Page 74 of Stuck-Up Big Shot
Over the past three months, I’ve come to see how antsy Miles can be, never sitting for more than thirty minutes at a time and to him, playing cards or games, or heaven forbid, solving a puzzle, puts a strain of unease on him the likes I’ve never seen. I told him that he’s a bit ADHD, and he scoffed at my applied psychology mumbo-jumbo.
“How are things going, Sutton?”
Soraya pulls out a large, chilled bowl full of colorful greens and a mixture of vegetables, retrieving a cucumber and a tomato from the crisper and setting them on the cutting board.
I pick up the knife and say, “Here, let me help you.”
She gives a half-hearted shrug and a lopsided smile. “Help yourself. I’ll put the rolls in the oven.”
From over her shoulder, she asks, “Is school going well? And your side jobs?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. I love my classes this semester. Great professors and the topics are so much fun. My Human Behavior and the Social Environment class is so fascinating. I’m learning so much about human behavior and why people act the way they do in particular settings and situations.”
I sound like a starry-eyed dope, but every day I learn something new that opens my eyes to the behavioral changes at different life stages. Miles has found my interest rather amusing and teases me about it all the time, now calling me his little Button book worm.
Soraya closes the oven door, sets the timer, and returns to the counter beside me. Next, she picks up a glass of wine, gesturing for me to do the same.
“Cheers,” she says, clinking her glass against mine as we both take a sip.
Her smile is thoughtful, as her brows lift in amusement.
“I know exactly what you mean. Although I didn’t go to school or get a fancy college degree, I see the aspects of the human condition every day in my line of work. Fascinating, indeed.”
I nimbly slice the cucumber, as I ask absently, “Remind me what you do again? I think Miles mentioned that you’re a newspaper columnist?”
“Yes, I write theAsk Idaadvice column.”
My knife stalls mid-slice, the piece of cucumber toppling over on its side with a wet thump, as my lips part in shock.
“Come again?”
Soraya snickers knowingly, shifting so her hip casually rests against the counter, arms crossed at her chest, glass in hand, cocking her head at me.
“The weekly advice column,Ask Ida. I receive some pretty interesting messages from readers, looking for advice on love, life, kids, marriage. The works. You’d be amazed at what I learn about people.”
When I turn to look at her, I know my cheeks are burning bright red, and the expression on her face tells me she knows everything.
“Oh my God. Did you know it was me all along?”
I think back at the three letters I wrote and the responses she sent me. I never in a million years would have thought the person I was writing to and sharing my tales of woe with was the same person who hired me to pet sit her dog. Who is, at this moment, lies at Miles’ feet in the living room, getting a belly rub.
“Well, yeah. They came from your email address, the same one you used to exchange messages while we were out of the country.”
I smack my forehead, dropping my chin to my chest in mortified stupidity.
“You must’ve thought I was the biggest flake in the world.”
Soraya laughs good-naturedly, extending a hand and placing it on the top of my shoulder.
“Honey, your letters were sweet, a little heartbreaking, but I never thought any less of you. And I can only assume, now knowing a little about yours and Miles’s past, that you were writing about him?”
I nod quickly, glancing over my shoulder at the two men chatting and laughing in the living room, drinks in hand conversing over who-knows-what.
“Yeah, we have quite a shared history together. And there were a lot of roadblocks to get to where we are now. Mostly, the closer I seemed to get to him, the more I felt miles and miles away. He was closed off emotionally, and I knew I couldn’t fix it for him. I ended up walking away, knowing it was the only way I could help him.”
“You did the right thing,” she agrees wisely. “It was a difficult thing to do, but look where things are now?”
We both turn our heads at the same time to see Graham and Miles smiling back at us.
“What are you two ladies chatting about in there?” Graham asks, his eyebrow cocked askew.
Soraya turns to me, and with a complicit smile and a gleam in her eye, says, “Fate.”
The End
