Fiction: A Fine Romance
Title: A Fine Romance
Genre: Fiction
Words: ~4,400
Rating: PG-13
Professional Notes: Written for pretty_cynical, for the first challenge at inrevelations.
Other notes: I hope you enjoy it! It was kind of different; much more "chick-lit"ish than my usual writing. I didn't mean for it to be that way...my fingers just kind of took off in their own direction and didn't want to stop. Also, a particular thanks to my good friends Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, who cheered me even into hours which saw slackening fingers and drooping eyelids.
Summary: The first time they meet, she's crying.
-
January.
The first time they meet, she's crying.
Not sobbing; she's not generally that dramatic. Just a couple of frustrated tears as she sighs into her cell phone.
He sits down on the seat across from her, sliding back into the green vinyl.
Is it the tears that catch his attention? The slight husk to her voice? The strands of blonde hair escaping from the professional knot at the back of her head?
He doesn't know. She's just another woman, just another body in the noisy, crowded car. At least, she should be.
But she isn't.
He doesn't make a special attempt to listen for what she's saying. But he hears it, regardless.
"And there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Tell me why I bother again?" ... "You're right." ... "It's not like I don't know that." ... "I know you were. Sorry. You know what I need?" ... "Actually, I was going to say a vacation. Why is a man your answer for everything? I swear, next you'll be prescribing 'good sex' to people with the common cold." ... "Well, I thought it was funny." ... "Okay. I'll talk to you later. Bye."
The silence is incredibly awkward (or maybe it just is for him, he's not sure).
He has the oddest urge to talk to her, but that's just something he doesn't do. He can't remember the last time he struck up random conversation with a stranger on the subway. Of course, some people do that all the time. For all she knew, he could be one of those people.
But she'd probably prefer to be left alone. He's settled on doing nothing when she shifts in her seat, holds out her hand.
"Emma."
"Luke."
Her hand is warm in his.
It's a good feeling.
--
Soon enough, it's a tradition. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, there they are in car number thirteen, from 5:20 to 5:35 PM. She gets on the stop before him, reserves the seat until he gets there.
It's been going on for nearly two weeks now.
Luke can't remember what he used to look forward to the most in his life before he started riding the subway with Emma. Now he finds himself getting impatient during the day, waiting for her voice, her flashing eyes, her hair that can never seem to stay in whatever style she has attempted that day. She's informed him that this is because her hair is so fine; it just slides right out of the clips and elastics. He doesn't mind. She has a strong face, and it gives it a sort of softened appearance, a nice contrast.
He really shouldn't become so infatuated with her, especially this soon. He's never asked her about that first day, on the phone. But sometimes, in the moments before she sees him, her face is just so sad. He is pretty sure she is already in love. And it's not going well for her.
The thought makes his right hand ball into a fist. Bastard. He doesn't know this mystery man, but he's a bastard for sure.
--
"How old are you?"
"Young enough to still get carded. Old enough to be questioned endlessly by my parents on when I'm going to settle down and get married."
He laughs.
"To be specific, I'm 24."
"Me, too."
"July."
"Got you beat. April."
"Ding ding ding."
--
"Your favorite movie?"
She frowns. "Not fair. I hate it when people ask that question."
"Why?"
"I can't just...pick a movie out of thin air like that. I've seen too many amazing ones."
"Top three?"
"Do you not grasp the concept of letting things go?"
"My therapist doesn't think so."
"You don't see a therapist."
"And now I don't have to. I have you. Am I supposed to put my head in your lap now?"
She turns her head to watch the blur of bricks outside the window, doesn't let him see the amused curl to her lips. "You're ridiculous."
"This is true. And now back to you; in the spirit of reciprocation, I'll be your therapist. And as such, I'm informing you that you have a problem with evasion."
She heaves a sigh. "I'll think about it. Ask me in a week."
He grins (it's sort of endearing, in a boyish kind of way).
--
"Emma, I need that on my desk now. And by now, I mean yesterday. And by yesterday, I mean if it takes longer than five minutes, I'll can your ass on the spot."
"Yes, sir." Her teeth are clenched, but she's careful to keep resentment out of her voice.
As she's gathering together the necessary papers, Pauline sticks her head inside the cubicle.
"Got a minute?"
"In five seconds, I will. Gotta run these to Jefferson's office."
"Or he'll 'can your ass?'"
"You got it."
"That man needs a new catch phrase."
"Or just a new personality."
"That would take a movement the Good Lord himself."
"I'm not holding my breath. Now, stay here while I drop these off," she says, standing and tapping the papers a couple times against her desk, reaching for the stapler.
She walks briskly toward the office at the end of the hall, places the report in the center of his desk, and makes her way back to the gray five-by-five cube she calls her own.
"I'm back. What did you want?"
"Just checking in for a Cameron update."
Emma shoves a finger up to her lips. "Is that really necessary?"
"Oh, honey, it's not exactly a secret."
"Yes, well. There's a difference between 'not quite a secret' and 'common knowledge.' I'd prefer to stay closer to the former if at all possible, thanks."
"We could go to dinner tonight."
"I guess. But you have to promise you won't make the conversation revolve around that. I'd much rather talk about other things."
"Promise."
"It's a deal, then. Riviera at 8?"
"Sure."
"See you then."
Pauline takes the hint and leaves to go back to her own cubicle, a few yards down.
Emma plops down in her computer chair, elbows on the desk, head propped against her palms. She takes a deep breath.
In. Out.
--
"You know, I just realized that you never told me your favorite movie."
"Does this mean you're ready to tell me yours?"
"No. It's only been two days; I still have five more to decide."
"Such a stickler."
"Plus, I haven't narrowed it down to less than ten yet."
"Well, at least you're making progress. And it's Casablanca, by the way," he informs her, switching back to the previous subject.
"Really?"
"Why do you sound surprised?"
"You just seem like it'd be more...Lord of the Rings or Star Wars or something."
"Disappointed?"
"Impressed, actually. Not that there's nothing wrong with those, mind you. I was a bit of a Star Wars buff as a teenager."
One side of his lips curls up in a half-smile. "Really? I never would have guessed."
"I'm a surprising person."
"You certainly are."
She shifts a bit under his gaze. She wonders if anyone's ever told him that his eyes are just too green. They're unnerving.
"So, Casablanca. That's actually on my list, too. Although there's no telling if it'll survive the massive 70% cut that will be inflicted sometime in the next five days."
"You can't cut Casablanca! Bogie! Bergman! It's classic Hollywood at its very best."
"Oh, I'm not arguing that."
"Good."
The subway jolts as it comes to a complete halt.
"See you Friday," she says, climbing to her feet and retrieving her briefcase from its spot next to the window.
"See you."
--
February.
"Favorite book?"
"The Road." He pauses for a second after he speaks, nods as if affirming his decision.
"What's that?"
His jaw drops. "Come on. Cormac McCarthy?"
"Doesn't ring a bell."
"How is that even possible?"
She shrugs.
"It's one of the finest in its genre. You should check it out."
"What genre would that be?"
"Post-apocalypse."
"Sorry, I'm not really into post-apocalypse books."
"Have you ever read one?"
"No."
"Then how do you know that?"
"Are you seriously going to resort to that basic of an argument? That should be at least a second back up."
"Evasion, anyone?"
She shoots him a look. "No, I haven't. I've watched a couple movies, though."
He raises his eyebrows. "Oh. So you're one of those."
"Hey, no need for that. I read as much as the next person."
"And as the next person would currently be me, I'm encouraging you to trust my taste."
"Maybe."
"That means 'no,' doesn't it."
"Of course not. It means I'm going to conveniently forget for the next four or five months. Until you get so fed up that you bring me your copy. And then I'll probably read it, just because I'd hate to keep your favorite book away from you."
"Well, at least you're honest."
--
"Why are you so chipper today?" Pauline questions as they each eat their respective lunches, and Emma looks up questioningly.
"What do you mean? I'm not chipper."
"Not to be the bearer of bad news, but you're usually a regular Debbie Downer."
Emma lets her fork fall back to the plate, sitting back as her brows furrow together indignantly. "I am not."
"Well, maybe not. But when I can hear you humming three cubicles down, I know something is up."
"I woke up in a good mood."
"If you say so..." Pauline trails off, clearly not believing her.
"I mean, there is something that makes me happier lately."
Pauline smirks. "Told you. So? You met a guy?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's about damn time," she exclaims, giving a strong nod of approval.
"It's not like that, though."
"Mmhm. Sure."
"It's not. We're just subway buddies."
"What's his name?"
"Luke."
"Sounds sexy. Is he sexy?"
"Sort of. I don't know."
Paulette raises her eyebrows.
"Okay, yes, he is. But I don't need that in my life right now. I need a friend, someone to laugh with."
"Glad to see you appreciate my friendship so much."
"You know what I mean."
"Yes, I know."
"It's just...complicated. But not. He's someone I enjoy spending time with. It's just a good change of pace; sometimes, we just talk, sometimes, we have this kind of back-and-forth thing going on. It's fun. I was getting so sick of moping all the time."
"Question."
"No, I haven't fantasized about him."
"That wasn't my question."
"I'm shocked."
"Anyway. How long has this been going on?"
"Almost a month."
"And it's taken you this long to tell me?"
"I didn't know if it was going to last. A lot of times these things don't. You just get bored with each other after a couple times."
"But you haven't."
"Not yet, anyway."
"This sounds promising."
"I just told you, it's not like that."
"But it could be. In time."
Emma heaves a sigh. "I just don't know."
--
"There's something I've been meaning to ask you."
"Shoot."
"Why are you only here on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays? What do you do on Tuesdays and Thursdays."
"Oh, Tuesdays and Thursdays are my alter-ego days. I walk around plotting how to take over the world."
She rolls her eyes. He really is ridiculous sometimes. "Luke."
"I was just trying to make it sound exciting. I just work an extra hour on Tuesdays and Thursdays; it makes enough of a difference that I don't have to go in on Saturdays. I like having my weekend life completely separate from my work life."
"Ahh. That makes sense."
"I'm a very sensible person."
"I'm sure you are."
--
He boards the subway four days later and immediately knows something is wrong. Her eyes are puffy, and she barely even musters a smile when she sees him.
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
"You sure? I'm told I'm quite an effective listener." He pauses. "Plus, you know, I am your unofficial therapist an all."
She remains silent for a few seconds, before sitting up straight and taking a deep breath.
"Okay."
*
He didn't look as surprised as she thought he would; instead, he seems strangely attentive, happy that she's opening this part of herself up to him.
"Although, I'm warning you, this isn't going to be the normal lively conversation in which we usually engage. You may want to stop sitting by me for fear of my dumping more emotional baggage on you."
She's not sure exactly what she just said besides the fact that it was some kind of general disclaimer; it all just kind of came babbling out. She lifts her eyes from her fingernails to look at his face. And he still doesn't look unnerved.
"I doubt that."
She smiles. "Okay. In that case. Do you want the long, medium, or short version?"
"Whatever we have time for."
"We'll go medium, then. Well, it all started last year, when this guy named Cameron got transferred to our office. He was kind of a jerk at first. But you know, it was understandable, as he used to live in New York City, so getting transferred all the way to Chicago was...well, not exactly what he'd expected. Anyway, like I said, he was sort of a jerk, but he got better after a few weeks. And we spent some time together, and I fell hard, blah, blah, blah. Of course, I didn't say anything because my boss has a no-tolerance rule about coworkers dating. Even though Cameron and I technically aren't even in the same department.
"After a while, I got the feeling that he was interested, too. We'd talk and flirt, and things became so blatant that I was absolutely positive it wasn't all in my head. Then came the infamous New Years Eve party. And, along with it, a few kisses that were far from friendly. As the evening progressed, I drank just enough alcohol that I wasn't drunk, but apparently, it clogged my brain's control of my mouth. And I told him everything I felt. And I mean everything. Including a particularly detailed fantasy involving him in my shower."
Luke coughs, bringing her back into the present. ...Oh God, she'd just told him about her fantasy. Oh well. He'd said he wanted the honest story.
She flashes a slightly uncomfortable smile. "Anyway. We went our separate ways after the party. I expected him to call, I guess. Or at least acknowledge it. But a week passed, he didn't call. I went back to work, three days passed, and a man named Bob was now doing all the things Cameron had done. Basically, he was avoiding me. Another week went by, and I got up the courage one morning to go confront him. But that just happened to be the morning he decided to "come out" about his relationship with a woman named Laurel in his department. Apparently, they'd gone on their first date four days after he arrived from Chicago. I found out right in front of him and fifteen other people, that the man I'd been hung up on for almost seven months had been in a relationship the entire time."
"Ouch."
"Understatement of the year. That was two days before we met, by the way. I'm assuming you heard the phone call?"
"Yeah."
"And to round up the story, lately, I thought I'd been making progress in getting over him. And then today, he decides that it's been too long since we've seen each other. So, he just strides right on up to my cubicle under the guise of asking me if I'd gotten one of the memos from earlier in the day. And then he launches into this huge speech about how much he misses our friendship, and how it's a crime we don't talk any more. He has the nerve to act as if absolutely nothing has changed at all. I just kind of sat there like an idiot, nodding whenever necessary, until he finally left. I held my reaction all in until the end of the day, when it all kind of just exploded as I was standing inside Starbucks, buying a giant chocolate chip cookie. I think I scared this little girl that was standing next to me, though." She laughs a little sadly to herself, shrugs her shoulders. "And now here we are."
It's taken the entire ride, and the subway is coming to a stop. As she stands, he reaches out and grabs her hand.
"Go out with me," tumbles out of his mouth, and his eyes widen like he hadn't even meant to say the words.
"Luke." She watches him come back to reality, watches the "look" fade from his eyes, as he interprets her tone. "I can't. That's just...not what we are. Not what I need right now."
He lets her hand slide from his. "I know. Sorry. I'm not sure what came over me."
"It's called sympathy. At least I know I'm an effective story-teller. A possible alternative career choice?" She flashes him a hopeful, forced grin, and he returns the favor.
She turns and walks away, only to halt as his voice floats to her over the heads of the people between them.
"I'm glad you told me."
She knows he's telling the truth.
--
March.
"Could you come with me to this family thing on Friday?"
"Luke..."
"And just to be clear, it wouldn't be a date. Think of it more as a favor. My mom jumps down my throat if I don't bring anyone; it means an uneven number of people at the table. And that's just not good."
She smiles. "Okay. I guess I could go. Besides, this means you owe me."
He grins, and she's never noticed how straight his teeth are. What an odd thing to notice.
"I guess it does."
--
"So, what do you do, Emma?" Luke's mother, Belinda, asks as she passes the grilled potatoes. It's an unseasonably warm March day, and they are eating on Luke's parents' back deck, along with his two older sisters and their husbands.
"I'm in advertising."
"Oh, impressive!"
"Well, not yet. I'm just sort of a general copy this, fax that kind of girl who occasionally gets asked her opinion on which font would look better on a poster. I've done a few freelance graphic design jobs, though, which is pretty exciting."
"I bet," chimes in Harmony, the eldest sister, a small brunette sitting at the other end of the table.
The rest of the dinner goes well until politics are brought up, which brings on a heated discussion about some amendment Emma doesn't know much about. Mark, Luke's dad, and the middle sister - Lucy, if she remembers correctly - are really going at it until Dave, Harmony's husband, holds up a hand. "Enough of this. How about some dancing?"
Emma looks up, surprised, and Luke has a pained expression. "I forgot to warn you dancing would most likely be involved. We're a slightly musical family. At least, they are. The music gene didn't make it all the way to me."
"We're still not sure what happened there. He can't even hold a beat," his mom teases as everyone stands.
"In my defense, I think Lucy took every last drop, before I even got a chance." Luke looks at back to Emma. "She plays four instruments, dances beautifully, and sings like an angel. You'd think she could have at least spared some of it," he tosses over his shoulder, and Lucy giggles.
Dave emerges from the house with a portable karaoke machine, and soon enough the table is pushed back to the edge of the house, so most of the wooden deck is open for dancing.
The night starts with a rendition of "Let's Call the Whole Thing Off" performed by Belinda and Mark, apparently a tradition of theirs. Emma and Luke hover on the sidelines until they're pulled into the chaos, dancing with each other, and then switching partners, and then switching around again. It's surprisingly fun, despite the fact that Luke isn't the world's best dancer. But he looks so cute when he's trying, and when a slower song starts, her heart beats a little faster when he inches closer, her fingers entwined with his as they slowly move back and forth, back and forth.
A faster song comes on again, this time a duet by Dave and Harmony. Emma doesn't know the song, but it's a fun beat, and she and Luke twirl around until she gets dizzy. It's started sprinkling, but no one really cares. They move the karaoke machine back into the house, and simply turn on the stereo right inside, turned up enough so that it's easily audible through the screen door.
A few songs later, the rain has really started to come down. Mark and Belinda have gone inside, and everyone is about to follow them until "La Vie En Rose" by Louis Armstrong comes on. Emma grabs Luke's hand just as they reach the door, and he turns back around.
She's not sure what compelled her to do that. But it's done now. And she wants to do whatever it is she's about to do.
"This is my favorite song."
He blinks, looks at her in a way that gives her goose bumps (or maybe it's just the rain).
She can see the knowing smirks of his family over his shoulder. But right now, she doesn't care.
He steps in close, closer than he's been all night, her cheek against his chin. He sways to one side, to the other. She closes her eyes, leaning with him as the sounds of soft, romantic trumpet music reaches her ears, followed by the piano, then the Louis starts singing, and she's lost. Lost in the cool rain, his skin, the way the meld together.
As the song comes to its rousing conclusion, she slowly fades back in, and everything's just a little hazy. There's a few seconds of silence as they just stand there, an inch apart, and all she would have to do is lean up just a little bit and she could kiss him...
But she steps back. "Thanks for the dance."
She hopes he understands.
--
"This is not good. This is oh, so very much not good."
"I don't get it," Pauline states as she takes a sip of her shake. They're in Emma's apartment, Pauline sitting on the couch and Emma pacing back and forth in front of her.
"How can you not get it? He can't be my rebound. For one, I'll screw up my friendship with him now. And for another, any possible future we might have a chance at? Would also be screwed. So, basically I'd be screwing everything if I went ahead with this."
"You could just take it slow. See where it leads. Maybe it'll lead to nothing; maybe you have no chemistry. And you can laugh about it on your little subway rides."
"Oh, that's helpful." Emma shakes her head, taking the final swallow of her ice cream and tossing the cup into the trash.
"I'm just suggesting scenarios. I still don't see the big deal. I think you should go for it. This is a good thing. If you keep on going like this, you might wind up giving him the impression you're leading him on."
"You don't know him. He knows me better than that."
"And how do you know that?"
"We just...understand each other."
"So, refresh my memory here. You want him. He wants you. You're both attractive, unattached, you understand each other, and you already know the boring first date questionnaire details. And yet you're going to pass this up?"
"Again. Rebound."
"Okay, I've been subtle long enough. Listen up, Emma. I've known you for five years. I know you. And you know, even if it's only deep, deep down, that Cameron isn't right for you. He never has been, he never will be. He's an ass. The end. And you know it never would have worked, even if you two had gotten together. And you hate that. So that is why you're still upset about Cameron, not because you were in love with him. 'Were' being the key word, by the way. Can you honestly say that it hurts much more than your pride right now when you think about him and Laurel? Of course it'll still hurt somewhat; you were led on and jilted and generally treated terribly. But if you'll give yourself a chance, you'll see you didn't give as much of yourself away as you think you did."
Emma sinks down onto the couch at these words, but Pauline isn't finished yet.
"And that is why I don't think you should worry about this being a 'rebound' thing. Because it's really not. I think you know that you have a much better chance of a working relationship with Luke than you ever did with Cameron. And that scares you. So give it up, and ask him out. Now, I'm tired. I'm going home."
Pauline shuts the door behind herself, leaving Emma alone on the couch in the silence, where she stays for the next hour, mulling over everything once, twice, again.
When she comes to a conclusion, it's a firm one.
--
When he shows up Monday evening, the first thing he sees Emma, her face obscured by the book in front of it. A book with a cover he would recognize anywhere.
He isn't sure what it means. But he thinks it's a good sign.
*
"You're reading The Road."
"Good observations skills, there."
"It's a gift."
"Clearly."
"What do you think of it?"
"I'm not sure, so far. It's...different."
"Hey, you're giving it a chance. That's enough to make me happy."
She looks up, making sure eye contact is established before she utters her next words. "It's something I've been thinking about a lot for the last couple days. Taking chances. There are several in particular I'm wanting to try."
There's a second of silence, and his eyes brighten a little. She can't help the smile that forms on her face in return.
"Luke, would you like to go to dinner with me on Friday?"
"Try to stop me."
She laughs.
It's a start. And that's enough for now.
~la fin
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