Page 20 of Fun Together
“So, you agree that I am trying to live out some cliché fantasy?”
“That’s not what I mean. What’s the worst that could happen?” When Andrew is spiraling like this, you have to talk him through a worst-case scenario.
“She murders me.”
Maybe that wasn’t the best line of questioning. “She won’t murder you. Just don’t touch any mysterious ferns or whatever you two are probably into.”
“I guess if it’s too awkward, I can just come back home.”
I already see him forming an escape plan. “Don’t talk yourself out of a potential great time before you even get there. If you’ve gotten good vibes from her so far, you should have nothing to worry about.”
“I guess you’re right. I need to stop overthinking it.”
“Does Faye know?” I blurt out the question before I even have a chance to think that it might a weird thing to ask.
“About?”
“About plant girl. Emma.”
“No. Do you think I should have told her?”
If I were Faye, would I want to know my ex was off to frolic in a field of tulips with his cute new Dutch girlfriend?
“I guess not. Are you two on good terms?”
“We still text sometimes. I saw her yesterday for the first time in a while. We didn’t talk too long, but we’re on as good of terms as we’re going to be, I think.”
On Friday afternoon she seemed a little tired, almost sad, to me. I think that’s why I wanted to make her laugh so badly and experience the satisfaction of distracting her for a few seconds.
“Just asking, since she and I are working together now. Don’t want to break some kind of code by talking to her.”
“There’s no code. I mean, it’s fine if you talk to her.”
“Do you think you two would ever work things out?” I’ve been wondering this ever since he told me they broke up. This is one detail I can’t stand not knowing anymore. Is this trip just his way of going off and experiencing something new, before he comes back and realizes what he needed was back here all along?
“No.” He pauses for a few seconds. “Or . . . I don’t know. Seeing her again . . . brought back some feelings. We’ll see how this trip goes.”
If he’s saying maybe, that means he might be keeping that option open. And that’s answer enough for me. I need to get my mind out of the Faye gutter.
My cap feels tight suddenly. I take it off to adjust it. “You’re good with me being friends with her?”
“Of course. She could probably use a friend. She doesn’t put herself out there much, you know?”
That’s what we’ll be, then. Friends.
I stand up, eager to get up and do something. “Ready to go?” I ask.
8
Faye
I walkinto Alexis’s office on Monday morning to discover that something isn’t right.
Alexis is in her late thirties—fairly young for a VP of Marketing—but she has the soul of an eccentric villain, with a girlboss twist. She followsLean Inlike a playbook, her platinum blonde bob is somehow always the perfect length,and she wears nothing but monochromatic pant suits. She’s assertive, and hates clutter, small talk, and children. I’ve never seen her laugh at a joke or cry or do anything that isn’t proper and above board.
Which is why I almost don’t compute what I’m seeing because I have no context for it.
You know those massage areas in airports, where you’re sort of sitting but sort of leaning down in those weird little chairs? Well, Alexis is face down in one of those right in the middle of her office. Today’s pant suit is navy blue and behind her is a very tall middle-aged man with slicked back salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a white linen lounge set and a very determined expression. He’s entirely focused on the massage he’s currently providing Alexis’s shoulders.
