Arms Wide Open: a Novella (3 page)

I don’t even need to sit town at my
table to know I won’t like this next guy. He rests against the wooden chair, glaring
disdainfully around. His back is toward me, but I can see long, thick, curly
dark hair, slicked back with more gel than your average girl uses in a week.
One leg is extended, one arm draped over the chair beside him as he looks
around. His jeans and silky shirt probably cost more than my monthly rent.

When he turns to scan the room, I see
the top buttons are left undone to show off a thin gold chain and reveal a hint
of ridiculously thick, curly black chest hair. With one hand on the table his
fingers drum the top impatiently. I spot a pinky ring on that hand—it’s almost
all I need to run out the door after Harlow.

By the time he spots me, I’m the only
one left standing so he knows I’m his date for the next five minutes. He stands
up, immediately turning on the charm. I’m frozen in the middle of the sea of
tables and people as he approaches with a perfect, white-stripped smile. He
takes my hand in his and covers it with the other before leading me to our
table. We sit by the front window and I can see my reflection looking timidly
back at me as we sit. He makes me nervous. I definitely have a type, which
doesn’t include guys who look like paid hitmen.

“You want a drink?” he asks me. He
already has a couple of empty tumblers on our table and I’m guessing he’ll be
completely plastered by round five.

I see this type at the gym all the time.
Well, when I bother to go. They wear tight, shiny exercise clothes and walk
around like they’re serious about working out, but their regimens are little
more than sucking in and pumping the heavy weights when girls walk past.

“Just water, thanks.”

He looked confused. “You Mormon or
something?”

I decide I can’t possibly take this guy
seriously, so I decide to spend this round messing with his head. “No. I’m
Amish.” I try hard to swallow a smile. This will be fun. My heart thumps oddly
as if it finally decides to slow down at the tail end of my panic attack. I’ve
always wanted to yank someone around for fun. Maybe this will be something to
cross off the bucket list.

He raises a hand and snaps his fingers
at the server, who comes over with a scowl on her face. I don’t blame her. Who
snaps for service anymore?

“I need another, and water for the lady
here.” He looks at me as she leaves. “So Amish, huh? I thought you guys never
left the farm, and you had to wear sunbonnets and aprons and the like.” He has
a hint of a downstate New York accent. Brooklyn or the Bronx, maybe?

“Maybe.” I’ve only been to Amish country
once, so I hope he doesn’t take this line of questioning too much further. Aside
from buggies, quilts, and suggestive town names like Virginville or Intercourse
, I don’t know much about them.

A look of understanding flits across his
rugged face as he rubs his scratchy chin. The five o’clock shadow would be
crazy sexy on another face. He just oozes smarmy charm. “Oh, yeah,
Amish in
the City
. I get it. That’s the deal with your hair and diamond stud in your
nose.”

“It’s cubic zirconium, actually,” I say,
expecting him to flinch. He doesn’t disappoint. I have him pegged for a name
brander. I bet all I have to do is tell him I shop at the Goodwill and he’ll
suddenly vanish into the men’s room for the rest of our time together. I’m
tempted, but I want to mess with him a little longer. “We Amish take a vow of
poverty.” I don’t think they actually do, but I’m having a little too much fun
mocking him to his face.

“Huh. Who knew?” He looks away, and
those fingers start drumming the table again.

I can’t help but smile wide. He has zero
interest in me now, even without the Goodwill reference. He snatches the drink
our server brings us and takes a couple of gulps before I can even reach for
the water glass she places before me. She offers me a look of sympathy, and I
shoot her a knowing look as he sets the glass down hard and looks around.

“So, you got a name, Amish girl?”

I want to say something about how Amish
don’t name their children, just number them, but I probably wouldn’t be able to
stop laughing if I did. Instead I just say, “My name is Lauren,” as I extend my
hand for him to shake.

He’s taking another quick swig, so he
slams his cup down on the table to take my hand. This time instead of a warm
hand grasp and deep, meaningful gaze, I get a quick, limp-fish handshake before
he pulls back. As he does, I see a couple of rings in addition to the pinky
ring. One, on his right index finger, has a diamond studded dollar sign.

“I’m Johnny.”

“It’s very nice to meet you, Johnny.”

“So you Amish people, what do you do?”

I shrug my shoulders. “Make quilts and
bread. Raise chickens. Drive our buggies around.” I think hard. “Farm stuff.”

He nods, but his mind is already a mile
away. He’s leaning back in his chair in the same stance where I first saw him,
leg extended, looking out the window for something better to walk by. I guess I
have to take the lead for the next few minutes. “Johnny, tell me where you’re
from. It sounds like you’re from the big city.”

He grunts, not making eye contact. “The
boroughs.”

If I guess the wrong one, I have a
feeling that might qualify me for a mob hit in his eyes. “I can’t tell where
you’re from. Help a girl out?”

“I grew up under the el train in
Queens,” he says, eyes flickering at me. “My family made good and we moved out
this way.” Maybe he’s decided I’m odd enough to warrant some attention. Maybe
he expects all women to be overcome with a desire to run their fingers through
those manly chest curls.
Ick.
The thought makes me shudder a bit.

“And what do you do? Are you a mafia hit
man or something?”

He smiles like he can’t believe I’m for
real. No worries, dude. I’m not.

“Maybe I am,” he says. He leans forward
to check me out. “You into bad boys?”

I look down, trying to act coy and
demure. Even in real life, I don’t play with players. I bat my eyelashes and
shake my head at him. “Bad boys burn in hell.” I can’t figure out what made him
change his mind, but now I’m getting a serious creeper vibe from him.

He looks away with a cocky grin. “But
they have fun on the way down, if you know what I’m sayin’.” He looks back and starts
working me over with those shiny black eyes. As he looks at me, that old
saying, ‘undressing me with his eyes’ pops into my head. I feel like that, but
instead of undressing me slowly, he’s ripping things off and throwing them
around so they get tossed out the window or caught on the ceiling fan. I
swallow my disgust and continue to smile sweetly at him as he continues. “So
you Amish girls, how naughty are you?”

“If you’re implying what I think you
are, Johnny, shame on you.” I purse my lips. “We take our virginity with us to
the grave.”

He snorts. “No, you don’t.”

“Of course we do. Why would I lie about
something like that?”

“Where do Amish babies come from, then?”
he demands, grabbing his drink and gulping. His poor liver. I try to hide my
growing dislike for him.

“We breed more than cattle in those
barns, Johnny.”

A look of total incredulity crosses his
face. “That’s jacked up.”

“We like to keep our fertility
technology to ourselves,” I say with a sense of superiority.

A look of anger crosses his face.
“You’ve been messing with me the whole time.”

“Yeah, I have. I couldn’t help it.” I
don’t know what I’m doing. I’m never this ballsy, but it feels kind of
incredible. Maybe the emotional pendulum is swinging the other way for me now. Later
the fallout will be ugly, but right now I’m working it. “I saw you sitting here
in your overpriced, starched jeans and silk shirt, wearing more product in your
hair than an 80’s soap opera diva, with your jewelry and your swagitude,
working on your third drink of the night. Who wants to get sloshed in a coffee
shop anyway? I didn’t even know you could get boozed here. I could tell from
the moment I laid eyes on you that you weren’t going to be my type, and I have
absolutely no desire to be yours, so why not have a little fun?”

He thinks for a minute. Suddenly he
cracks a wide smile and starts to laugh. I’m dumbfounded.

“You.” He sits back, chair creaking
under his weight, and looks at me appreciatively. He points at me and shakes
his head. “You’re funny. I like you.” He wags a finger at me as he polishes off
drink number three, shaking his head again as he chugs. He drops the glass,
wipes his mouth with a thick hand, and snaps for number four. “You had me going
there for a minute, Amish girl. Is your name really Lauren or did you make that
up, too?”

“That’s my real name.”

“You a stand up comedienne or
something?”

“No. I’m unemployed.”

He sits forward and reaches into his
back pocket for his wallet. He flips it open, and I can see the high quality
black leather is jammed full with big bills. He pulls out a card. “I like you,”
he repeats as he hands it to me. It’s his business card, black and glossy on
heavy card stock. “You have a hard time finding work, you come see me. My
family owns the horse track and some stables. We like cute young things like
you to serve in the boxes during the races. High end clients who pay well use
those boxes. When they win big, they tip big.”

Now I’m mad. “I have a master’s degree
in psychology and you think I’m dying to schlepp drinks for wankers like you
and your buddies?” I instantly regret my slip of the tongue. Rent is due in a
couple of weeks and I’ve been spending my valuable job hunting time leaving a
permanent butt imprint on the couch. He doesn’t seem bothered by what I just
said, though.

He laughs at me instead.

The bell rings as drink number four
arrives, and he takes it from the tray as he stands to go. He tosses a couple
of twenties on the table to thank the server for her trouble and shrugs. “It’s
honest work for honest pay. Shrinks don’t make much money, you know what I’m
sayin’? I’m serious—this is a standing offer. Give me a call if you need some
quick cash. You need rent money, I’ll work you. You want to go shopping for
some decent clothes, I’ll work you.” He leans forward to kiss me on both
cheeks. “Thanks for the laugh, sugar.”

I look down at my clothes. I’m not sure
if being insulted should win out over being thankful for a gig that’ll pay rent
until I get a real job. I bury my face in my hands, shaking my head. Commence
headache now.

I watch mafia boy stride purposefully
away. He meets another friend in a corner. Their heads tip close so Johnny can
tell him something, and they both turn to look at me. Pretty sure I just won
freak show of the night award. I smile and do a little tap dance for their
benefit, finishing with raised arms and jazz hands. They laugh as I turn away.

The front door jingles as an entering
couple jerks it open. They come to a surprised halt when they see the room jam
packed with minglers holding color coded cards in their hands like I do. Since
I’m closest to the door, plotting my escape by jumping through the front
window, the woman turns to me and says, “Excuse me, but do you know what’s
going on here? Why is it so crowded?”

Our eyes meet, and recognition
registers. “Holy stinkin’... Erica, what are you doing here?”

“Lauren!”

We hug, acting much more like friends
than we ever did when we were in grad school. We had a few classes together and
did study groups occasionally. It’s not like we were besties or anything, but
the coffee shop is loud and noisy, and I feel overwhelmed when I stop to think
about what I’m doing. Seeing a familiar face feels like salvation.

She nudges the man next to her, and he
turns. “Jeremy, look who it is!” Shock registers on his face, probably the same
moment utter confusion crosses mine. Erica just walked into my worst nightmare
with the guy I dumped a few weeks ago and haven’t seen since.

I plaster a bright smile on my face and
reach out to hug him, too. “Jeremy, it’s great to see you. How have you been?”

He’s looking a little awkward, and I can
see in my head how the whole thing panned out. I told him I needed space before
finals and she swooped in. She’s wanted him since I met her. Most of the girls
in my program did. We had five women for every guy, and a few of those guys
were only into each other. Jeremy is good looking, the token straight guy with
little to no emotional baggage, so he was a hot property from day one.

He probably only wanted me because I had
zero interest in him. Some guys are all about the hunt, and Jeremy was no
exception. He chased me for about a year before I let him catch me, when I was
finally ready to feel something other than hurt. Erica always had it pretty bad
for him and I’m sure as soon as she knew we were over, she moved in for the
kill.

I want to show him I am totally okay
with this development without having that first, awkward, post-breakup convo. I
look in his eyes, where I still see the pain I caused him when I told him
thanks for the great time but I’m ready to move on. With a little bit of a
jolt, I realize I broke his heart. That’s never what I intended, but I should’ve
listened to him. He told me from the start he was ready for something serious.
How come I never listened? I’m starting to get mad at myself for being so
selfish, for hurting him, for leading him on.

I move a step back so I can check them
out together. She takes his hand in hers and lifts her chin just a touch, with
a hint of defiance, marking her territory like a dog whizzing on a fire
hydrant. I smile, and I have to try hard not to laugh. Honey, I’m not fighting
you for my bounce back guy.

“You two look great together. Seriously,
how long has this been going on?”

Jeremy looks down, that adorable crooked
smile gracing his stubbled chin. He looks particularly hot in some loose jeans
and a tee shirt that clings to his chest and biceps. His curls are getting a
little long on top, sort of perfect for a girl to run her fingers through. He
always was a sexy beast. He rubs his chin and looks away, and then back at her.
I’ve made him uncomfortable.

“Uh, not too long after...” His voice
trails off.

“After you two broke things off,” Erica
says, apparently deciding to get the worst over with, “he called me for
sympathy and we started talking things out. I tried to help him move on,
embrace the good in his life, and move forward. It started with a coffee and
Danish here, so we decided this would be our Friday night thing. After dinner,
we come back where it all began.” She grins.

I can’t help but smile. She’s so
whipped. She stands tall and proud, lightly caressing his forearm while we
talk. His body language is totally off. He looks around the room, shifting his
weight from one foot to the next. I can see he’s a little embarrassed by her
romantic proclamation, and in a few months he’ll have to confess that she was
the rebound girl. He’ll have the same conversation with her that I had to have
with him.

“This is great,” I say sincerely.
“Congratulations.”

“Erica, I’m going to hit up the barista
and get our order to go. It’s nuts in here.” He walks away, shouldering
sideways to get through the crowd. People start to settle down at different
tables, getting ready for round three. The room starts to clear out a little
and I have more standing room. Breathing becomes a little easier when I can
reclaim a little personal space.

“So what’s going on?” Erica notices
people pairing off, two by two like animals to the ark.

“It’s like a speed dating kind of
thing,” I say as casually as I can.

She raises her eyebrows. They’re painted
a rich brown and plucked to perfection, a stark contrast to her fair skin and
wavy blonde hair. “Really? Since you told Jeremy you weren’t looking for a
relationship I’m kind of surprised to see you doing something like this. You
really tore him up, you know.”

Yeah. I picked that up just now, thanks.

“I probably should have been more honest
with him from the start,” I tell her, knowing everything I say will be rehashed
between the two of them and discussed in great detail with her friends tomorrow
over lunch. That’s how she rolls. “I knew he wanted something more, something
lasting, and I never did. He’s a great guy, and we had fun. It wasn’t fair for
me to use him like that. He deserves someone like you, someone who really wants
to be with him long term.”

She looks surprised, but I hope she
picks up that I mean every word. “So you’re really okay with this? You’re not
throwing on a happy face for his benefit?”

“Erica, he was never more than a rebound
guy to me. He couldn’t have been a better or nicer one, but that’s all it ever
was on my end.” I look down. The honesty feels cathartic, a sweet release, so I
keep going. “I never told him about...” I think, trying to find the right
words. “I never told him everything. He was an escape. I went through hell and
back a few times before I started grad school, hoping for a fresh start. He was
what I needed to move on from all the pain of my past. When I was with him, I
wasn’t much more than a student and Jeremy’s girlfriend. I just needed to
forget, try to live again, and he helped me. I’ll always be thankful for that,
even though he has no idea he helped.”

She looks like she doesn’t know what to
say, so I keep going while the wheels in her brain start cranking. “I’m here
tonight for one reason only: my roommate dragged me here, and then promptly met
a great guy and ditched me. I decided to stay the rest of the night and follow
through as part of moving forward without using anyone else as a crutch. When I
see her later, I’m probably going to beat her senseless, but since she met
someone she really likes, she’ll die happy.”

She nods, clamping her lips together and
working them as if she’s spreading out lipstick. Jeremy returns with two
covered paper mugs in a cup holder, and a bag with the top rolled down and
folded. “That was fast,” she says, taking the bag from him.

He nods. “Tons of people here, but no
one’s buying coffee. What’s going on?”

“Harlow dragged me to their 5 in 5 blind
date thing and then bailed on me.” I shrug. I’m starting to wonder about my resolve
to stay and finish. I feel like a martyr, as if I’m only here to have something
to hold against Harlow later. I’ve scored seriously odd companions for the
night and I don’t know if I can handle it if things get any weirder. I don’t do
people and crowds well, and the emotional turmoil I find myself in since
running into Jeremy threatens to knock me over and drag me down.

“There are three in here,” Erica says.
Not sure what she means, I glance over and see her with the paper bag wide
open, examining its contents. She reaches in and pulls out a small pastry
wrapped in waxy tissue, tugging at the paper to see what went wrong. “Did you
order extra? Did they make a mistake? Jeremy, you should take this one back.”

I shake my head and look at him, and I
can’t help it as a crooked smile breaks free. Typical Jeremy. His eyes meet
mine as he reaches over to take it from her. “I thought Lauren might like one.
Far as I know, you’re still looking for work, right?”

I nod and take the pastry from him. I
don’t need to see what it is. He knows my favorite—white chocolate scones with
raspberry glaze. This shop is the only place in the city that makes them, and
he used to bring them over for my marathon study sessions. He would knock on
the door when he knew I had a major project due or test coming up, hand me the
bag, grin, kiss me on the forehead, and leave without saying a word. The more I
think about it, the more I have to wonder why I let him get away.

Then an image flashes in my mind, the
vision of a beautiful face that will always haunt me. A face I thought I’d see
forever, the one I wanted to wake up next to every morning for the rest of my
life. The one that made me believe in soul mates.

Until it ended.

That’s why I had to walk away. Jeremy is
perfect in every possible way, from his steely blue eyes and boyish charm to
his loving, thoughtful gestures and passionate kisses. But he’s not perfect
for
me
.

I think my eyes might be getting misty,
so I hold up the scone with a smile. I stand on tip toe to kiss him on the
cheek and whisper, “Thank you, Jeremy. For everything. I never deserved you, so
I really hope you find happiness with Erica. Give her a chance.”

My lips brush his ear lobe. I want to
offer one final kiss goodbye but I know I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair to Erica.
I hear him sigh, as if he knows what I’m thinking and wants it, too. He puts an
arm around me just briefly, but I back away. I can’t look him in the eye again.

“You two crazy kids have fun tonight,” I
say, my voice too loud and full of false bravado. I throw on my game show
hostess smile again. It feels forced, but at this point it’s all I can manage.
I watch them walk out, hand in hand, listening to the door jingle as they go.