Page 5 of Someone Just Like You

“Look at my baby girl networking after hours.”

My cheeks warmed at her pride, even though she had it all wrong.

While Mom updated me on her life since the last time we spoke, I Swiffered the sandcastle oak floor of my decent-sized, at least by New York City standards, living room. I’d used my sign-on bonus at the law firm for the down payment on a one-bedroom apartment in a co-op, but without the generous paycheck that came with the high-pressure job, making the monthly mortgage and maintenance required me to stay within a precise budget. I was happy to contribute to the anniversary party, but the added costs meant I needed to place someone at a decent-paying job and earn the accompanying commission soon.

My parents didn’t need to know this. Nicole was the flake in the family, not me. After graduating college, she earned certifications in real estate, travel,andcosmetology before finally finding her bliss as a preschool teacher. Michelle was the risk taker. A few years back, she and her husband, Patrick, quit their jobs and threw all their money, and some of my parents’, into a start-up app development company. With the state of the economy in constant flux, the past years hadn’t been easy on them. But me? Stable was my brand. I was the solid one—the one with the sure-thing career plan. Or I had been until I left the practice of law after only a year and a few months.

Being a lawyer had been my plan since freshman year of high school. Besides a budget and a pro/con list, it had taken a lot of soul searching to make the change to recruiting. Even after I was convinced it was the right decision, I hated putting my parents in the position of paying off a portion of student loans for a degree I was no longer using. Unfortunately, my budget only worked if I accepted their generous offer. But at the end of the day, we agreed my quality of life was more important than the partner status I might have achieved in a decade, and they’d practically insisted. I was grateful they were in a position to help and still have enough money to retire in comfort.

“You don’t want yourHigh School MusicalDVD game anymore, do you? The garage sale is next weekend, and I’m collecting items,” Mom said.

I returned the Swiffer to the pantry. “You can have it. But another yard sale already? Didn’t you just have one?” My family, the Starks, and another couple, the Lesigs, held a group garage sale every few years to force them to dispose of possessions they might otherwise hoard: once-coveted handbags none of the Blum women had actually used in years, extra casserole dishes taking up space in the kitchen cabinets, etc. It wasn’t for the money, and most of the items went to charity at the end of the day. But my dad and Mr. Stark enjoyed racing to make three figures first. It was a lot of work, though.

“Do you need me to come over?” Since I was little, I’d helped organize items for sale, minded the lawn the day of, and played mediator between my parents in case they didn’t agree whether to let go of an item. I could almost hear Jude say, “Because you’re thebestchild of all,” and something sour swirled in my gut.

“You were so cute, guarding our possessions, like anyone would be intimidated by a pre-tween with pigtails and braces, but it’s not necessary. We don’t have enough merchandise this year. We’re just doing it for our own amusement.”

I was about to insist when my phone alerted me with a calendar reminder about my and Jude’s appointment. I told her to let me know if she changed her mind, and we ended the call. Then Jude texted.

Jude:Leaving straight from work. I’ll have to meet you there.

I gave my phone the middle finger. Did he honestly think I wanted to commute with him? I grabbed my purse and headed out with dread seeping through my bloodstream.Stop it. This is for Mom and Dad.The milestone had not come without struggle. They’d temporarily separated when we were kids, and it was miserable. My father tried to make our weekend visits to the Holiday Inn Holidome, where he was living, fun.There’s a pool!Room service!But I’d cried into my pillow every night until he moved back home two months later. Now they were within spitting distance of their thirty-fifth anniversary. It was worth celebrating for sure, even if it meant forced proximity to Jude to make it happen.

I reminded myself of this until I arrived at the Walker Hotel near Union Square, where Society Cafe was located in the back of the lobby. I was ten minutes early to ensure I arrived before Jude. I sat at the bar, where the bartender promptly placed a glass of water and a drink menu in front of me.Good service: check.I noted the polished wood décor and the gold-plated ceiling.Ambiance: check.With any luck, this place would be “The One” and my partnership with Jude would end as quickly as it had started. I cursed the stubbornness that hadn’t allowed me to accept Jude’s gracious…snort…offer to handle it on his own.

As if he was reading my mind, my phone pinged with a text message from him.

Jude:Like I said, I don’t need your help, but as long as you’re here, wanna join us? Or were you planning to get hammered at the bar instead?

I whipped around and scanned the restaurant for a moment until I spotted Jude at a booth in the back. He was with another man.Rude had not only beat me here, but he’d started without me. I inhaled deeply and let the breath whoosh slowly through my lips.Do it for Mom, Dad, and the Starks.With my head held high, I joined them. Jude was wearing his Hillstone uniform again. Either he’d been telling the truth about coming straight from work rather than lying to sidestep a suggestion from me to travel together…as if…or he had no other clean clothes.

“This is George,” he said by way of introduction to the restaurant’s banquet and private events coordinator. “And this is Molly. She’s a singer in a band.”

George, a handsome Black man probably a handful of years older than us, widened his eyes. “Really? What kind of music do you play?”

I shot Jude a searing look then turned to George with a more pleasant one. “I’m actually not a singer. Jude likes to tease me about the Beatles song ‘Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.’ You know, Desmond and Molly Jones.” I gestured with my hands. “He has a barrow in a marketplace. She’s a singer in a band. Blah blah blah.I teased him first about ‘Hey Jude,’ and he copied me.”

“I didn’t copy you.”

I murmured, “Um hmm” and directed my attention back to George. “Let’s talk party, shall we?”

George, who looked amused—or confused; it was hard to tell—nodded his agreement, and we got to business.

“How many guests can you accommodate?” I asked, reading from a list of questions on my phone.

Jude threw his head back in a laugh. “Did you stay up late last night researching what to ask? Let me guess—anniversarypartyplanning.com?”

I smiled politely at George even as my cheeks tingled with heat. “I figured one of us should be prepared.”

“I have it all in here,” Jude said tapping his head.

I rolled my eyes.

George carried on like a true professional. “Our private room accommodates sixty, or we can do a standing cocktail reception for eighty-five. How many guests will there be?” He glanced from Jude to me and back to Jude.

Jude said, “About a hundred” at the same time I said, “Sixty should be plenty.” Eddie had said close family and mutual friends.

“It won’t be that large a party,” I said simultaneously with Jude’s statement, “Sixty is cutting it close.”

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