Oh.
Sometimes they had the decency to tell her the truth and to actually say those things. Yeah, really – the decency. Because it was better to hear it up front, to her face, in her face even, than to sit down with that type of guy, to try to read the signals, the tilt of the face, the grin, the look in his eyes, the lack of a look in his eyes if he glanced away. All of the little tells, the way he held his hand, the way he fidgeted, the way he reached for his phone for a text that didn’t really exist. Those sights and sounds and smells and movements that added up to one thing.
Rejection.
And so far, she had had a few one night stands, a few guys who were willing to fuck the fat chick. But, you know, she didn’t turn them down because the offers were few and far between. Most recently, like she had told Josie, she was sick of it. Just sick of it. So this last ditch attempt really was the final gasp.
Dylan seemed too good to be true. Here she stood in front of Tempo Bistro at 6 p.m. sharp wearing a pencil skirt, really nice high heels, and a mohair sweater, the same one she had worn in the dating site picture, just so she could – in her own head, in her own internal thoughts – not consider herself to have been falsely advertising.
Her hair was pulled back in the same funny little ponytail and her eyes were sparkling with hope that she dredged up from deep, deep inside, and plunked down in front of him, ready to try once more.
Getting ready for this first date with Laura had turned out to be a hell of a lot more complicated than it had any right to be. First of all, it turned out he got his dates wrong. His 24-hour shift was actually that night. Tonight. So he had to change shifts with Murphy, and Murphy, who wasn’t known for granting favors easily, not only extracted another 24-hour shift out of him, but also convinced him to give up his beloved Red Sox tickets for the next game. And Dylan reluctantly gave it up, hoping like hell that this date was really going to be worth it, really hating the sly grin on Murphy’s face.
Hey, he was taking a chance that maybe it really was worth it. Four different clothing changes later, he finally settled on something that he resembled “business casual” in the corporate world. She worked as a business analyst for some large nameless, faceless corporation and that meant that she probably had an expectation about what a guy would look like. Dylan’s general preferred state of dress was some old concert t-shirt from the 90’s, a pair of ripped up jeans and whatever pair of shoes were comfortable enough to pass muster.
Wearing business casual pants, a buttoned-down shirt, and – tie or no tie? He had finally settled on no tie. He felt like a fraud. If he just added some penny loafers and a loose cotton V-neck that showed the top of his chest he would look like something out of a Macy’s ad, which actually would’ve been possible ten years ago when he dipped his toe in the world of modeling before realizing that most of the people in that business were douche bags and he couldn’t stand it.
“Hey, who died? You look like you’re going to a funeral, man,” said Mike, walking into the room looking pretty natty himself in a similar outfit, just without the black pants. Mike was wearing khakis and some kind of boat shoes that Dylan thought had gone out of fashion back in the 80’s, when he was a kid. The guy managed to make Superman look puny. He could have been a stunt man for The Avengers, minus the confidence. For whatever reason, Mike was a man without swagger. He just was, a steady presence that made Dylan feel complete.
“What about you, man?” he challenged. “Why are you all dressed up? You got a hot date, too?” He narrowed his eyes and peered at his roommate, wondering. Nah, no way. He didn’t. Mike hadn’t gone out in eighteen months, not since Jill died.
Mike grinned. “I wish. Meeting at the ski resort.”
“It’s July!”
“I know, but we start getting ready now, believe it or not. Some people actually plan out processes and don’t always fly by the seat of their pants.” He muttered the last sentence under his breath but clearly meant for Dylan to hear every word.
Dylan just shook his head and said, “I like being a pantser.” Big grin. “Have fun.”
“I’d rather be doing what you’re doing,” Mike replied, then paused, seeming to think over what he’d just said.
“Me too,” Dylan laughed, grabbing his keys. “Don’t wait up for me.”
“I’m staying overnight at my cabin, so no worries. You have the place to yourself. I hope things work out with Laura. That,” he paused, brow furrowed, “that could really benefit everybody, huh?” Mike winked and the two hugged, Dylan forced to reach up to the only person in his life taller than him. And broader.
“Yeah, something like that,” Dylan said, shaking his head.
“Are you going to tell her about the money?” Mike’s voice was more defiant than usual, as if challenging Dylan to some sort of battle he didn’t even know was on the horizon. Dylan knew, though, that the tone in Mike’s voice was as much about his own demons; neither had ever expected this kind of surprise from Jill’s death. They would both gladly give it all up to have her back. Barring that, though, the money was certainly a welcome, if perplexing, change in their lives.
It meant nothing and it meant everything. Neither had said a word to anyone. Not a word to their friends or coworkers. Mike had quietly purchased the ski resort where he worked; it had been up for sale for a long time and was on the brink of financial collapse due, largely, to inept management and an owner who viewed it as a losing business. Mike would change that, Dylan knew. Having the money to buy the ski resort and one of the nicest cabins on the mountain had blown some life back into his partner. Too bad they didn’t have the third who would complete them, taking a dull dyad and turning it into a robust triad.
Maybe Laura would…ah, who knew?
“No, of course I am not going to tell her about the money.” Dylan turned away from Mike and finished pulling on his sweater. “Can you imagine that scene? ‘Oh, hi, I’m Dylan and I am a billionaire.’” He choked on the word, his face flushing and going cold at once, the syllables so fake. So poseur. Like a little kid dressing up in Dad’s dress shoes, or a teen trying on personalities to find the right fit. Except he had no choice here. Jill had left them this fortune and it was theirs. No trying anything on for size. This was serious money and Dylan and Mike had been catapulted from working class stiffs to billionaire bachelors.