Page 163 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 1

While she stares at me with what looks like shock, I try to get myself under control. She can’t call me Drew in the office. I have to draw the line. Surely, she understands that.

I point at the phone as if that’s an excuse, and say, “I need to prepare for my meeting.”

A light knock is followed by Mary entering. “Sorry for interrupting.” It’s a welcome disruption to the crazed thoughts I’ve been having. “Are you ready to go over your schedule for today?”

Juni nods as if she’s somehow inconsequential in this situation. If she only knew, to me, she’s the opposite. I’m realizing now that I’m invested in a relationship, whether it ever grows beyond friends, more than I should, considering our positions.

“Thank you for the plant, Ms. Jacobs.”

I see Mary’s attention shift to the plant on the desk. Hiding her smile behind her hand, she’s at least respectful enough not to laugh out loud.

Juni says, “You’re welcome, but I realized I put the wrong plant in your office.” She hurries out and then returns quickly. The clay pot is green, and the leafy vine overflows on the side. “It’s a pothos ivy. They bring wealth and fortune.”

When she sets it on the edge of my desk, Mary says, “That was so thoughtful, Juni.”

Swiping the cactus by the pot, she adds, “It’s nothing, really.” But I feel the heat of her gaze. There’s no fire or anger, not sadness or sympathy. There’s nothing at all, making it impossible to read her genuine emotions. And I hate it. Hate when she hides herself away from me.

But,thank God, I catch the connection we still share hanging by a thread in an exchanged glance just before she reaches the door. “Thank you, Ms. Jacobs.”

19

Andrew

After beingout of the office for most of the morning, I return to my desk before noon to find my mom’s list for me printed and lying on my desk. “Mary?”

She pokes her head in. “Yes?”

Holding it up, I ask, “Where did this come from?”

“Your brother. Nick stopped by about an hour ago. He said your mom made him do it.”

Grumbling under my breath, I sit down and stare at the list I’ve read over a million times. It’s stuck to my fridge, haunting me every night when I’m home. Glancing up, I say, “Thank you. That’s all.”

She went to the effort to put it front and center, so I’ll give her the courtesy of another quick review. Only to humor her, though.

Lie in the grass in the nearest park at 9:17 AM on a sunny weekday.

Eradicate negative vibes from the apartment on the sixth Thursday after arrival.

Perform in front of an audience.(Work doesn’t count, Andrew)

Read Shakespeare on the steps of the New York Public Library just after midnight.

I dragmy pen across the first one, glad I accomplished one.

Number two: I check the calendar. That’s coming up in two weeks. I note that in my appointment software—voodoo the spirits out of the apartment.

Number three: Running a meeting doesn’t count, but what will? Does she want me to run naked through Central Park or perform at Madison Square Garden? More thought needs to be put into that one.

Number four: This is easy. Juni likes off-the-wall activities. Maybe I should get her to tag along. I doubt she’d even think it was weird.

And, of course, the ridiculously hilarious number five makes me roll my eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever read anything more outlandish than that.

This list is still a thorn in my side. With the original at home, I didn’t need the reminder. I wad this one up and aim for the wastebasket. “He aims. He shoots. He—ah, fuck.” Yep, that’s about right. After bouncing off the side of the bin, it rolls a few inches in front of my desk.

I’ll deal with it later.

Five minutes after Mary and most of the office have cleared out, there’s a soft knock on the door. Juni swings it open, and says, “Heard the big meeting got postponed?”

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