I slowly nod my head yes.
“I’m sorry.” She continues. “I didn’t know he was married. You’re so young. I thought you were the babysitter.”
Babysitter would be flattering if I weren’t still wearing my work clothes. In this case, it’s just laughable, and not in a funny way.
Staring blankly at this woman, I appraise her. Blonde, tan, young, and fit. I don’t know her, but clearly my husband and child know her. I look down to see Jackson smiling up. I wish I could telepathically tell him to scowl at her. My little cub is falling prey to the predator.
My mouth finds a way to catch up to my thoughts. “Who are you?”
In the upmost cheerful way she could possibly reply, she says, “I’m Becca!”
Of course she is. Not to judge, but she really doesn’t look like a Maude or an Arlene. She looks like she should have two pompoms in her hands and be doing the splits. Again, I’m not judging. Just observing.
“I’m sorry… Becca?” I stand and gather my blanket and baby.
“Yes, Jack and I see each other every Saturday. Isn’t that right, buddy?” She shines a luminous smile that shows either her skin is too tan or she uses way too many whitening strips.
If Gwen were here, she would tell me to stop judging and make a friend with this woman. I guess I could. She looks friendly enough. A little too friendly, but if Gabriel knows her, then she can’t be that bad.
“Jackson and I are here all the time. Surprised we haven’t run into you before.”
Becca looks up at the setting sun and then back at me, bouncing on her toes to keep moving. “Oh, no, this is an early run for me. I’m usually out here later than this. I like to run with the wolves, you know.”
We live in a nice neighborhood, but a pretty girl like her running at night is not a good idea. “That doesn’t seem safe.”
Becca gives me a half smile. “That’s what Gabriel said. He runs with me sometimes. Keeps the wolves away.”
My body halts for a second at the realization of her words. I don’t want to make assumptions but isn’t it odd for a married man to be running with a pretty blonde? Then again, I’m not a runner so I have no idea what runner’s etiquette is. I lower Jackson into the stroller and buckle him in. “Jackson and I need to go. It’s getting late.”
“Of course. Jack needs his book, bath, and bottle, right?”
I just stare at her, dumbfounded. The lioness shuffles from one foot to the other, trying to bring her heart rate back up. “Peace out, cub scouts! It was great meeting you. Later, Jack!”
Off she goes into the wild. Who was that woman? Maybe I shouldn’t be so skeptical. She’s probably very nice.
Oh, who am I kidding? I hate her.
I hate her blonde hair, her tan skin, her toned abs, and the fact she calls my kid “Jack.”
They are driving me crazy. Last week, I could swear the flowers were even fuller and Friday, doubling in size. Today, I can barely see the fiery little redhead beyond the lavish display.
“You must have one green thumb.” What could she be doing to these flowers that they remained so healthy?
Trish giggles. “Maybe a black thumb! I am the worst with flowers. In fact, I kill every plant I’ve ever owned.”
“Then how do these look so beautiful? They look like they were just delivered.”
Trish looks at me with a curious expression. “That’s because they were just delivered. There has been a fresh shipment of roses every day this week. Mr. Asher loved the ones your husband sent you, so he’s had a fresh bouquet delivered every morning. Although, they seem to be getting bigger by the day!”
So I’m not crazy!
What kind of trick is he playing? Not to mention, this is a colossal waste of money.
Once in my office, I place my bag on my desk and turn on my computer. Waiting for the machine to power up, I place my Starbucks and a paper I purchased downstairs on the desk and take a few moments to relax. New York news is the same every day. Today, it’s the latest Ponzi schemer being followed in and out of his Park Avenue apartment by media and angry clients looking for their money. I read the name over a few times. What was the name of Gabriel’s client? Could this be him? I have to remember to ask him when I get home.
Gabriel and I have been fine since our argument over the baseball game. And by fine, I mean we’re existing.
I asked him about the girl in the park over the weekend and he looked at me like I was crazy before realization crossed his face and he laughed, and said she was just some girl he runs with sometimes to keep pace. He actually referred to her as the “bouncy blonde.” He didn’t know her name, which I found odd since she knew so much about him. He just shrugged it off and said she got extra chatty a few weeks ago when he was out with Jackson. He seemed surprised she remembered so much about their conversation since he didn’t even remember it until I brought it up.
While Gabriel parked himself at the kitchen table this weekend, filing an amendment, I took the time to hang out with Jackson, my sweet boy. This week, the little angel has decided to play favorites with his toys. If he’s playing with his set of blocks, he always goes for the blue round one. If he is playing with an animal puzzle, he always wants the farmer. His cruising is getting good. Pretty soon, I’ll have a little walker on my hands and then I’ll be truly exhausted.
I felt bad Gabriel was so caught up this weekend. Watching him opening up the law books again, I knew this was a big case for him. I hung out at the table with him and read a book while he typed away at his laptop.
Our life has certainly changed from that first night ten years ago. I don’t know what my life would be like if I hadn’t walked into that bar.
As soon as I entered McCloon’s, the sounds of the Spin Doctors sang in my ears. No matter what year, that song never gets old.
And just like a mirage, he was standing there—the boy with wavy dark hair and navy-blue eyes, who helped me with my books outside of class. Blue jeans and a pair of Lacoste sneakers, he was the epitome of a relaxed college guy.
I should have been used to seeing his face. Three times a week, for an entire month, he stood outside my building and asked me my name. It’d become a bit of a game for the two of us. He asked, I didn’t answer, and then he’d walk me to my Art Theory class on the other side of campus.
Every day he told me a different story about himself or something he’d learned in class. I’d become used to our walks, so much so that my Behavioral Science lecture in the building became my favorite because it meant at the end of class, I’d get to see him.
He always made a point to tell me where he’d be later that day. I wanted to go but I always found an excuse not to go.
After a month, I had no more excuses.
“It’s you,” he said, his eyes wide with amazement.
“It’s you,” I reciprocated.
He was much taller than me by a whole head. I had to look up at him when he spoke. “So are you going to tell me your name yet?”
I stood there unable to contain my blush. He always made me feel the need to play coy. I decided before coming out tonight that if I saw him, I was going to tell him my name. Yet for some reason, I just couldn’t form the words. All kinds of awkward and embarrassed, I walked over to the Beirut, trying to think of something clever to say.
He was quickly behind me. “Let’s make a deal. We’ll play for it. If I win, you tell me your name. If you win, I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the night.”