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“I think you left it in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.”
My phone is not an appendage. Not like it is for my nephews, Jeremy and Phillip. I often wonder if their phones control their heartbeat. I don’t like to be far from it. My mom suffered a few falls last year. I missed a call from my sister to tell me my mom was at the emergency room. Ever since, I’m a tad paranoid. As soon as I pick up the device, I notice two missed calls and two voicemails. Might as well listen now while I have some peace and quiet.
“Hey.”
It’s my sister, Janet.
“Don’t panic. Mom is fine. Jeremy called. He’s headed home on the thirteenth. He plans to stay until after Thanksgiving.”
Guess I need to get my guest room ready. A few days at home, and Jeremey will land on my doorstep. We’ve always been close. He started spending more time at my house when he reached high school. It’s his escape. I like my brother-in-law, Tim, but he is hard on his boys. Jeremy is a sensitive guy. Not a kid. He’s a man. Tim thinks Jeremy should have his entire life mapped out by now. To be more precise, Tim believes everyone should map their path by freshman year of high school. He likes to compare Jeremy to his younger brother. Phillip is the kid who takes everything in stride. He’s a straight-A student, an athlete, and that clean-cut version of suburbia that either invades women’s dreams or plaques their nightmares. Jeremy? On the outside, he looks like your typical bad boy. He likes to ride his motorcycle. He drives in demolition derbies. If you look at him, you might think he’s in a gang. He’s 6’2 with tattoos up and down both arms, and he has a shaved head. But he’s a pussycat without claws. Truly. He likes to camp and fish. He gave up hunting a few years back because he loves animals. I think he’s tired of explaining himself to his father. I get it.
My sister, Janet, is the sweetest person you’ll ever meet. Not Stepford Wife sweet, she’s genuinely down to earth. She teaches elementary school like our mom did. I don’t think Janet has ever cared what her boys did for work, where they lived, or who they loved as long as they’re happy. Tim doesn’t understand how anyone can be happy without goals and structure. Good thing I’ve never let him into my office.
The second call takes me by surprise.
“Hi, Carter. It’s Brooklyn. I was going to text but I’m sitting in the airport, bored out of my mind and thought I’d call. I’m reading your email right now.”
She laughs.
“Yes, they do say admission is the first step to recovery. I wish I could charge the rates of a therapist.”
Now, I laugh.
“Oh crap. They delayed my flight again.”
I laugh more.
“Sorry. I swear, this place is like Middle Earth or something. Anyway. I was wondering if you might be free for coffee on Thursday? It’ll give me a chance to catch up on things when I get home.IfI get home.”
It sounds like Brooklyn might be stuck in London.
“I can text you the address of a café I love. If the city isn’t too far for you. Let me know. Hope to talk to you soon. Bye.”
Thursday in New York. Why not? I pick up the phone to call her back. Voicemail.
“Hey, Brooklyn. This is Carter. I got your message. I hope your voicemail means you’re finally in flight. I’d hate for you to stay stuck in Middle Earth and we’d have to miss coffee. Thursday is great. Let me know the time and where to meet you. I’ll be there. I’ll even bring my checkbook.” If I can find it. “Talk to you soon. Safe travels.”
“Who are you talking to?”
I look up to see Ali staring me down.
“Oh, no one. Brooklyn left me a message. I was just returning her call.”
“Finally going to take my advice, huh?”
“Don’t gloat. I haven’t hired her.”
“Yet.”
I shrug and grab a bottle of beer from the fridge. Yet.
CHAPTER TWO
NOVEMBER 6th
I hate anxiety—nervous anxiety. Meeting people for the first time always makes me nervous. I think that surprises most people who know me. I’ve always been adept at hiding my unease in social situations. I enjoy meeting people. I prefer to meet them in the company of others. I’ve never examined why. I’ve been that way my entire life. I think that’s one reason I feel at home as a writer. I don’t have to venture into one-on-one meetings with strangers often. Emails and calls suffice for most interactions. If Brooklyn is going to help me, we need to meet face to face. I shouldn’t be nervous. We’ve exchanged emails and text messages for two weeks. I’d like to say obligation led me to accept Brooklyn’s offer to meet for coffee. I’d also like to deny that I’ve listened to her voicemail more than once. I have no idea what compels me to keep listening. I don’t know that I imagined the sound of her voice. If I did, the voice that greeted me on my phone was not what I imagined. I’ve seen Brooklyn’s picture. I refuse to admit it to Ali, but she’s right. I think Brooklyn’s attractive. Everyone looks attractive in their professional head shots. Brooklyn’s voice—I can’t explain it. Having a voice to accompany the picture made me curious.
