The Writer Page 2

  "He's a good guy, very talented writer," I said, clearing my throat and hoping that sounded platonic enough.

  "Aye," she answered, with just a tilt of her hidden Irish accent. "He is." She patted her bag. "I'm still working on the business reviews, but I'll have those for you in the morning," she stood to leave, and glanced at the clock, groaning. "I told Bob I'd start coming home by five," she lamented.

  "Go ahead, get out of here, and let me work!" I said, laughing.

  She chuckled, and opened the door, turning her head slightly. "Elijah's still grinding the stone, out here" she said softly, "I think he's waiting for me to leave" and was gone.

  Did she just wink?

  Good God, I was such a fool to think we had convinced the office we were just friends.

  But that was just it, we were just friends. He was the brother I never had. Through countless sleep-overs, seeing the bottom of numerous tequila bottles, we had never been anything more. We had never touched, besides the occasional banter of kicking each other or our gangly knees knocking each other under the table.

  Sometimes, the touch sent a jolt of electricity through me; but I'll be damned if I ever let him know that.

  God, just keep is professional, Rochelle, was my daily mantra.

  Trying to focus on my work, I glanced back to my computer. I worked for a while finishing some grammatical errors, and moved a few graphics into place. Tim, who doubled as our web designer as well as local business critic, sure took some amazing pictures. I jotted down a notes on the post-its next to the keyboard to call Tim when I got home, just to see how he was doing, being out and down with the flu for the past week. Then I remembered that the shopping cart on our website had some errors, and wrote down that he needed to fix that, as well.

  I was so lucky to have such a diverse and multi-talented crew.

  Saving the file, I clicked open to Alicia's latest turn-in, an article on the kids' diabetes workshop up at the hospital. I didn't feel it would fit into our edition of "BBQ and Balls," with our focus being on local sports and BBQ cuisine/sales. Still, just by glancing at the spelling and grammar errors, it could use a good edit, so it would be ready for insert when the time came.

  After a few paragraphs, I realized there were far more edits than I realized. Alicia was a decent writer, and her nursing background and expertise more than made up for it. When Elijah had first suggested I hire her, I had my reservations – but there are two kinds of people who can't be choosy – beggars and small business owners. And Elijah knew I was in desperate need of a health writer with credentials. Despite her often butchering of the English language, she had been an asset to our team as our health and fitness writer.

  And boy, was she healthy. She was the picture of fitness. She had the bikini body that most supermodels would die for. She filled out in all the right places, with a waist slim enough to boast her natural curves. For Christ's sake, the woman had some of the best abs I had ever seen. Who ever knew a vegetarian nurse who balanced on-call duties and a near obsessive amount for the gym could also write for a magazine with 20,000 readers worldwide?

  I could see why Elijah had such an infatuation with her.

  I closed my eyes again and pinched my nose. I really wanted to stop in the middle of this edit, pack up my tablet, and just go home.

  "So do it, then," Elijah said, causing me to jump.

  I hadn't realized I had said that out loud.

  "Wha'cha working on?" he leaned over desk, and put his face next to the computer to catch a glimpse of my screen. He smelled like Old Spice, and musk. A heady, spicy scent with a touch of gentleness.

  "Nothing, just the Huntsman piece." I realized he'd smelled the same since college.

  You're 28 years old, I told myself, and too old to swoon. Get a grip. I hastily popped open the Huntsman article; he didn't need to see the heaving editing I was doing on Alicia's article. Why ruin his perfect impression of such a goddess?

  My heart beat a million miles a minute. I realized he was wearing his horn-rimmed glasses. He was the vision of a 1950's working man at the end of the work day: tie loosened, top 2 buttons on his collar undone, black suspenders (he always said it completed his journalist "persona") and khaki pants. His brown jacket was thrown over the armchair. But those glasses – so in style, now – just completed the look.

  I took a deep breath, as mental pictures flooded my tired brain: me, dressed in a blue flowered housedress and apron (and skinny!), putting roast beef on the dining room table, the blond haired and blue eyed children playing quietly in the den with trucks, and trains, and dolls.

  I set the computer to sleep; mostly to rescue myself from the unrealities that crowded my head. "I have a lot of homework, think I'm gonna take off." I stood up, smoothing the front of my pleated black slacks, and tugging on the bottom of the silk ruffled blouse. Such an embarrassment; it never did cover those fat bulges in the front. My chest heaved as I swung my arms into my coat.

  Elijah grabbed my hand lightly. He swirled me around the small office in a dramatic dance flourish. "Let's go get some sushi!" he said, laughing.

  "Why are you in such a good mood?" I giggled; his laughter was contagious.

  "I have some good news to share with you," he said. Sparkles danced his pastel blue eyes. Pools I could drown in.

  "Well, then, sushi it is." He knew I could never resist him. "Saki Sans?"

  "Sure, they have great tempura there."

  "And California rolls!" He shrugged into his coat and grabbed his laptop bag.

  I switched off the office lights, leaving the running lights along the window that faced Main Street. We didn't bother discussing transportation; Saki Sans was 4 doors down. It was a brisk night in early December, already full dark, except for the blinking Christmas lights that adorned the closed toy shop across the street.

  "Elijah! Rochelle! My two favorite writers!" Exclaimed Joshua, owner Sans Tanka's son, and also our favorite waiter. "Sit wherever, my friends!"

  We took a seat for two in the corner, and ordered warm saki, California rolls for him, and tempura medley for me. There was only two other couples in the restaurant; it was a Tuesday, and Tuesday were slow for anyone in town that was open after 3pm, especially in the poorly lit downtown area.

  In the far corner there was a slender woman in a pink 3 piece suit, and her companion, another woman wearing a pinstripe gray pencil skirt and matching jacket. I thought I recognized them from De Leanu & Sons, who had an office down on 5th. The first woman was tapping her well manicure nails on the table ever so slightly, wearing a blank stare of boredom at her companion.

  The second couple, three tables away, was not bored at all. They were grasping hands over the table, and silently staring deep into each other's eyes. Dressed in jeans and sweaters, they looked young. With affordable and delectable sushi only a mile from campus, this place was a popular place for college students. Sake and one plate of probably shared yakisoba noodles sat between them, chop sticks discarded to the side. They kissed once, twice, and again, enjoying the peace of their new found relationship.

  I suddenly felt like crying and throwing something, all at the same time. Instead I crossed my legs under the white table, spreading a crimson cloth napkin on my lap.

  "So how far are we on the new edition?" Elijah asked, sipping the deliciously tepid liquid and thankfully, ripping me out of my thoughts and back to reality.

  "We have two weeks until publication," I answered, taking my own sip, and enjoying the balmy sweetness that heated my belly. "I think we're doing okay. I have about five more articles to edit, and two to write on the history of the Christmas parade. How are you doing on the "10 Greatest Announcers of All Time" article?"

  "Good, but I think I might change the order of some of them," he added, "I love having a job where I get to do research on YouTube all day."

  "Don't forget the endless supplies of coffee."

  "True, true," he laughed, but quickly sobered. He to
ok another sip... were his hands shaking? "But seriously Ro, I've never thanked you enough for hiring me."

  "Oh come on, Eli. What are friends for?" I really hoped he wasn't getting mushy on me; I was barely in control as it was.

  "No, really. If it hadn't been for you, with your stories of knights and dragons, your literature reviews and stories of real people, I would have never become a writer. And it took me a long time to realize my talent."

  "Well, I'm glad I could be of help, ya big oaf. I saved you from a hideous career in football."

  "Eh, football is overrated."

  I put down my small cup and held the back of my hand to his forehead. "Hmm. Not sick. Maybe you're mad? Mad hatter style?"

  "We're all a little crazy down here..."

  We both laughed.

  "There is more to life that football," he said quietly.

  I let the ball drop on the one. My stomach churned. Maybe I was just hungry; too much coffee today was making me jittery. Maybe sake had been a bad idea, as I sipped it again. Naw.

  Our food arrived. We devoured the sushi rolls of slender avocado and salty crab meat, wrapped in sticky rice and held together with thinned seaweed, like only starving writers could do. The crisped broccoli, carrots, squashes, and green bean tempura was hot and delicious. And as usual, the sweet ginger soy sauce was a compliment to the palate.

  Over our third cup of sake, he looked at me. No winks, no sparks, no mischievousness was hidden there. His black pupils were huge, ringed with eyes such a dark blue from the low yellow lighting of the paper lanterns above us. They were glazed over, as if on the brink of tears. In 10 years, he had only shed them once, at his brother's funeral.

  If Alicia had broken his heart, I swear, I would –

  "So you know Alicia has been thinking about applying to medical school," he started, grasping his cup firmly as he met my gaze.

  Uh oh.

  "She applied to the University in San Francisco," his eyes darted to the lanterns above us, and he neon sign in the window, and into his nearly empty cup, "about two months ago." He refilled his cup. "We didn't think that she would get in, with it being so long since she graduated. And her grades, uh, you know, weren't perfect." Gulping the last drop, he spit out the words rapidly: "And we found out yesterday that she got in."

  I chugged my remaining sake, and emptied out the rest of the hot carafe into my cup. Liquid courage, don't fail me now. "So, does this mean, you're resigning as my staff writer?"

  His lopsided smile adorned his face. "Yes, and no..."I pushed the last bit of tempura towards him, suddenly not hungry. He shook his head.

  "I've asked her to marry me, Ro."

  I dropped my cup. It hit the glass top and rolled, thankfully, intact.

  He finally captured my eyes, and searched them. "I want to ask if you'll be my best man. Woman. Whatever."

  Oh.

  "Um... now wait, haven't you guys been together for like... how long as it been..."

  "Three years. A long, wonderful three years. She's been a great partner, and I want to support her in her dreams to be a doctor. So we're ready to take this next step, both in school and in life." It came out in a gush, as if he'd researched this for days. "So, will you do this? Please?" Setting down his cup gingerly, as if it was an anchor of courage, he grasped my hand and squeezed it lightly. "We'll be rushing the wedding; we only have a few family members here, and we'd like to get it done before the move."

  It was so, so much to take in. "Move?"

  "Yes, she starts residency in March, so we are looking to move at the end of January, to give us time to find an apartment near the college and get our bearing. Alicia is really looking forward to a beautiful winter wedding, about mid-January. Outside."

  I felt tears well up. Married, gone. And me, without a clue. Sure, we had lost touch before. After Matt had died, Elijah had moved back to the coast to be with his mom. After that, he took an editing gig up north for a few years. We had gone months without talking, so busy with building our lives, completing our dreams, and picking up pieces of disappointments. Always, always, we had picked up where we left off in our friendship, as if no time had passed.

  A tear slipped down my cheek, and my cheeks flamed."Oh my god, Rochelle. Are you crying? Are you that happy for me? Does this mean yes?"

  Tears of joy. Yup, that's what they were. Okay, let's run with this.

  I nodded. "Yes, I'll do it. But if you don't call me once a week from San Fran, I will be very angry. You wouldn't want to see me angry."

  He laughed. "You're such a nerd. But nice Hulk reference, by the way." He slapped a $20 bill on the table for payment, and held my coat for me. "So glad you're in on this, buddy," he said, slapping my back in camaraderie, as he held open the glass door. "I might even make you wear a dress."

  "Oh dear God, I hate you."

  His laugh was rich and deep, but mine was only an echo.

  As we walked to our cars, I felt something cold and wet hit my cheek. I looked up at the lamppost, and could see the big, thick flakes falling steadily. My car windshield was covered in a fine dust of icy white fluff. The temperature had dropped, and I was suddenly freezing as I waved goodbye to Elijah and slipped into the driver's seat, blasting on the heat.

  I knew the heat wouldn't warm my heart. It continued to pump blood into my veins, but I knew a little piece of me had died.

  It was snowing.

  Chapter Four

  "I think I will wear a dress," I said quietly, as I flipped through the bridal dresses with Alicia. We sat on a white lacy chaise lounge near the window, facing the decorative, albeit small, showroom. Their selection wasn't huge, but it wasn't expensive either, and the latter was important to Alicia. She'd even found a dress that was a consignment, elated to be able to save some money for the move.

  She jostled me with her shoulder, and winked. "Coming to the dark side, eh? Elijah said that you never in a million years. It has to be pink, you know, that's my colors."

  It was her colors. Magenta, pastel pink, and an odd blend of crimson. A sickening array of girl pinks for everyone! Ugh.

  I flipped the last page, and I found it. Sleeveless, with a heart shaped bust and a wide skirt ruffled with layers of tulle. The raven hair model smiled at me from the page. It was even a deep shade of pink that would offset my pale skin and murky gray eyes.

  "This one," I said, pointing to it.

  Alicia squealed. "Oh, that is so gorgeous! But maybe we should trim the tulle, because that wide waistline isn't very flattered for a woman of your size."

  Those last two words she hesitated to say, as if mulling around the appropriate substitute for "fat." Okay, Alicia, we get it, I wanted to spit back at her. I'm not a size 0 like you, and you'll never let me forget it.

  I looked up at my reflected in the big bay windows that faced Main street. Dull, flat, dark blond hair that stubbornly refused to style. A few years ago I had it cut to my ears because I was sick of fighting with it. Gray eyes greeted me, a little dark and stormy, but with a twinkle hidden in their depths. Could this dress make me feel beautiful inside? Would it make me feel prettier than I had the last time I had worn one – the night of my high school prom? I couldn't bear it if I looked like a fool – not in front of Elijah.

  "A flattering design is important," I said instead, smiling ever so sweetly at her. I stood up and went to the counter. "Wendy? What about this one?" I called.

  Wendy Corisant, the boutique's owner and one of 2 employees (the other being her husband) appeared from the white curtain that separated the showroom from the stock in the back. She took the book from me and glanced from the picture to up and down my wide frame.

  "I think this will look wonderful, if we trim the tulle to allow for your figure. Pretty sure I have this in the 3x, believe it or not." She handed me back the book. "Be back in a jiff" and disappeared behind the curtain again.

  "While she gets that, I'm going to try on my gown, k?" Alicia said,
and without waiting for an answer, ducked into the tiny dressing room.

  While I was waiting, my phone buzzed – a text from Elijah: hope dress shopping is funner than this bow tie.

  I punched back: It's "more fun" dork, and why do I have to wear pink again?"

  His reply was swift: It's her day, make her happy. Gotta go, the dick with the needle is back to fix these sleeves

  I laughed, putting my phone away, disappointed that my mirth faded quickly. It was always "she."

  "Ta-da!" Alicia burst out of the dressing room, and onto the platform surrounded by six long mirrors. "Whaddya think, bestie?"

  Ugh, I didn't even bother correcting her. But that dress looked fantastic on her slim, fit frame. It was a wrapped style, with white satin twists and turns that accentuated her long torso. The low neckline was the right length to bring out her flat chest, but not so long that that it minimized them. Long, lacy white arms that hooked around her middle finger, like a medieval princess, completed the floor length gown.

  "Wow, it's really beautiful," I said. Honestly, it was. "I mean just, wow, Elijah is going to love you in this. It's so simple and elegant." I was no fashion designer, but this consignment wedding dress looked brand new, as if it was made to fit her body.

  Every dress I had ever owned had always just fit like a garbage bag.

  Wendy appeared with my dress. I glanced at the time on my phone. "I have to hurry with mine; I have a meeting with the owner of Barb's Barbs, the piercing shop on 9th, for an article."

  Rushing into the dressing room, I shed my clothes and stepped into the pink floor length gown. I had to have Alicia zip me, which was no easy feat, because it didn't fit over my breasts, no matter how many deep breaths I took. The zipper only went up about halfway.

  "Well, you'll have to start hitting the gym with me, or wear a corset. The first option is the healthy one, of course."

  I smiled; because opening my mouth would have been dangerous at this point.

  Wendy stood by the platform, ready to make some alterations. "We'll just work on the bustier for now, since you're in a hurry," she told me.