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And now I’m about to fan myself from nerves. My mom may nag me about kids, but most people don’t ask the blunt question outright. “I do. My best friend just had her first baby, and she lives down the hall, so I’m getting a crash course. It’s fun—and hard.”
“Tell me about it.” Monica laughs. “I was the first of my friends to have kids, and I had no idea what I was doing. But you learn fast. And next thing you know, you’re…”
“Cheering for the first up to bat at the Little League game?” I finish.
“Exactly.” Then, with one hand shielding her mouth, she yells, “You’ve got this, baby.”
Nico glares back at her before he steps up to the plate. “He finds me mortifying,” Monica says, happily.
Nico hits a single and darts to first base. I clap loudly while Monica jumps to her feet, cheering. When she sits back down, she asks, “Do you follow baseball?”
I give a gentle snort. “I had to google ‘bunt’ after Austin said it in a meeting last week. I thought he was referencing bundt cake in a way I didn’t understand.”
Monica laughs. “Oh, okay. You really,reallydon’t follow baseball.”
“Extremely not,” I say, shrugging. “One of Austin’s friends called him ‘Nine’ in front of me, and it took me hours to piece together that it was probably his baseball number. I was like… Is this slang? Is this an inside joke?”
“Baseball number,” Monica agrees. Next, she asks me how I came to work for Austin, and I tell the version where I get a recruiter call and Austin sweeps me away—almost the whole truth.
Monica’s questioning rolls on: Are you seeing anyone else? (No, though Austin and I actually haven’t talked about exclusivity.) Isn’t dating in New York such a wild ride? (Hell yes. I tell her the foot fetish story, and she counters with a bone-chilling tale about a date who wrote flash poetry inspired by her, in real time.) Do I have family nearby? (Long Island.)
“I know I’m asking a lot of questions,” Monica says eventually.
“It’s okay,” I tell her, and I truly mean it. “When my best friend was dating, I basically cross-examined every guy who made it past a week.”
This gets a smile. “Exactly. Austin’s ex did a number on him, which has made me extra big-sister-y in the past year.”
I pause. Austin has never said much about his ex, and I certainly don’t need him to detail every past relationship to me. But it does make me wonder: What happened there?
I keep quiet, hoping Monica will elaborate. But she changes the subject, and the game whizzes by. Monica is one of those people I could talk to for hours—a natural fit. We part ways after the game, with the promise of getting lunch.
“Embargo on talking about me,” Austin suggests quickly, as he overhears these plans.
“Aw,” Monica says, sweetly. “Not a chance.”
* * *
After the game,we wind up at Austin’s apartment with plans to order from the Thai restaurant he swears by. He pours two glasses of crisp white wine and offers up a tour, which of course I’m desperate for. His place is beautiful, full of house plants and a few mid-century modern pieces. The palette is neutral, but the place still feels so warm. The kitchen chairs are upholstered, comfortable for a long dinner party. The couch looks like you could sink in for a nap, with a dozen pillows and a folded blanket waiting. This home is so clearly Austin’s soft place to land.
“I’m impressed,” I admit.
“Expecting a bare mattress in the corner without a box spring?” Austin teases.
“I mean, I know you’re kidding, but you’d be surprised.”
I take a seat on the couch. “I need to pause and see if—yep—this couch is like a cloud. Oh my God.”
Austin laughs, joining me. “I know. Best purchase by far. I read probably a thousand online reviews before pulling the trigger.”
I smile. Always the data with him. “Did you decorate this place yourself?” I ask.
Austin wobbles his hand in a ‘sort of’ motion. “I had a lot of ideas. Being on the road so much, I had time to think about what I wanted. My buddy Flynn—the one doing the spa construction—kept an eye out for solid antique pieces he knew I’d like. And my sister has a good eye for this stuff, so she helped a lot.”
“I like your sister,” I say.
He gives me a wary look. “She didn’t give you a hard time?”
I shrug and take a sip of my wine. “The usual inquisition, like any good sister would. Told me a little about you.”
