What Love Looks Like (8 page)

“He was just
being friendly.”

“You have no
clue how attractive you are, do you?”

“Ryan, stop,” I
said, laughing. “Listen, did everything go smoothly in the kitchen?”

“Of
course—it always does.” He winked.

“Excellent.”

“Hey, so, like,
are you allowed to, like, get a drink with us after work?” Ryan asked, mimicking
the shy financial adviser. I laughed and shook my head. He was incorrigible.
“I’m serious, though. Come out for a drink.”

“I wish I could,
Ryan, but I’m beat.” And it was the truth. “I have to get up early and go to my
parents’ house tomorrow. My mother’s been bugging the shit out of me.”

“Sure, I know.
Has nothing to do with the New York guy, right? I was just talking about a
casual drink with a friend, but I understand, you gotta do what you gotta do.
Have a great evening, Elle, and great work tonight.” He shook my hand and
walked out of the empty room.

He was back to
being his cold, haughty self. Had I insulted him somehow? Maybe he was really
trying to extend the olive branch tonight and my rejection offended him? I’d
make a point of bringing him a coffee or something else thoughtful in next week
or two.

I exited from
the back of the restaurant, stepping out onto the stony pavement in the rear
lot. I walked past the dumpster as well as a few of the kitchen guys smoking,
probably marijuana, on the bench that overlooked the highway. It was a cool
night, but not intolerable. The entrance of my apartment was a stone’s throw
from the rear of the restaurant. As it was the weekend, the city streets were
full of life. Separate groups of men and women were on their way out to the
clubs. The sushi restaurant across from East Coast Prime had a massive line
just to get in. I knew the owner there well from my days of promoting liquor
brands. He was a cokehead who thrived on late nights and scantily clad girls. I
knew he’d let me in the back door if I wanted to go in, but I didn’t. I was
exhausted.

 
Mynt, the club next to the sushi place,
was also packed with people. I could see about a half a mile north onto High
Street, and it was teeming with people, young and old, out enjoying their
nights. But I wasn’t one of them. Bar after restaurant after bar was filled
with people: straight, gay, black, and white. They were all there for the same
reason, to seek out pleasure. I saw a few couples on dates, walking hand in
hand, and envy surged through me. Even if Jay and I worked out and this “thing”
developed into a real relationship, there was still the problem of the physical
distance between us. Everything always had a catch, and so few things had ever
happened effortlessly for me. It was as if the universe was always testing me
to see what I could handle.

Outside my
apartment window, I could see all the action on the street. A streetlight was
almost directly outside, which I didn’t mind terribly because it reminded me
that I was living somewhere that had some life to it
.
My building was right at the entrance of the Arts District, and
the massive marquee directly outside my bedroom window indicated such to
visitors. It was a flourishing neighborhood to live in, and at times I felt
lucky to be there. But I almost never got to enjoy all that it had to offer.

Within seconds,
a drowsy Luna excitedly jumped up on me several times before I picked her up
and gave her a big hug. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I remembered that
I could have been amid all the action. Both the financial adviser
and
Ryan had propositioned me, but I’d
elected to go home and be alone.

But I was making
sacrifices for Jay already, and I didn’t even have any sort of commitment from
him. He’d made a mere mention of sexual obsession, which in modern times hardly
constituted monogamy. Maybe we
were
ready for “the talk.” Sure, it was sudden; we’d only been on one official date
and had sex one time. But
we
communicated every single day, and our chemistry was undeniable.
Unquestionably, that added up to something more than a fling. After a quick
walk with Luna, I got into bed. I played music softly to drown out the
temptations of the street noise that underscored my nonexistent social life.

7

 
The
next morning, I packed Luna’s doggie bag and a few things for my parents'. I’d
asked Ryan if he could hook me up with some cheap wine, and instead he gave me
a hundred dollar bottle of Silver Oak Cabernet at no charge. Luna and I drove
forty minutes north to Powell where I grew up with my older brother, Max, and
younger sister, Emily. My parents were still in the same house that they bought
when I was seven. Whenever anyone asked them why they didn’t downsize to a
smaller or more energy-efficient place, my mother’s inevitable response was,
“Home is where you raised your children.”

Luna’s tail
wagged excitedly as we pulled up the long driveway to my parents’ large brick
colonial. Most of the neighbors we had growing up still lived on the street,
and even though I hated the school system, I had to admit that it was a
fantastic place to be raised. I had a wonderful early childhood, amazing
parents, and every opportunity to have a successful adolescence, but somehow
things went horribly wrong. In spite of my teenage years, I had only fond
memories of my early childhood, and my parents’ house had a lot to do with
that. It became my sanctuary after long, brutal days in school.

 
Brandy, my parents’ yellow Lab, greeted
us at the door. She and Luna immediately bounded through the house, and I
watched nervously, hoping they wouldn’t knock anything over.
I got a kick out of watching Luna
take on a dog fifty pounds heavier than she was. I admired how she feared no
one, even a massive Labrador that towered over her tiny body. I wished some of
her courage would rub off on me.

“Ellie, darling!”
my mother said, embracing me.

“Hi, Mom.” I
squeezed her tightly. My sister Emily came around the corner and quickly hugged
me before she started setting the table.

“So kind of my
long-lost daughter to grace us with her presence,” my mom said.

        
“I
know I haven’t been here in a while. I’m sorry. Work is killing me. I’m at the
office or one of the restaurants six days a week.” I hated the sound of myself
complaining constantly. I was putting negative energy into the environment. But
when it came to work, I had no control over the vitriol that exited my mouth.

        
“That’s
ridiculous—they can’t work you like that!” my mom said.

        
“It’s
the nature of the beast, Mom. If you want to stay ahead of the game, you have
to accept the rules, otherwise someone else will take your place.”

        
When
in my mother’s presence, I sometimes couldn’t help but stop whatever I was
doing and just stare at her. She was so tall, so elegant, and her Italian
beauty was timeless, like a younger Sophia Loren. She had striking cappuccino-colored
hair. It was longer than the hair of most women her age. She always vowed never
to succumb to the stereotypical short style of her middle-aged female cohorts.

 
My mother was the picture of femininity.
Her lips were full and naturally pink, and her eyes were blue and perfectly
almond shaped. They were a genetic gift that she’d passed along to me. She was
slender but with a womanly figure. Growing up, I wanted to look just like my
mom, but when we were children my sister was the more fortunate one in t
he looks department.
I, on the other hand, looked like a geeky, lanky stranger who
bared little resemblance to the Coppola women
But once I turned twenty, I
was told that I looked identical to both my
mother and sister; I’d finally received the exterior that I’d hoped God would
one day bequeath me. But I’d long since learned that catching up on the inside
was the real challenge.

When my brother
Max and my father emerged from the study, both of them greeted me in the
strong, silent way with which they both did everything. Max worked for my dad,
so the two of them periodically disappearing to discuss business was the norm.
Max’s wife Kate, a nurse at OSU Medical Center, emerged with my new nephew
James in tow. The baby cooed and pointed at the dogs playing, and I gently took
him into my arms, placing a kiss on his nearly bald head. He smelled
scrumptious. I couldn’t help but imagine that Jay and I too would create
angelic babies if one day given the opportunity.

Sundays in
Italian families inevitably included pasta, meatballs, and sausage no later
than three o’clock. Eating was followed by hours of the guys lying around
watching television while the girls sipped wine and talked in the kitchen.
Excited to eat carbs for the first time in weeks, I loaded my plate with pasta.
It felt amazing to actually indulge in something other than exercise. I savored
every bit of the meal and even went back for seconds after my brother accused
me of looking too thin. Max, Kate, and Emily each filled me on their lives.
Kate had been switched to three twelve-hour shifts, which was great for the
baby. Max was kicking ass in business. And Emily had made the dean’s list in
her MBA program yet again. As usual, I was the only one with any gripes at all.

After dinner, my
sister and I helped our mom clear the table and continued splashing wine into
our glasses until the bottle ran dry. Just moments after the guys and my
sister-in-law left the room, my mom started grilling me about my personal life.

“So have you met
any new men lately, Elle?” She asked.

        
“Well,
since you brought it up, yes I have.”

        
“Oh?
Do tell,” my mother said, obviously intrigued.

        
“His
name is Jay, and I met him at work. He had an event at our restaurant, the
downtown one. He lives in New York, though, which is challenging. But he’s
already visited once since we met,” I said, trying to stop myself from blushing
and smiling.

“When did you
meet? Did he approach you first?” My mother wasted no time in her interrogation
process.

        
“About
a month ago. And no, we both kind of saw each other at the same moment.”

        
“Um,
excuse me?” Emily said. “I can’t believe you haven’t told me any of this!”

        
“I’m
sorry. But we’re on completely opposite schedules, Em.” I felt bad for not
having shared the news with my sister yet. Usually, she was the first person I
told about anything. It was true, though, that our schedules conflicted. Emily
was in school during the day and worked part-time at night. “Don’t feel bad.
I’ve barely been talking to anyone lately, other than Jay, of course.”

I told my mom
and sister more about Jay, his job, his family, plus a few details about our
date at Third & Hollywood, neglecting of course to mention that we had the
most amazing sex of my life immediately afterward. They listened intently,
asking questions and chiming in with their own little anecdotes periodically.
“New York City, how fancy,” my mother added.

After consuming
the pricey bottle of wine that Ryan gave me, I talked about starting my own
event-planning firm. Even though my mother was married to a successful
entrepreneur, the thought of my running my own business wasn’t something she
fully understood. After all, she was from a different time and was someone
who’d worked for “the man” for her entire life. But she was supportive of it nonetheless,
claiming she just wanted to see me more, and that I should enjoy my life while
I was still young.

I never heard
from Jay that Sunday. It was upsetting and difficult to go an entire day
without speaking to him. I’d just raved about him to my mother, and now he was
blowing me off. I had an uneasy feeling all evening, the sort that only women
get when something just feels
wrong
.
I practically had to sit on my hands to avoid texting him. Apart from talking erotically,
we were running out of things to say to one another, but appearing apathetic
was better than coming off as needy. So I followed my mantra: when in doubt,
don’t reach out.

I vowed to
remain silent until I heard from him first. I needed to reinforce his desire
for me. Plus, I had to start mentally preparing to see him again. Date number
one was significant, but date number two in New York was imperative. I’d gone
past first with Jay and was rounding second. He’d liked me enough to want to
see me again, and was even paying three hundred dollars out of his own pocket
just to do so. Maybe it would work out after all. For my sake, it had to,
because I’d placed all of my eggs in one mouthwatering basket.

8

 
The
stream of exchanges between Jay and me showed little improvement during the two
weeks leading up to my trip. In fact, they were fewer and further between than
ever. On top of that they were becoming increasingly shallow as more time
passed during which we didn’t see one another. I feared that our relationship
had become all about sex, and that our interpersonal communication was merely
running on the fumes of our chemistry. My heart would be shattered to learn
that there was nothing more to our connection than sexual obsession, but I
wouldn’t know for sure until I got to New York.

My fears were
alleviated in part because the trip was planned already. I’d have a guaranteed
second chance to win him over in person. It was the one thing giving me hope
that we still had a chance at a relationship. Knowing I’d see him in just a few
short days and planning twenty-three events during that time kept me from
fretting too much over the path that Jay and I were on. There was simply no
time for anxiety.

With the trip
right around the corner, I didn't aspire to do anything after work other than
exercise. But East Coast Prime had earned Best Restaurant from
614 Magazine
in the Best of Columbus
Awards for the fourth year straight, and Maureen and I were required to attend
the ceremony with some of the management staff. We were being honored among the
city’s other “bests,” like best nightclub, best salon, and my personal favorite
category, best boutique. I was asked to recommend two of the general managers
from the Columbus locations to attend the event with us, and logically I
selected Ryan and Kevin McKinley from the Dublin restaurant, which boasted the
best sales of the suburban locations.

Maureen and I
drove together right from work, and we’d coordinated ahead of time to meet Ryan
and Kevin at the venue, which was at a west-side golf and country club. We
showed up about fifteen minutes late, and the lobby was already bustling with
people dressed in their nine-to-five attire. I’d purposely dolled up that day,
wearing an extremely fitted navy pencil skirt and an ivory silk shirt. Nude
shoes and gold costume jewelry finished off my outfit—quite nicely, I had
to admit.

The décor at the
venue was typical of an old blue-blooded golf club. Paintings of white-haired
men adorned the walls, and muted reds and golds were seen throughout the walls
and furniture. It reeked of old wealth. As an event planner, I had to believe
that a
614 Magazine
event would have
been much cooler had it been held downtown, somewhere with exposed brick and
dim lighting. Third & Hollywood and my date with Jay came to mind, and I
quickly squashed the memory of that night before I got too hot and bothered.

 
I sampled some of the food being passed
around, noting that the hors d’oeuvres were mediocre at best; the shrimp was
rubbery, and the scallops were slimy. But bad seafood aside, the party was open
bar, and after coming off three days of nonstop busywork with very little
communication from Jay about the trip or otherwise, I was ready to enjoy a
drink or two. The dog sitter was stopping by for Luna at six, so I wouldn’t
have to hurry home. She charged a small fortune for all of the walks and
feedings that Luna needed throughout the day, but my little companion’s comfort
was worth every penny.

Maureen and I
caught up with Ryan and Kevin, who beat us to the bar. Ryan, always the gentleman,
took my coat when I first walked in but then disappeared for a few moments to
talk with another man in a suit. Now he and Kevin had cocktails in hand and
were chatting up winners from other categories. They knew so many of the people
at the event, just from being in the business and taking care of the city’s
most reputable partiers.

“You look great
tonight, Elle,” Ryan said when he returned.

“Thank you.
Congratulations on the award. You guys deserve it.”

“It was a team
effort. We couldn’t do the sales we do without you and Maureen spearheading the
private dining side.”

He was in a good
mood. I’d only ever seen him drink a few beers, so liquor consumption must have
caused him to come out of his shell. Considering the chilly treatment I’d
received at our last exchange, this was the only explanation I could think of.

“You’re too
kind. So, what are you drinking?” I asked, hoping to turn the attention back to
him.

“It’s a Ketel
One on the rocks with a splash of water and a twist.”

“Yikes. That was
my ex-boyfriend’s drink of choice too.”

I was eerily
reminded of his drunken escapades, physical and emotional violence included. I
had been young and dumb then, and hadn’t realized that I deserved more than
being shoved around by a drunken control freak when I didn’t do exactly as he
said. It was part of my life that I was still trying to forget.

“Oh,” Ryan said,
a bit more seriously. He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. “I only
have a drink every couple of weeks.”

“You’re allowed
to do whatever you want—I’m not saying anything about you. It just
reminded me, that’s all.”

“I know how that
is. I still think about my ex-fiancée when anyone orders an amaretto sour.”

I laughed. “Who
the hell orders an amaretto sour? Was your fiancée a seventeen-year-old girl at
a wedding?” I hated to poke fun at a woman I’d never met, but I'd felt empathy
toward Ryan ever since hearing about his ex’s infidelity.

“Don’t give her
that much credit—she was way less mature than a seventeen-year-old,” he
said, smiling. “So how are things with the dude from New York?”

“Things are
good. I’m flying there to see him soon, but you know, taking it slow.” I was
trying to downplay the intensity of my feelings for Jay.

“Does the
distance bother you?”

“The right guy
is worth traveling for,” I said, grinning. “Plus, it’s New York City. I could
get used to it.”

“So you must
think he’s the right guy, then.”

        
“He
might be.” Maybe I was mistaken, but I thought that Ryan’s wide-set brown eyes
looked a little disturbed.

        
“Well,
that’s great for you, Elle.”

        
He
turned back to Kevin, and I to Maureen; I rarely saw her intoxicated but loved
it when I did. The event turned out to be great fun, and I couldn’t help but
notice that Ryan kept my glass full and never let me open a door or pull out a
chair all night long. But then again, that was what he did for a living, and he
did it well. He had that old-school charm about him that most guys not only
didn’t possess, but also didn’t know existed.

I tried to tear
myself away from the party just before ten, but Maureen insisted that I was too
drunk to drive.

“I’ll call a
cab,” I said.

“Just stay at my
place,” Maureen said.

        
“I
can’t, I have the dog.”

        
“I’ll
take you home,” Ryan said. “It’s on my way.”

        
“How
do you know that?” I asked abruptly.

        
“You
live near the restaurant, right?”

        
“Yes,
she does,” Maureen answered for me.

        
I’d
turned my attention to my cell phone and the text I’d received from Jay that
read,
Hi, sexy.
Distractedly, I
wrote,
Hey you,
back to him. I almost
couldn’t believe my own audacity. While my friends were plotting how to get me
home safely, I was busy paying attention to Jay.

“It’s no
problem,” Ryan said. “She obviously can’t drive.”

        
Evidently,
Ryan would drive me home, and Maureen would pick me up in the morning and take
me to the office where my car was. I had to admit that for all of the negatives
of my job, making amazing friends was one positive.

        
Ryan
opened the passenger side of his black SUV, the make and model of which I
couldn’t decipher. I was careful to keep my legs together as I climbed in and
fastened my seatbelt. He gently closed the door after me. He came around to the
driver's side and hopped in. He softly smiled at me as he started his car, and
the Beatles came on the stereo. It was
The
White Album
, and to my surprise, he quietly sang along to the lyrics of
“Dear Prudence.”

“You’re a
Beatles fan?” I had regained my coherence as the sound of my favorite band of
all time filled the car.

“Big time. You?”

        
“Of
course, and this is my favorite album, actually.”

        
When
“Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da” piped through the speakers, Ryan and I both got lost in
song, and no doubt looked completely foolish, but I couldn't have cared less.
It was such a rush. I never would have pegged him as a lover of classic rock. It
gave me momentary pause. I was starting to feel like I had more in common with
Ryan than I did with Jay.
 
How on
earth was Ryan still single? For a split second I wondered if he’d allow me to
set him up with someone. But then for some reason I cringed at the very thought
of him on a date.

When we pulled
up to my apartment building, Ryan quickly jumped out of the driver’s side and
appeared at mine in seconds flat. He helped me out of my seat and onto the
street. He made sure I safely inserted the key to my apartment building door,
and when I did, he winked at me.

“I had a great
time tonight,” he said. All of a sudden, it felt as though
we
were at the end of a date.

        
“Um,
so did I. Thanks again for the ride, and I’ll see you later this week. I owe
you one.” I winked and walked in the door, and he shut it behind me.

        
It
was a peculiar encounter, but I supposed was just being a good friend, and I was
grateful for it. I wasn’t used to having quality male friends in my life, and I
was still warming up to the idea of being friends with Ryan at all. I liked
having him around. It seemed like a good safety net to have a big, strong, dare
I say powerful man as a buddy of mine. It certainly couldn’t hurt and would
probably come in handy some day. Ryan was right, the night was great, and so I
decided not to analyze it any further.