thought ‘polite and out of sight’ would be the best method. I know how much you love weddings,” he says.

I smile at him, touched by the fact that he put any thought into it at all. He certainly does know me better than anyone.

“You were fine, Marc,” I say, and tug at my nightshirt. “And thank you for thinking of my feelings. To tell you the truth, I had actually been really nervous about seeing you at the wedding. I wasn’t sure how things were going to be between us.”

“That’s just it, Kat, I’m always thinking about your feelings lately. I’m always thinking about you in general,” he says and glances down before looking me in the eyes. “I’ve really missed you.”

“Oh,” I say.

“After our last conversation, I really wanted to honor what you’d asked of me. And at first it was easy. But as more time passed, it… well, it’s been really hard not to call or text or anything. My goal was to wait until the wedding, and I made it.” He smiles triumphantly and shrugs his shoulders slightly.

“I completely understand. It’s been really hard on me too, and I had a really rough time at first.”

“And now?” He looks at me with uncertainty and hope.

“And now, well, I felt good about seeing you tonight. First of all, it’s always great to see you, and secondly, I just felt comfortable, like we were
good.
You know?” The combination of congealing cheese in my stomach and dry contact lenses has left me at a loss for intelligible words.

“Me too,” he says.

We sit there for a minute staring at each other and occasionally averting our eyes as Curtis proves to be an intermittent distraction. On one of my downward glances he slowly reaches out and takes my hand in his. I look up at him as he does this and he leans in to kiss me. I don’t pause to stop him. It wouldn’t even occur to me to stop him. His move is so habitual, and even though it’s been months, my instinct and desire is to kiss him back. My head leans slightly and we begin an all too familiar routine. Our lips are simultaneously enjoying the intimacy, and more than comfortable enough to invite our tongues to the reunion. His mouth is as soft as always, and he smells like home. Marc’s other hand moves to the side of my face as his entire body shifts closer to mine. Reality sets in as I realize I could easily spend the rest of the night making up for lost time, or I could do the right thing and end this before it goes exactly where it always goes.

“Marc,” I say, nervously pulling away.

“Yeah?” he responds, closely scanning my face and cradling my hand.

I swallow hard and brush the stray hairs from my face. “I… I just don’t know if we should be doing this right now?”

“You seem okay with it,” he says, grinning.

I let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Well, yes, you’re a tad difficult to resist at the moment, and I’m always much stronger with lipstick on.” I make a feeble attempt at lightening the mood.

“Kat,” he says and looks at me with an understanding expression, although, more like he’s an adult who understands that they’re talking to a child. “You had your break and you made your point. I know I was being an ass before—I get it. You don’t have to resist anymore.” He leans in again.

Of course Marc assumes I was simply trying to prove a point with my silly little games of
Lose My Number
and
We Are Through
. I should have known that he would find a way to make this all my doing.

“Well, yes, I do, actually,” I say.

He pulls back, and now a concerned, semi-defensive expression replaces his confident one. “Are you seeing someone?” he asks with narrow eyes and disbelief.