Oh, God. She was blushing even now.
Addie would never forget the look of utter bewilderment on Kevin’s face. He’d mumbled some kind of apology, said something about a misunderstanding, and had driven her home in a silence even more painful than the one on this slow, slow elevator. Kevin had gone back to Brown. Addie had gone back to high school. She’d heard about him now and then through Sarah or Paul, but hadn’t run into him again.
Okay, for a few years, she ran away from him so as not to relive that mortification.
But she had enough self-confidence now to laugh about the incident with him when she saw him again next week. She was no longer a virgin and she no longer confused sex with love. Or at least she understood that for most guys they were separate entities.
The elevator door opened and she surged out ahead of Mr. Gorgeous so as not to burden either of them with forced contact.
On E. 53rd street at the offices of Hawthorn Brantley Insurance Company, she grabbed a bran muffin and cup of coffee from the cafeteria then met with teams to design a new life insurance plan and to work on storm damage models, then she formulated spreadsheets dealing with expected drunk driving deaths in Wisconsin the following year.
At lunchtime, back in the cafeteria, New York Times crossword puzzle section tucked securely under her arm, she selected her usual sandwich, carrot sticks and apple, then threw caution to the wind and picked out a cookie. Special occasion! Her half birthday!
Eating the same thing every day meant she knew how many calories she was getting, and that they’d last through her workout and that she’d be healthily hungry for dinner.
Unfortunately she was a little late and her usual single table was taken. Heading for her second choice, Addie noticed Linda Persson, assistant director of Human Resources, seated by herself at a table for four. Linda was a lovely woman, but a little…well, she wasn’t very attractive or very funny or very talented or very interesting, and at age sixty wasn’t likely to become so.
Addie couldn’t bear to see her sitting alone in her beige suit and ivory blouse, forking chef salad into her mouth, trying to look as if she’d chosen to be without a friend in the world because she so enjoyed the experience.
Sigh.
Addie put her tray down on the table. “Hi, Linda.”
“Hey, Addie!” She smiled with such obvious relief that Addie banished the doomed feeling and put herself in the Glorious Martyr column.
“May I join you?”
“Of course.” Linda pulled her tray toward herself as if there wasn’t plenty of room already on the large table. “I was just thinking about my plans for the weekend.”
“Fun ones?” Addie hoped they were special and interesting, because then She could think about something other than Kevin.
“I’m getting a new mattress Saturday afternoon. And then I’m going to see a movie.” She pushed her too-large brown glasses up her nose. “I like going to movies by myself, do you?”
Addie nodded reluctantly. She did, but was ashamed not to want a lot in common with Linda. “I don’t mind, either.”
“I like getting there early because I like to sit in the middle of a row, not too close, and because I like to watch the previews, and have popcorn all to myself. And since no one talks to me, I can really disappear into the film.”
“Same here.” Actually…exactly the same.
“And then after the movie I’ll probably go home and organize my kitchen. It’s driving me crazy that the flour and sugar canisters are on the opposite side of the counter from the measuring cups and spoons. I’ve stood it this long, but no more.” She tossed her mousy-brown curls, beaming triumphantly.
Addie took a long sip of skim milk to wash down her suddenly dry sandwich. She’d made similar changes after Great-Aunt Grace died.
“Sunday’s my weekly brunch with my friend Marcy.” Linda finished peeling a banana and took a bite. “We have sesame bagels with whitefish salad and read the New York Times travel section to plan fantasy vacations.”
“Have you been on any?”
“No, no, they’re just for fun.”
“Why don’t you go on one?” Addie was as surprised as Linda by the edge to her voice. She read plenty of travel articles, had the money and could take the time, but hadn’t been anywhere, either. “Or two, or three or all of them?”
Linda shrugged. “I’m an armchair traveler. Saves me trouble and sunburn and storms and delayed flights.”
Oh, dear. She forgot lost luggage.
“I’m a creature of habit I guess.” Linda polished off her banana and picked up a brownie. “Like I have the same thing for lunch every day.”
Addie stopped with a big bite of apple in her mouth.
“I feel comforted by routines. I like knowing what to expect.”
Addie told herself to keep chewing, that she was never going to finish the apple while frozen in horror.
“I was thinking after work today I might stop by the humane society and look at cats.”
Steady, Addie. She could panic, or she could take this lunch as a sign that maybe she was a tiny little bit stuck in a very small rut.
“They’re supposed to be great company. Perfect for an apartment. And not as much work as a dog.”
Large rut. Moon-crater-size rut.
Help.
Be rational. Rationality was one of Addie’s best superpowers. She’d use it now, like this: it was good that Addie was faced with the person she could turn into. Especially today, her half birthday, because she had time to change before she turned thirty.
So she’d change. Starting today. Right after work, instead of going to the gym, then showering and having dinner in her apartment reading whatever parts of the New York Times she’d missed at breakfast and lunch like she did every evening—except when she had book group or dinner with a friend, she was going to…do something else. Like…
Well, she’d think of something.
She said a grateful goodbye to Linda and charged off to finish her day. By five-thirty, her plan had been cemented into action. After work she was going to Blackstone’s on E. 55th. She’d have two drinks and look available. If nothing happened, one point for going and good for her, it was a start. If she talked to at least one guy, two points and a pat on the back. If she was asked for her phone number, three points and a high five.
Given that it was a hot sunny Thursday in late August, when people were already looking ahead to the weekend, she’d give herself excellent odds on making two points and call it even on three.
Done.
Blackstone’s was crowded and noisy, not usually her thing, but today exactly what she was looking
