Slightly Settled (24 page)

Next to her, I look like the jolly teal giant.

Our eyes meet in the mirror.

“I can’t wear this, Kate,” I say.

“No,” she agrees. “You can’t. It looks awful.”

So do all the others, when I try them on. The pastels are bad; the metallics are worse.

The saleslady returns to see how we’re doing.

“None of these are my color,” I tell her.

“No, they aren’t,” she agrees. “How about red? With your dark hair and those big brown eyes, you’d be gorgeous in a red dress.”

I don’t dare look at Kate.

“No red,” she says firmly.

Yes, but I’d be gorgeous in a red dress.

I was wearing one the night I met Jack.

He came over to me for all the wrong reasons.

But maybe—just maybe, no matter what anybody says—he stuck around for all the right ones.

After what happened with Kate, I wasn’t going to tell Brenda, Yvonne or Latisha about Jack wanting us to move in together.

They might be over the Sexual Steve thing, but they’re not over thinking that I rushed into the relationship with my boss’s roommate. Lately, I tend to downplay to them the fact that I’m still seeing Jack.

Still, a few days after Kate tells me I’m crazy to consider moving in with him, I find myself spilling the whole story over a margarita lunch with the girls from work. I can’t help it. I need advice, and if you can’t turn to Dr. Trixie Schwartzenbaum…who can you turn to?

Your friends, that’s who. They might not tell you what you want to hear, but at this point, I’m not sure what I want to hear.

“Don’t do it, Tracey,” Yvonne says promptly, in her raspy voice.

Okay, maybe that’s what I don’t want to hear, because disappointment crashes through me at her words.

“Why not, Yvonne?”

“Why tie yourself down at your age? You have plenty of time for that. Stay single as long as you can.”

Coming from somebody who didn’t get married until years after she got her AARP card, this doesn’t strike me as particularly sound advice.

“But I really love being with him,” I say, just for the sake of argument.

And okay, just because it’s true.

“You can be with him and still have your own place,” Latisha points out.

“But we’re together all the time anyway. Would you believe that my cable got turned off weeks ago and I haven’t even missed it?”

They don’t look convinced. Of anything.

“Plus, I can tell that he really cares about me,” I add.

“Well, if he cares that much,” Brenda says dubiously, “why doesn’t he just propose?”

Easy for her to say. The only thing that kept Paulie from proposing right after they met was that he was too young for a driver’s license so he could go to the mall to buy the ring. They were a couple in junior high and engaged not long after high school. In her world, like in Brookside, that’s the norm.

“It’s too soon for us to even think about getting married, Bren,” I tell her. “It’s only been six weeks.”

“Exactly. It’s only been six weeks. I hate to see you jumping in headfirst with another guy so soon, now that you’re finally rid of that asshole Will,” Latisha tells me. “You should be living it up.”

“Can’t I live it up while I’m living with Jack?” I protest.
“We have fun together. He treats me really well. He even cooks for me.”

“He does?” Yvonne raises an eyebrow. “What does he cook?”

“Fancy stuff. Well, he’s going to. Saturday night. Mike and Dianne are going skiing, finally. Jack’s making me a special dinner.”

“Is that when you’re supposed to tell him whether you’re going to move in with him?” Brenda asks.

I shake my head. “He said to take my time and think about it.”

But I already know what I should do.

Kate is right.

My work friends are right.

Inner Tracey is right.

I should say no.

“Of course you should say no,” Buckley tells me that night, over coffee at the Barnes & Noble superstore near his apartment.

“Not because I’m jealous or anything,” he adds quickly. “Just…it’s way too soon.”

“That’s what I thought. I mean, think,” I amend. “That’s what I
think.
”

He looks up doubtfully from his coffee cup. “Are you sure?”

“No,” I admit. “I’m not sure. Every time I think it’s ridiculous to even consider moving in with somebody I haven’t even been dating for two months, I see him and I get all…”

“Smitten?” asks Buckley the copywriter.

I smile. “Yeah.
Smitten
’s a good word for it.” A good
G-rated one, anyway. “And then I start thinking maybe I should just go with my gut for a change, instead of analyzing everything to death.”

“And your gut is telling you to do it?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugs and remains silent, toying with the edge of the white plastic bag full of books he just bought.

“What’s the worst that can happen?” I ask him. “Wait, you don’t have to tell me. I know. I’ll get my heart broken again, just like with Will. But Jack is different, Buckley.”

“It sounds like he is, but…Tracey, when you used to talk about Will back when we first met, he sounded like a great guy, too. You had your blinders on.”

“I know I did.”

“Maybe you still do.”

“Maybe.”

“Ask yourself why he wants to move in together so soon.”

“Because he’s ready to take our relationship to the next level?”

“Or because he hates his roommate’s girlfriend and he hates living in Brooklyn and he can’t find a new roommate?”

I scowl.

“I’m just quoting him, and what you told me,” Buckley says with a shrug.

“I know you are. But that’s just…circumstantial evidence. Those things might be true, but they don’t mean that he doesn’t care about me, too. Maybe he’s just ready for a commitment at this stage in his life. And maybe he’s head over heels in love with me. Did you ever think of that?”

“For your sake, Tracey, I really hope that’s the case.”

Yeah. So do I.

By Thursday night, I still haven’t made up my mind about Jack.

I so want to believe that he’s my Prince Charming….

I so want to believe that we’re both ready for a live-in relationship….

But I’m not convinced of anything. Not after listening to what my friends had to say about it.

I mean, they know me better than I know myself, right? They knew that Will was wrong for me. If I had listened to them, I’d have broken up with him long before he did it for me.

What if I don’t listen to them this time, and I get rejected again?

Yeah, but what if you take a chance, and you don’t get rejected again?

Mental Note: There goes Inner Tracey trying to be all take-charge again. Beware. She thinks she knows what she’s doing, but she’s the one who made you kiss Buckley.

Then again…

If I hadn’t kissed Buckley, I’d still be wondering what it would be like. I’d still be wondering if he could be my Mr. Right.

Now I’ve got that out of my system, and I know that he isn’t Mr. Right, and I’m free to focus on Jack.

Or not.

Lugging two weeks’ worth of laundry, I meet Raphael at the Laundromat. I blew off suds and suds last week because Jack invited me to a launch party for a new entertainment magazine.

Not that Raphael minded, since he was busy with Terence anyway. According to him, they’re in love.

I give it two weeks.

One, if Raphael sets foot in Oh, Boy sooner than that.

He’s waiting for me, this time with a six-pack.

“What happened to the cocktail shaker?” I ask, plopping my heavy sack of laundry onto the floor.

“All that hard liquor isn’t good for me, Tracey,” he says earnestly, handing me a Molson. “Terence said it’s like poison in my system.”

“What does Terence say about beer?” I ask, sipping, then sorting.

“He says it’s healthier than hard liquor, but you have to watch the carbs. He’s teaching me about nutrition. I’m really striving for a healthy lifestyle now. Oh, and, Tracey, he said we should only use scent-free detergent from now on, because the other kind can cause a rash.”

“Does Terence have something to say about everything?”

“Almost everything. He graduated summa cum laude. Oh, and he’s psychic.”

I fight the urge to roll my eyes, and wonder what the para-normal and preachy Terence would have to say about my moving in with Jack. Or not.

I decide not to bring it up with Raphael.

And then, of course, I do.

I can’t seem to help it. He’s the only one of my friends who hasn’t yet weighed in with an opinion.

Plus, Jack is constantly on my mind. I miss him like crazy, even though he calls me every morning and every night from Seattle.

Out of nowhere, as I’m adding detergent to my darks, I blurt it out. “I’m thinking of living with Jack.”

For a second, Raphael doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s busy sending One-Sock Sally the evil eye, which she ignores, as usual.

Then he looks at me and shrieks, “Tracey! What did you just say?”

“I’m thinking of living with Jack.”

“That’s what I thought you just said! Tracey, you can’t do that. You’ve only known him for a few weeks.”

“A few months. And you’ve moved in with people after a few days, Raphael. In fact, I think you’ve moved in with one-night stands.”

It never ceases to amaze me how hypocritical my friends can be. Especially Raphael the Healthy Lifestyle Striver, now opening his second beer in five minutes and lighting a new cigarette from the one in his hand.

“True, but we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you, Tracey,” he says. “I worry about you.”

“That’s sweet, Raphael, but don’t. I can take care of myself. Really.”

“Not if you’re thinking of moving in with some guy you just met, you can’t. Why would you want to tie yourself down now that you’re finally free?”

“Because I hate being free,” I say, feeling ornery. “I like being tied down. And I like—” maybe even
love
“—Jack.”

“So? You don’t have to move in with him. What’s wrong with just being his girlfriend?”

“Nothing’s wrong with that,” I admit. “But…”

“So? Be his girlfriend. Keep your own place. Then, when you break up, nobody has to move anywhere.”

“Maybe we won’t break up, Raphael. Ever think about that?”

He shrugs. “Everybody breaks up.”

“No, they don’t. Some people get married.”

He shrugs. “Same thing.”

“It is
not
the same thing. Marriage is forever. Not everybody gets divorced.”

“No, not everybody does,” he agrees. “But did you ever see a married couple who was head over heels in love?”

“Plenty of times.”

“Name one.”

I think of my parents. My siblings and their spouses.

Brenda and Paulie.

Okay, they’re all still together, and most of them are still pretty happy.

But head over heels in love?

“You’re so cynical, Raphael,” I tell him. “I think it’s sad.”

“I think it’s realistic.”

He puts his arms around me and looks into my face, dead serious for a change. So serious that it scares me.

“I just don’t want to see this guy hurt you, Tracey. Because you’re a great girl, and you deserve the best.”

I swallow hard over a sudden lump in my throat.

“Thanks, Raphael.”

He’s right, I think, as I stand with a cartload of wet laundry waiting for a dryer.

They’re all right.

It’s too soon for a commitment like that.

I can’t do it.

I have to tell Jack.

Saturday night, I think, watching One-Sock Sally’s black knee-high rotating behind the glass circle. I’ll tell him Saturday night, when he cooks me dinner.

J
ack calls me first thing Saturday morning.

First thing for him, that is, since he’s still on West Coast time. I’ve been up for a few hours, but I haven’t gotten out of bed yet. Not having television has given me a lot more time to read. And think. I’ve been lying here with my Caleb Carr book and trying to convince myself that not moving in with Jack is the right thing to do.

“Hey, you. I’m back,” he croons as I clutch the phone against my ear. “Did you miss me?”

“Definitely,” I tell him. “How was your flight?”

“Long,” he says, “and late. I didn’t land until after midnight. I wanted to call you, but I figured you might be sleeping. Or out.”

“I was sleeping,” I lie.

In reality, I was tossing and turning, wondering what Jack will say when I tell him I can’t live with him.

What if he breaks up with me?

If he does, then you’re better off without him,
Inner Tracey informs me.

Easy for her to say.

I’m the one who would have to face the loneliness and heartache. I’ve noticed that she tends to keep a low profile when the going gets tough.

“What are you doing today?” Jack asks.

“Reading. What are you doing?”

“Shopping. You didn’t forget about dinner tonight, did you?”

“Nope.” I smile, envisioning the two of us at the tiny table in his kitchen, clinking champagne glasses over candlelight.

“Listen, about tonight…”

Oh, no. Please, God, no. Don’t let him cancel. I’ve been looking forward to this all week. For weeks, in fact. And every time I think it’s going to happen, something goes wrong.

Mental Note: If he’s calling to cancel, it’s a sign.

“What about tonight?” I ask nervously, crossing my fingers in my lap.

If he blows me off, it’s definitely a sign that this just wasn’t meant to be. None of it. Not just living together, but me and Jack in general.

“Just that…you don’t mind if we, um, watch the Giants game, too, do you?”

My romantic vision of the two of us in his kitchen evaporates, but so, thank God, does the clammy fear that fate has thrown a wrench in our relationship.

“No,” I say, “I, uh, don’t mind. I mean, I like football.”

Yeah, I like it the way I like church. I know other people are really into it, and I can’t help feeling like I should be, too, so I make an effort.

“I wouldn’t care if it weren’t the playoffs,” he says. “If they win, they’re in the Super Bowl, so…”

“It’s fine.” I’m trying to sound upbeat. “I’m a Giants fan, too.”

“I thought you said you were a Bills fan.”

“Only until they’re out of the playoffs.” Which, unfortunately, is earlier and earlier every season. “When the Bills are out, I switch to the Giants. After all, I live in New York now.

They’re my hometown team.”

Even if they do play in Jersey.

We hang up, and I go back to my book, relieved.

I’ve read only three pages when the phone rings again.

“Hello?”

“Tracey! You’re there!”

“Oh. Hi, Will.”

I should have screened the call. He’s the last person I feel like talking to.

“I’ve been trying to reach you since Christmas,” he says. “How long did you stay up at your parents’?”

“Almost two weeks.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Then you’ve been back for a while.”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t you get my messages?”

“I did, but…I’ve been busy. I kept meaning to call you back. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. So how are you? How was Christmas?”

My ears prick up. Will’s asking how I am? And he’s asking about Christmas? Usually, he just launches into a long-winded monologue about himself.

Mental Note: New attitude is evidence that playing hard to get works with Will.

Not that I’m playing hard to get. But it’s too bad I didn’t think of it back when we were together. Things might have been different.

Not that I wish we were still together, or anything.

“I’m good. And Christmas was nice,” I say. “How was yours?”

“Relaxing. I needed it.”

“Yeah. Well, that’s good.”

“What are you doing tonight?” he asks.

What should I tell him? If I say I have a date, it might sound too casual. Jack is more than a date, and I want Will to know I have a boyfriend now.

In fact, I almost wish I were going to move in with Jack, just so that I could tell Will about it.

It’s not that I haven’t fallen out of love with him, because I just realized that I finally must have.

I mean, my heart didn’t jump when I heard his voice, and it’s been weeks since I thought I saw him on the street.

But it’s only human to want Will to want me, right? Even though I no longer want him?

“Tracey? Are you busy tonight?”

“Actually, I am,” I tell him. “I’ve been seeing someone for a while now, and…we have plans.”

“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “I still have your stuff. I thought maybe you could come over and get it.”

“Yeah, well…you can throw it all away, Will. Really. I wish you would. I don’t want it.”

And I don’t want you.

Damn, it feels good to think that and mean it.

“Are you sure you want to throw it all away, Tracey?”

He’s talking about the clothes.

“I’m positive, Will,” I say.

And I am.

About the clothes, and about everything else.

Jack calls me back an hour later.

“Hi,” he says.

Right away, I notice that he sounds funny. Not funny,
ha ha
. Funny,
I’m about to piss you off or hurt your feelings or make you cry or all of the above.

Trust me.

After three years with Will, I know the tone.

“What’s up, Jack?” I ask, trying not to sound like an anxious mother who’s just opened her door to a police officer in the middle of the night. “Is everything all right?”

“Everything’s great,” he says, and I can tell immediately that everything most certainly is not great.

“In fact,” he goes on, “my friend Ben just called me…”

He trails off.

Oh, crap.

This is so painful. I have to nudge him along.

“Is he the one you met in college? The one who’s a media supervisor over at OMD?” I ask, quite the aficionado in all things Jack-related.

“Yeah, that’s him.” He sounds surprised. “Good memory, Tracey.”

“Did something happen to Ben?”

And what does Ben have to do with me?

And why couldn’t it wait until I see Jack tonight, what ever it is?

“No, Ben’s fine. Great, in fact. He just scored four tickets to the Giants playoff game at the Meadowlands tonight. Can you believe it?”

“No, I can’t.”

Code Red. Code Red.

Home-cooked dinner has been aborted.

Repeat: Home-cooked dinner has been aborted.

“Yeah, the seats aren’t great,” Jack says over the sirens in my brain, “but who cares? It’s the Giants in postseason.”

You must calm down, Tracey.

This is not a sign.

If he were cancelling the date, that would be a sign.

So he’ll cook you dinner another time. You’ll go to the football game with some other couple—does Ben have a girlfriend?—and you’ll snuggle together under the stars. It’ll be fun. At least you’ll be together.

“That’s great, Jack,” I say, but my voice sounds hollow. “What time is the game?”

“Not till tonight, but actually, I’ve got to leave soon.
We’re driving, and Ben wants to stop off at the mall to ex change something.”

I’ve
got to leave soon?

I’ve
got to leave soon?

I’m so stunned that I can’t find my voice.

I’m not going to the football game?

We’re
not going to the football game?

He’s
going to the football game?

With Ben, and…

And who?

“Tracey? Are you still there?”

“Yeah. I’m still here. Who’s going?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“Oh, just some of the guys. Otherwise, I would have brought you along. But they weren’t my tickets, and Ben…well, he wanted it to be just the guys.”

“Oh.”

Breathe.

Swallow.

Speak.

“So who’s going?” I ask, because it seems important.

“You know….”

No, Jack, I fucking don’t know, you fucking asshole.

“Ben,” he says again.

“Yeah. You said Ben.”

“And Tommy. Did I ever tell you about Tommy?”

“The one who works at Goldman Sachs.”

“Right. You’re great with details, Tracey.”

“Thanks,” I say shortly. “Who else?”

I need names, here. I need to know who I should hate forever for taking Jack away from me on our home-cooked dinner night.

“Just Pat,” he says.

“Which one’s Pat? The one who still lives at home with his parents?”

“Uh, yeah…that’s Pat, but he’s not the one,” Jack says. “And he’s technically living in the mother-in-law apartment above his parents’ garage now that his grandmother went into a home, so…”

Is it my imagination, or is he hemming and hawing?

“So who’s
this
Pat?” I practically spit into the phone.

“Pat is, uh, actually Patty. She used to work at Blaire Barnett, too. But I call her Pat sometimes, so…”

She.

Her.

Pat is Patty. Pat is a woman.

And he wasn’t going to let on, the bastard. He was going to let me think Patty was Pat, one of the guys.

“I thought you said just the guys were going to the game,” I say, stung.

How could he do this to me?

“It is…mostly. Patty’s like one of the guys. She’s a bigger Giants fan than the three of us put together. Plus, she’s the only one who’s got a car. We need her to drive.”

“Oh.”

My throat aches from trying not to burst into tears.

My friends were right.

He is a jerk.

Okay, they didn’t say he was a jerk.

I’m
saying it.

“Tracey, are you okay?”

‘No,” I say, “I’m not.”

“You’re mad about the game?”

“Yes, I’m mad about the game. We haven’t seen each other in a week. I missed you so much—”

“I know,” he says. “I missed you, too.”

“Yeah, right. Then how could you do this to me?”

“Look, I’m sorry. I just…when Ben called about the tickets, I got excited. I guess I just didn’t think you’d mind. You were so great about it when I asked you before if I could watch it tonight, so I figured—”

“You figured wrong, Jack. I can’t believe you’d just blow me off like this. I mean, the least you could have done is invited me to go, too.”

“I told you, it’s a guy thing.”

“What about Patty?”

“She’s just like a guy,” he says, sounding bewildered.

“Yeah, I’ll bet.”

“Are you jealous of
Patty?
” He sounds incredulous.

And I sound like a screaming shrew.

“No, I’m not jealous of Patty. I’m not jealous of anyone. I’m just…I’m pissed off at you. I thought you were different. I didn’t think you were a selfish asshole like…like…”

Like Will.

“Well, I guess you were wrong, huh?” he asks coldly.

No more Mr. Nice Guy.

“I guess I was. Good thing I found out now, before…”

But you weren’t going to move in with him anyway, remember?

You were going to tell him no, remember?

Shaken, I say, “Have fun at the game.”

“Yeah,” he says curtly. “Believe me, I will.”

I slam the phone down without a goodbye.

It takes almost an hour for the tears to subside.

When they finally do, I’m left with eyes that feel freshly poached and a throbbing head that might as well have been repeatedly squeezed between subway doors.