Friends Without Benefits (Knitting in the City) (24 page)

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kat’s quiet voice was soothing.

“No. I honestly don’t. I’m just sorry I’m behaving like a jerk.” Ashley’s mumbled self-recrimination was barely audible.

Maybe partly out of curiosity
, but most likely to change the subject, Sandra lifted a finger in the air and addressed her question to both Janie and me. “So, what music is playing? Is this some kind of eclectic, unrequited romance, love song themed Pandora station?”

“No. I
believe it’s a CD.” Janie glanced at me.

“Yeah, it’s a CD.” I confirmed her response without looking up from
Angelica’s sweater. I would likely finish it tonight. Then, if I spent all my free time on the scarf, I would finish it before Nico returned next week.

“Where did it come from?” Sandra crooked her head to the side. “Is it yours, Janie?”

She shook her head. “No. It’s Elizabeth’s.”

“Elizabeth’s?” Marie asked, her disbelief obvious. My propensity for exclusively boy-band albums was infamous.

“Actually,” I sighed, paused, half-contemplated making up some story, but then—feeling tired of playing pretend—decided to tell the truth. “It’s Nico’s. He made it.”

“What do you mean
he made it
? Did he make it for you?” Sandra sounded honestly mystified.

I nodded.

“Like a mixed tape?” Kat said.

I nodded.

“Nico Moretti made you a mixed tape of love songs?” Ashley repeated, as though to clarify.

I shook my head. “No. Not of love songs. Just good music.”

The room fell into a suspended hush. I glanced at my friends and found I was the only one knitting; everyone else was staring at nothing in particular and listening to the sorrowful, regretful, passionate sounds of “One Love” by U2 fill the silence.

Kat caught my eye. She was frowning. “What other songs are on the CD?”

My heart fluttered a little, and I shrugged. “They’re all good, like the Cars’s “My Best Friend’s Girlfriend.” My dad used to play that song all the time.”

“Oh my god
. . .” Sandra stood and crossed to the stereo.

“What? What’s wrong?” I sat up in my chair.

Sandra pressed the back button and started the CD over. She played only the first twenty or so seconds of each song, and would skip ahead when someone named the song and artist.

“
Where Do I Begin,” Shirley Bassey . . . “Swing Life Away,” Rise Against . . . “I’ve Got a Crush on You,” Frank Sinatra . . . “My Best Friend’s Girlfriend,” The Cars . . . “Mr. Brightside,” The Killers . . . “What Sarah Said,” Death Cab For Cutie . . . “The Scientist,” Coldplay . . . “Everlong,” Foo Fighters . . . “Wild Horses,” The Sundays . . . “One Love,” U2 . . . “Criminal
,
” Fiona Apple . . . “Keep Bleeding Love,” Leona Lewis . . . “Again,” Janet Jackson . . . “I Think That She Knows,” Justin Timberlake . . . “Let’s Get it On,” Marvin Gaye . . . “Let’s Stay Together,” Al Green . . . “Save the Last Dance for Me,” The Drifters.

Sandra stared at me as though she expected something, expected me to say something in specific. I turned my work
in my hands, and—feeling compelled to speak—offered, “It was nice of him to do. . ?”

“Nice of him to do
. . .?” She gaped, her expression both horrified and incredulous. “Elizabeth, listen to this CD.
Listen. To. It
.”

I glanced around the room. Everyone was on the edge of their seats, except
, of course, Janie who looked just as confused as I felt. I was inexplicably embarrassed. “I have listened to it.”

“No. You haven’t.” Sandra
exhaled loudly. “‘My Best Friend’s Girlfriend?’ ‘Mr. Brightside?’ Hello!? This CD is the story of you and Nico. This CD is him telling you how he feels. Wake up and smell the obvious for Thor’s sake!”

“Ooohh!” Janie, finally seeing what I was missing, met my gaze directly. “I get it!
“Swing Life Away”
is like when you were kids and then “Mr. Brightside”—he’s jealous.”

“
’What Sarah Said’
by Death Cab for Cutie, that’s when Garrett died.” Fiona caught my gaze. “
Love is watching someone dying
.” She quoted the song.

I gawked
at her, felt like I’d been punched in the stomach. I couldn’t decide if they were right. Furthermore, if they were right, I couldn’t decide how I felt about it. The only thing I felt certain of was the sensation that I was drowning.

“When he stayed with you
after Garrett’s death, over the summer, that’s what the next three are about.” Sandra nodded. “Then, ‘One Love’—that’s obvious. ‘Criminal,’ that’s when you left him after. . .”

“Stop!” My heart was racing. “Just
—Just stop.” I stood and crossed to the CD player, ended the music before Shirley Bassey could ask me again:
Where do I begin?

I was hot with a surge of unidentified feelings. I took
the CD out of the player, left my knitting group staring at my back as I hurried to my bedroom and shut the door behind me.

I didn’t turn on the light switch. Instead I paced back and forth in the dark, wringing my hands.

Lyrics from the songs competed for my attention, pounded through my brain.

My first reaction was anger, with him. When I turned that over in my head a few times and realized it didn’t make sense, I then directed the anger inward. After a few laps around my room the anger dissipated—unable to gain traction—I felt bereft and unbearably
alone.

I
needed
to talk to him. I needed to ask him about the CD.

I needed to call Nico.

A light tapping on my door yanked me from my contemplative kerfuffle. I turned just in time to see Fiona and Janie peek their heads into my room.

“Elizabeth? Are you
. . .” Janie squinted at me. “Are you okay?”

I walked to the door and opened it a bit further, motioned for them to come in. “Yes. I’m ok
ay. I’m fine. I just—” I rubbed the space between my eyes with my index finger and thumb. “I’m just feeling somewhat ridiculous at the moment.”

Fiona walked over to me and engulfed me in a hug. Janie, without hesitating, followed suit
, and we stood in my room, a hug tripod.

“Whatever you decide, about Nico, that’s your business.” Fiona’s soft voice helped melt some of the cold
rigid anxiety in my bones. “But, no matter what, no matter if you tell that sexy Italian dreamboat to hit the road and no matter if you quit your job to become a belly dancing figure skater, there are six women here who love you and support you in all things.” Fiona pulled back, snagging my gaze with her large, elfish eyes. “No matter what.”

~*~

The first, and only, person I called after the ladies left and I finished Angelica’s 10:00 p.m. study visit was my dad. I needed to hear his voice.

I knew he and Jeanette would be back from their two week cruise by now
. With all the media calls, I had not yet let him know about my change in phone number. We were long overdue for a chat.

He was so reasonable, so logical,
so honest, so everything I’d always tried to be. If anyone could help me see reason, set my feet on the ground, and find a clear path, it was my dad.

The house phone rang three times before someone answered
, and that someone was not my father.

“
Um, hello?”
A sleepy, female voice sounded from the other end.

I g
lanced at the clock on my nightstand; it was 11:00 p.m. I winced.

“Hi, Jeanette. I didn’t realize how late it is. I’ll call back tomorrow.”

“Oh! Elizabeth, honey, don’t apologize.”
I heard rustling on the other end as she adjusted the phone.
“Your dad is so worried. We haven’t heard from you.”

“I know. Things have been a little strange.”

“Let me go get him. He’ll be so happy to hear your voice.”

“Thanks, Jeanette.” I picked at a frayed hole in my jeans, breaking the white cotton threads that ran horizontal and twisting them between my fingers.

“Elizabeth? Are you okay?”
My father’s steady voice soothed my nerves. I gathered a deep breath.

“Yes. I’m good. I’m fine. I just wanted to call you and give you my new
cell number, explain why I’ve been missing in action, see how the cruise was. But I can call back tomorrow.”

“
No. It’s fine. I’m still up working on a grant proposal for the department. The cruise was really great. Just a minute.”
I detected soft voices then a door close, the distinct sound of my father sitting in the chair behind his desk. It always squeaked.
“What was I saying?”

“The cruise.”

“Yes, yes, the cruise. Listen, Elizabeth, there is something I’ve been needing to talk to you about. I really wanted to do this in person; but, with your schedule and mine, I think the phone is probably just fine.”

I frowned. He sounded suspiciously hesitant
, somber. This sounded serious. I braced myself. “Are you okay? Are you sick?”

“
No, no—nothing like that. This is good news. At least, I think it’s good news, great news in fact.”

“Oh. Good.”
His words only served to increase my disquiet.
Great news?

“
Well, you see, the thing is,”
I heard him huff. It was the kind of huff that is accompanied by a smile, a huff-laugh.
“I’ve asked Jeannette to marry me and she has said yes.”

I opened my mouth with no intention of speaking. It was just open. Wide open. To say I was shocked was a gross understatemen
t. My mind was blown. I thought for a moment that I was dreaming.

“
Elizabeth?”

This was the man
who’d said my mother was his soul mate, his one true love. This was the man—throughout my entire childhood—who told me there was one right person for him, no one else, and that person had been my mother. This was the man who’d regale me with stories about them, how they met, how they fell in love, how much they loved me.

But this couldn’t be
the same man because he was about to marry someone else.

“
Elizabeth? Are you still there?”

“Yes! Yes, I’m here.
” Inexplicably, my eyes stung. “God, dad, I’m so happy for you.” I looked at the ceiling, blinked away the moisture and swallowed the sudden bitterness in my throat. “Congratulations.”

“You can see why I’ve been trying to call you. It happened while we were on the cruise and,” he huff-laughed again, “I just can’t believe she said yes.”

I called Nico on Wednesday.

Learning about my father’s engagement felt like taking the red pill in the Matrix. Everything he’d told me—about him, his unwavering love for my mother, about soul mates and true love—everything felt like a lie.
I knew he’d meant well, I knew his intentions had been good, and I knew he believed the sentiments at the time.

But that didn’t change the fact that he’d lied.

The rug had been pulled out from under me, my balloon had been popped, the wind vacated my sails, and—for maybe the hundredth time in two weeks—I felt adrift, unanchored, and unsteady.

I spent the day talking myself in and out of calling Nico; I
rationalized that I had two very good reasons for calling.

First of all, I couldn’t be one
-hundred-percent sure, but I thought I saw the fancy stalker lady in the hospital on Wednesday afternoon. I only saw her from the back, and it was in the crowded cafeteria, but I was almost positive the fancy stalker was back.

This excuse didn’t really work
, because I’d immediately told my assigned guard, Dan, about the incident. Dan contacted Quinn. Quinn, most likely, would have told Nico.

However, my second excuse was perfectly sound. I reasoned that is was
appropriate for me to call him about Angelica’s progress. He was likely wondering why I hadn’t called about it already. I figured any further delay in calling would be unprofessional on my part.

Yeah. That’s the ticket. Unprofessional.

The first time I called Nico it was just after Angelica’s 2:00 p.m. clinic visit. I had a shift at the hospital; therefore, Rose and Angelica had driven down to the clinical research unit for the infusion. Seeing them made me miss Nico, and I called him on a whim, before I could talk myself out of it.

It rang four times then went to voicemail. I didn’t leave a message.

The next time I called Nico was during my dinner break. One of my patients had been listening to “Mr. Brightside” by the Killers on their iPhone. The aggressive melody carried through the teenager’s headphones. The song reminded me of Nico and his mixtape CD.

I let the phone ring twice then I hung up before it went to voicemail.

The third time I called him I was just leaving the hospital at midnight, on my way home. I was sitting in the backseat of a large black SUV, one of Quinn’s cars that drove me back and forth to work.

The phone rang only once before I pressed the
End button.

I stared at the screen and laughed at myself. I was such a coward when it came to this man. I hated it. I hated how uncertain I felt. I hated how I couldn’t stop thinking about him and his stupid funny jokes. I hated how he invaded my dreams—both during the day and the night.

I was a mess.

The phone vibrated, causing me to jump and drop it. After a half
-second I reached for the cell from the floor of the car and glanced at the screen. It was Nico. I closed my eyes, screwing them shut tight.

Gah!

I swiped my thumb across the screen and brought the receiver to my ear, grimacing as I did so, because I was a coward and, honestly, very much afraid of hearing his voice.

“Hello?”

“Elizabeth?”

My heart leapt to my throat. “Nico?”

“Yes.”

The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention. Damn him
and his damn freaking sexy voice!

“Um
, hi.”

“
Hi.”

Silence.

“Are you okay? One of Quinn’s people told me about what happened—”

“No. I’m fine. It probably wasn’t even her. Really, nothing to worry about.”

“Okay. Good. So, what’s up?”

“You called me.”

“Yes, but you called me first. Three times actually. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything is fine. I was just going to check in with you about A
ngelica.”

“
Is she okay?”

“Yes
, she is okay.” I wiped my free hand on the knee of my scrubs; it was damp with sweat, as was the one that held the phone.

“
Good. That’s good.”

I heard voices in the background, muffled banging, someone shouted.

“Well, you sound busy. I should let you go.”

“
No. I’m not busy. I don’t need to go.”

“Oh. Ok
ay.” I switched the phone to my other hand, repeated the palm wiping procedure. “How are things going out in New York?”

“
Good. Crazy. Busy. I’ve been taping two shows a day.”

“Wow. That seems like a lot.”
I eased into my seat, relaxing a bit as the conversation settled on the benign topic of his show.

“
Yeah, well, I want to take some time off after this week and spend a few days in Chicago next week.”

My stomach did a backflip. It took me a moment to recover from the news. “You’ll be here all next week?”

“Well, starting Tuesday.”

My stomach did a front flip. I had a stupid grin on my face. “I’m sure Angelica will really like that. She misses you.”

“I miss her too. But, it’s not just Angelica that I’d like to spend time with.”

My grin widened
; I knew where he was going with his last statement, but wanted to torture him a little. “Well, your mother misses you too.”

He chuckled. It was a man chuckle
, and it made my heart squee.
“I’m sure she does. But you know I was talking about you.”

My stomach did a side flip.
“Me?”

“
Yes. You. Maybe when I get back we could go out, catch a movie, see a show—you know, friend things.”

I laughed. “Nico, I can’t even leave my building without photographers chasing me down
. The two of us out together might incite a riot. How are we supposed to go out to a movie?”

“
In disguise. We’ll wear wigs, dress up like an old married couple. Of course I’ll have cop a feel to keep up with the ruse.”

“Ha! Yes. Because I’ve never seen an old married couple out in public without one of them copping a feel.”

“Copping a feel, making out, heavy petting, wild sex in public places—old married couples are really a PDA menace, but I’m willing to commit to the disguise if you are.”

My head fell back to the head
rest as my laughter filled the car. “You are a funny, funny guy Nico.”

“
Well, it is my job. Speaking of which—just a second.”
He must’ve placed his hand over the phone because I was met with silence for a short moment. When he came back to the phone the background noise was gone.
“How’s work going? What have you been up to?”

“Bah. That’s boring. You don’t want to hear about that.”
I didn’t want to bring the lightness of the conversation down with my daily statistics: two shootings and a car accident.

“
I do, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked. How is work? Anything interesting in the ER today?”

I shifted in my seat, crossed my legs.
I thought about unloading on Nico. In truth, I wasn’t used to talking to someone about my day, not any more. Janie and I used to swap work stories before she met Quinn and virtually disappeared.

“Well, how was your day?”

“No—I asked you first. I want to hear about everything, start at the beginning.”

“What is considered the beginning?”

“Waking up.”

“Ok
ay.”

“
Don’t skip anything.”

And
I didn’t. I didn’t skip anything. I told him all about the young kid who died in the ER while I was trying to intubate her and how angry then sad it made me. We covered my day, his day, Angelica’s clinic visits, his feelings on different brands of tequila, my unhealthy yet abiding obsession with Goldfish Crackers and
Star Trek Voyager
, his plans to travel to Italy, my plans to eat a deep-dish pizza on Friday, the perfect pizza toppings.

It felt indescribably good to unburden the day then discuss topics of absolutely no importance to anyone
, but us. I stayed on the phone with him as I changed my clothes, brushed my teeth. I lay in bed and argued the merits of learning a foreign language at a young age—we both agreed it was a good idea.

We were still talking at 2:00 a
.m. when I heard him yawn on the other end. It was a stretch-yawn, and I shivered involuntarily at the thought of his big body stretching next to mine, relaxed and sleepy.

“Nico. We need to go to sleep. It’s
two here, which means it’s three there.”

“
Just a little longer.”

I closed my eyes. Pictured him next to me, talking in my ear. “I have to be up at
five forty-five for Angelica’s infusion.”

He groaned.
“Okay. Get some sleep. When are you calling me next? Tomorrow?”

“I have a double shift tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have breaks?”

“Yes. I have a dinner break at 6:00 p
.m.”

I could hear the smile in his voice.
“Perfect. Call me then. We’ll have dinner together.”

“Ok
ay.” I answered his smile with a shy one of my own. It was ridiculous and girly, but I couldn’t help it. His sleepy, teddy bear voice gave me the warm fuzzies.

“
Oh, and Elizabeth?”

“Yeah?”

“What are you wearing?”

“Uh, my pajamas. Why?”

“What do they look like?”

He was a dirty bird. Two could play at this game. “Actually
 . . .” I stretched. “I’m naked.”

This statement was met with silence.
I opened my eyes, stared at the ceiling. “Nico? Are you still there?”

“
Yep.”
His voice sounded strained.

I laughed lightly. “Are you ok
ay?”

“
Oh, me? Yeah. I’m great. I was just thinking about the fact that we’re wearing matching outfits.”

An image of naked Nico flashed into my mind, big and hard and smooth, nestled between soft cotton sheets. I stopped laughing. I swallowed.

“Sweet dreams, Elizabeth.”

“Sleep tight, Nico
,” I choked.

I hung up the phone, no longer tired.

I didn’t sleep a wink.

~*~

My sleep and knitting suffered because, when I wasn’t working, I was talking on the phone with Nico. During my breaks we either spoke or texted. Our discussions put me in a good mood, and I even successfully ignored Meg’s attempts to draw me into a petty fight.

For the first time
in my adult life I was counting the hours between phone calls with a man.

Who was I? Who
was this silly, giddy girl?

I didn’t dwell on it.

Friday night, late, after I unloaded on Nico about a case of domestic violence that I’d treated earlier in the day, I brought up the topic of my father’s impending nuptials. It was a very graceful conversational transition.

He said,
“Geeze, that sucks.”

And I said, “So my dad is getting married.”

“Oh.”
He paused; then said,
“Wait, what? Really?”

“Yeah. Really.” It felt nice talking to someone who understood what this meant
.

“
I can’t believe it. To who?”

“To the baker, Jeannette.”

“Ah yes. The woman my mother has been referring to as the child. Well, good for him . . . Right?”

“Yeah
 . . . Right.”

“
I thought you liked her.”

I shrugged my shoulders then realized he couldn’t see me. “She’s nice.”

“Are you happy about this?”

“Yeah
 . . .”

“
You don’t sound so sure about that.”

“It’s just—do you mind if I talk about this?”

“Yes. Please. Talk about whatever you want as long as you talk.”

“So, here is the thing, I don’t know how to feel about this because growing up my dad—it’s just—
” I released a measured breath. “Everything he said about him and my mom feels like a lie now.”

“
Why? Because he found somebody else? It’s been, what, fifteen years?”

“But that shouldn’t matter, not if you really love someone. It shouldn’t matter how much time has passed.”

“You know he is allowed to move on with his life. If she is good people then you should be happy for him.”

“She is good people and I don’t have any problem with him moving on with his life. It’s just that, growing up, he used to tell me about how he met my mom, how he knew at first sight that she was the one for him and that there was never going to be anybody else. They were childhood sweethearts and it just feels like, now, he’s marrying somebody else
 . . .? He loves
her
? You see what I mean?”