One Night Only by Catherine Walsh

15

“So he’s like your rival?”

“He’s not my rival. He’s my colleague.”

Soraya hums, her eyes hidden behind wide sunglasses as she examines the photo of Matthias on my phone. “But he’s your boss now.”

“Technically he’s above me, but I don’t report to him.”

“But you—”

“Watch out!”

We both look up as a frisbee sails toward us, landing just beside Soraya’s feet.

A shirtless, muscled and he-knows-it man is already jogging over. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.” He bends to pick it up, hesitating when he catches sight of her. “It didn’t get you, did it?”

“No.”

He grins, white teeth flashing. “I promise it wasn’t an excuse to come over here.”

“Okay.”

“I’m—”

“Go away,” Soraya interrupts and I have to hide my smile as his drops.

He mutters something under his breath, the nice guy act vanishing, and runs back to his friends.

“That could have been your meet-cute,” I say.

“In his dreams.”

He’s the third guy to try and speak to her since we sat down. Soraya’s the kind of person for who people do a double take when they see her, most never looking past her long legs and pouty lips. I wasn’t completely immune to her either. When I first met her, I spent several months not so subtly trying to copy every single thing she did before realizing that no amount of eyeliner and deep conditioner masks can compete with winning the genetic lottery. Only when you get to know her do you get the real her: funny, smart and a real dork when she’s in the mood. We’ve been friends for years, ever since getting horrifically drunk together at some anonymous party at college. I used to be a little jealous of how easily she drew people’s attention, but you only need to spend a few hours with her to understand how annoying she finds it, how difficult it is for her to meet people when most only see her good looks and don’t care about anything beyond it.

Now, we sit in a patch of shade in Central Park, just off the Great Lawn. It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon and almost every inch of grass is taken up by couples and families and tired, overheated tourists. Skyscrapers rise above the tall trees, glinting in the sunshine, but I can’t hear the traffic from where we sit. If I close my eyes, I could almost imagine I was back in Ireland.

That’s the problem with vacations. Once you take one all you want is another.

Soraya shakes out her heavy black hair, pulling it up into a top knot as she looks back at the photo of Matthias. “Your guy is cute though. He’s got that preppy, all-American thing going for him. Like he’d be in milk commercial.”

“That’s weirdly specific but okay.”

I take the phone back, turning the screen to look at him. It’s a company photo from last year and Matthias is standing right next to me. I guess he is kind of preppy. But that’s just because he’s at work. That’s what everyone looks like at work.

“Look at you,” Soraya says as I stare at the picture. “Getting all interested in somebody.”

“I didn’t say I was interested. I didn’t even say yes to the drink.”

“Yet.”

“I don’t date. I especially don’t date guys I work with.”

“Give the milk guy a chance! Who knows? You might even like him.”

“We’re not talking about this anymore.”

She shrugs, lying back against the grass, but her words stay with me. Do I like Matthias? Does Matthias like me? He’s never shown any interest in me before.

Or maybe he has.

I frown thinking back to all our encounters over the years, all the times he was extra friendly. I always assumed he was like that with everyone. But maybe he’s just like that with me.

Maybe he’s finally making his move.

I try to imagine what it would be like if I said yes to him. If we went for a drink and we hit it off. I imagine the shared glances at work the next day. Imagine us going out again. And again and again until we… what? Were together? Could it really be so simple?

It doesn’t feel simple. It feels hard. It feels nerve-wracking.

“Did you eat all the macaroons?”

I drag myself from my thoughts as Soraya rummages through the empty box as if they’ll magically appear.

“I had two.”

“There were six.”

“Then you had four.”

Her phone buzzes before she can respond. It’s done so a dozen times since we sat down and as always, she snatches it up, quickly replying before dumping it back down.

“Who’s that?”

“David.”

“And who’s—”

“A guy I’m talking to.”

I try not to show my surprise. Soraya’s had about as many long-term relationships as I’ve had. Sometimes I wonder if that’s why we get on so well.

“Since when?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” she says casually. “I met him on Connect.”

“What the hell is Connect?”

“It’s like Bumble but only for attractive people.” She glances at me. “You probably haven’t heard—”

“Ha-ha,” I say and she grins.

“We went for lunch at this Italian place in the West Village a few weeks ago and we hit it off…” She trails off but her voice is more unsure than suggestive.

“You should invite him to one of Claudia’s dinner parties,” I say when she doesn’t continue.

“And throw him to the wolves?”

“Sink or swim.”

She shakes her head. “We’re taking things slow.”

“Have you slept with him?”

“Of course,” she says, and reclines on her elbows. “Slow not stationary.”

I roll my eyes, brushing the grass from my knees as laughter sounds from nearby. A dog bounds toward two teenagers tossing a football, its owner chasing after him with the leash. I watch the collie as Soraya starts talking about Annie’s belated bachelorette party and I stiffen as it stops halfway across the lawn to sniff a man standing on a picnic blanket.

He has his back to me, talking to friends. Blue shorts, gray T-shirt, fair hair shorn into a crew cut. The way he’s standing is like a punch to my gut, the stance so familiar, even the way he tucks his hands into his pockets.

Josh and I used to come here all the time.

“Do you think we should invite Danni?” Soraya asks. “Or is she just going to talk about her kid the entire time?”

My eyes follow him as he leans over to pet the dog.

Josh loved dogs.

“You know she’ll make a fuss if we don’t ask,” she continues.

The owner arrives and my heart gives an uncomfortable thump as he turns. But it’s all wrong. Different nose, larger ears. The hair lighter, the shoulders narrower. It’s not him.

“Sarah?”

“I’m listening,” I say, my stomach still tight with nerves. “Invite her. She’ll say no anyway.”

“Or bring the toddler with her,” Soraya mutters. She points her toes, stretching languidly. “Do you want to get more macaroons? I seriously don’t remember eating them.”

“Sure,” I say, relieved as the man sits down on the picnic blanket, throwing his arm around a girl. I suddenly don’t want to be here anymore. “Let’s go.”

* * *

I drag myself into the next week, getting through one sweaty day after another until suddenly it’s a month since I left for the wedding. A month since I met Declan and still there’s no word from him. I decide to use the date as a personal deadline. He may not be a one-night-stand guy, but I guess two was enough for him and though my mind strays to him more than I’d like to admit, I tell myself it’s for the best. Even if my dreams have gotten a little more… colorful.

“And then what happened?”

I snap my eyes to the front of the room, remembering to smile as Suzie continues with her story.

“Well, by that stage, everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong,” she says to polite laughter. “So eventually he gave up trying to be romantic. He asked and I said yes.”

“Let’s see it again, Suzie!” One of the assistants calls. Suzie smiles indulgently as she holds out her hand, making sure every corner of the room gets a chance to look at her engagement ring.

“I hate this.”

Will appears beside me, holding an untouched glass of the knockoff champagne we keep under the office sink. I’ve already had half a bottle. I need it to get through this.

“I hate her,” he continues. “I hate this cheap grape juice and I hate being in the office past closing time.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“And I hate that ugly ring,” Will adds.

“Would you shut up?” We’re standing at the back of the room, right next to our cubicle, but there are still people nearby. Harvey requires the whole office to show their face at these things. Birthdays, promotions, engagements. They all get the same treatment: small plastic cups, pastries from Breads Bakery down the block and strained smiles from people who either want to go home or get back to work.

“It is ugly,” he says, conversationally. “Tiny too.”

I choke on my cheap grape juice.

Suzie laughs loudly and smiles as someone takes a picture.

I didn’t think it was possible but Will’s expression sours even further. “You know she was the one who left those Post-it notes in the kitchen.”

“The ones about the yogurt? I thought that was Hannah?”

“Definitely Suzie. She does a little swish on her y’s.”

“Alright, Sherlock Holmes.”

“One time in a meeting she saw me put an office pen into my bag and she told me to put it back in front of everyone. Why is Matthias staring at you?”

“Huh?” I glance to where Matthias stands, talking to Harvey. “He hasn’t looked at me once.”

“Yeah, I lied.”

Mother of— “Are you having fun?” I ask sharply. “Annoying me like this?”

“It’s the only thing that gets me through the day. What are the odds she’ll invite Harvey to the wedding? She’s the type of person who’ll invite her boss and no one else.” He raises a brow. “Twenty?”

“Ten,” I mutter. “I’m broke after Ireland.”

“Deal. You’re no fun tonight.”

“Then why don’t you talk to someone else?”

“Because you’re the only one I can stand.”

“I don’t know whether to be flattered or worried.”

“A little of both would be right.” He holds out his cup. “Drink this.”

“Why? Are you pregnant?”

“No.” He widens his eyes. “But I bet you Suzie is.”

“You’re a jerk,” I say, trying to hide my smile.

“What I am is out of here. You want to get a real drink? I could be your wingman.”

“I don’t need a wingman.”

“Fine,” he says, grabbing his bag as he forces the cup into my hand. “Enjoy your terrible decision.”

“Goodbye, Will.”

“I give it ten minutes before someone suggests karaoke,” he says and transforms as he turns back to the room. “Suzie! I’ve got plans. Congratulations!”

I hide my smirk. Will and I go out a lot together, usually so we can complain about situations just like this. He can be surprisingly sociable for someone who claims to dislike ninety percent of humanity and while I would never share the more personal aspects of my life with him (he’s far too indiscreet for that), he still knows me better than most. But I’m not feeling it tonight. I have no plans other than to stand in the shower, use one of Claire’s body scrubs and maybe order a pizza.

I down Will’s cup, wincing at the taste as I lock eyes with someone across the room.

Matthias.

Matthias is looking at me. And he doesn’t look away when I meet his gaze, as if he wants me to know he’s watching. He smiles. A friendly, “hey, fellow colleague” smile, and before I can stop myself, I’m smiling back.

I set the glass down and turn my back on the room, wiping a hand across my lips. Suzie laughs again and I spray a sneaky squirt of the perfume I keep on my desk. Besides occasionally asking if I wanted a coffee, he hasn’t approached me since our chat last week. I’d mulled over both conversations with Dad and Soraya these past few days but still hadn’t made up my mind about him and if it’s up to me to make the next move I don’t know if I—

“You didn’t escape with Will?”

I quickly hide the perfume under some paper as his voice sounds right behind me. The man moves fast.

“And miss all the fun?”

“Right.” He watches as I slowly pack my bag. “So, about that dinner?”

“Oh, it’s dinner now?” I tease. “I thought you said a drink?”

“You didn’t seem too enthusiastic about the idea, so I figured I needed to up my game.”

I look over my shoulder to find him smiling at me. He’s close enough that no one else can hear us but we’re standing far enough apart that if anyone looked over, all they would see is two colleagues having a friendly chat.

He is handsome. I’ll give him that.

Just do it, Sarah. Be a normal, emotionally healthy grownup.

“Well,” I say. “How about a drink and dinner?”

“How about Saturday?”

I blink in surprise. Okay, so this is happening. “Tomorrow?”

“You said you wanted to check out The Greenery.”

I smile, flattered. “I did, didn’t I?”

“How does seven sound?”

“It sounds… very acceptable.”

Harvey starts to make a speech and we both turn to watch. Matthias doesn’t move away and so we stand there together, stealing glances at each other every few seconds.

The gathering wraps up soon afterand for what is probably only the second or third time in our history as roommates, I get home after Claire. She’s lying on our sofa when I get in, typing on her laptop.

“I’ve got news,” I say, kicking off my sandals.

“Me too.”

“You go first because mine is better.” I glance up when she doesn’t respond, already halfway to the kitchen. “Is it about the Griffiths’ party? Did you suck it up and get a date?”

“Declan dropped by.”

I pause for only a second, staring into our tiny refrigerator. Individually the words make sense but together… “What?”

“That guy you slept with.”

“I know,” I say, snapping a little. I swing the fridge door shut and turn to look at her, the picture of ease no doubt. “Why?”

“To get his watch.”

Oh. Of course. I’d almost forgotten about the damn wristwatch. But I thought… unless he knew I wouldn’t be here. Unless he came purposefully so I wouldn’t see him. Which makes sense. I told him I didn’t want anything more and he took the initiative and broke off the last thing tying us together unless you count our mutual friend group, which doesn’t really count because—

“Sarah?”

“Hmm?” I snap out of my head and go to my bedroom.

Declan was here?

I leave my door open. “What did he say?” I call from my room, sounding super casual and normal.

“Nothing much. He was nice. Apologized for the watch, made some small talk about taxes.”

Taxes?

I’d told Claire what happened in Ireland, a played-down version of events but she knew we’d slept together again, so I’m not surprised when she appears in my doorway, fiddling with the gold chain around her neck.

“I think he was buying himself time. Probably hoping to see you.”

I shrug. “So?” I ask. “Did you flirt?”

“No.”

“I told you you could.”

“I know,” she says, watching me carefully. “I’m making a salad. You will also be eating the salad.”

“I’ve got a leftover burrito.”

“Then you can eat it with the salad,” she says and closes my door.

I strip out of my clothes, throwing on a fresh pair of pjs. I don’t understand. I’m mad at her. She knows that. But I have no reason to be mad at her. She didn’t do anything. And besides, this is what I wanted to happen.

I should be glad.

So why do I feel the opposite?