Page 11 of The Business Trip

I couldn’t stop myself from texting Steph Saturday. I was just aching for details about this new guy she’d met. It took three texts from me pressing for any nuggets at all for her to finally write:

Conference is over, heading to the airport. Going to Atlanta with Trent!

That night, after I had badgered her for more, she said:

Landed, heading to his place.

I left her alone after that, imagining her having drinks with Trent. My mind tried to conjure up an apartment that might fit this guy. Big-city news director. I pictured a lot of chrome and black in the space, kind of dull, maybe designed by a decorator, with boring but tasteful art on the walls and nothing personal or inviting. Not like my place. Thoughts drifted to the two of them in bed together, and I shook the image free. It was early—maybe they were still in the courting stage.

The next morning, I waited until eleven a.m. (noon in Atlanta, so plenty of time for them to have had a leisurely breakfast) before texting again.

Inquiring minds want to know, how was the first night with Trent?? Do tell all, please.

I put in an emoji of a questioning face. Her response came quickly.

So far, so good. He wants us to stay in all day today to get to know each other.

I wrote back with some hearts.

Va, va, voom!

Going back to Fred three times that day, I even brushed him, to his delight. I couldn’t wait to hear more details from Steph about Trent, but I forced myself to be patient.

It was back to work for me Monday, but Steph was obviously having a blast. She started texting early and kept up the pace all day.

The first one had an address and a picture of what appeared to be an upscale white stucco condo building.

This is Trent’s place. Check it out on Zillow, it’s gorgeous inside

It looked nice enough, some trees and bushes cleanly landscaped. Popping open my laptop, I did what she suggested, eager to get a glimpse of how his place looked, but it really wasn’t that gorgeous at all. It was much like I had pictured. Basic walls in a medium gray, dark wood cabinets in the kitchen, track lighting. It had an imposing and domineering feel, very masculine.

Still, I wrote back with one of my snappy comments:

Ahh, the love nest. Very nice

A few hours later, she sent a picture of two lattes on a café table. The mugs were distinctive, brightly colored with big pictures of peaches on the side.

Checking out the local places in Trent’s neighborhood, Peachtree Village. It’s an area just full of life

That comment made me think ofFiddler on the Roof, so I wrote back:

L’chaim, l’chaim, to life!

I thought she’d enjoy that reference, but she didn’t respond.

It wasn’t until that afternoon that she sent three more pictures. In one, she was standing looking out over Centennial Olympic Park, fountains dancing in front of her. It was a head-and-shoulders shot from behind. She was wearing a cream-colored hat that I knew was one of her favorites, and her hair hung below it.

He’s such a good tour guide, he’s taking me all over the city

Before I could even answer, another text came in, this time the exterior of a TV station, satellite dishes and microwave live trucks visible behind a chain-link fence, an NBC logo and the well-known peacock design on the side of the building. This time, it wasn’t a text but a voice memo. I hit play, excited to hear her voice. It rang out:

“Last stop: Trent’s station! He’s the boss here and he’s very bossy with me—tells me exactly where we should go and what we should do and I just follow. Talk soon!”

Out of jokes by then, I just wrote:

Great to hear your voice. Have an amazing time. Fred is doing fine.

I was so torn over how I felt about this whole thing. If she found true love, wasn’t that wonderful for my dear friend? But if she found true love, then our Broadway and Bubbly days might be over. She could move to Atlanta. I shuddered at the thought of losing her and gaining a different neighbor in the townhouse. What if we didn’t get along? What if they were even homophobic?

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