Page 22 of Mr Best Friend's Brother Grump

“You are being kind. I’m hopeless.” We sit back down on the kitchen stools. The final track of ‘The Buena Vista Social Club’ has faded. We are both a little disheveled from the exertion of trying to dance. Rosa is looking up at the ceiling and I can tell she has something on her mind. “What?” I ask.

“Oh, nothing.” She waves me away.

“What’s ‘oh nothing’?” I persist.

“You’ll think I’m mean or judgy.”

“Why?”

“Because, when we first met… do you remember?”

“Yes. When you were my minion... Go on.”

“Yes, that day on the boat… I thought you were grumpy as all hell.”

“I was what?”

“Grumpy, as in moody, bad-tempered, anti-social. And…”

“And what?”

“And I thought you didn’t like me.”

“No... You’re right... I still don’t.” Rosa throws her head back and laughs until her shoulders shake.

She is radiant. She is glorious. And all I want to do is kiss her. A long, deep sensuous, luxurious kiss that could go on until morning. I suddenly feel self-conscious. I don’t know if she knows what I’m feeling, but I excuse myself abruptly. I don’t want to spoil the moment by doing something as stupid as trying to kiss Rosa. That would be so dumb and regretful.

“Err-um. Right then. Rosa. It’s been fun.” I stand up and move towards my room. “But I’m going to bed now. So, good night.”

“Buenos noches, Nathan. Thanks, again, for letting me stay.” Rosa’s voice is as soft and warm as her eyes.

She is disarming. My defenses are laid low. But I make it to the safety of my room and, closing the door behind me, I lean back against it as if that would stop the feeling that overwhelms me.

The next morning, I’m up and about first. Memories of the previous evening linger in the herbal teacups that are left on the coffee table and the scrunched-up tea towel left on the kitchen counter. Did we really eat all that ice cream?

I boil some water and think about the day. I open the fridge and check but, of course, there’s no food in there, as per normal. I’m not glum at all, however, because going out for breakfast is one of my guilty pleasures. Cafés abound in this part of Manhattan. I have my favorites, depending on my mood and whether I want a perfectly roasted aromatic coffee and fresh, out-of-the-oven flakey croissant or something a bit more substantial, such as a tasty shakshuka or good ol’ bacon ‘n’ eggs.

I yawn and stretch and look down at the traffic and pedestrians in the street below. I feel strangely removed from everything this morning as if there’s been a subtle shift; a rearrangement of elements. Or perhaps I have just had the best sleep that I can remember, and I feel fantastic.

“Good morning.” Rosa’s voice interrupts my reverie. I turn towards her. She is framed in Kendra’s bedroom doorway.

“Buenos dias, dancing queen.” She looks exquisite in a rumpled, morning, bleary way. Her untamed hair is a riot of curls. “We have absolutely no food now. Not even ice cream or popcorn. So, we’re forced to go and forage, as best we can, out there on the mean streets of café-land, Manhattan. Are you up for it? Or do you want me to bring something back for you?”

“Ah, Nathan. That’s so sweet. Give me ten minutes to get ready, if you can wait, and I’ll come too.” She disappears into Kendra’s room and shouts through the open door. “I’ll have to find something to wear of Kendra’s that fits me.”

I am overpleased when Rosa agrees to come out for breakfast with me. The wonderful magic of the previous night has spilled over into the morning, and I can’t believe how lucky I feel. Is it because this woman is out of bounds that I’m finding her so irresistible? Am I that schmuck that you hear about, who is so hung up on the unattainable, he lives his life longing for the thing he can’t have? Like one of those French novels. A tragedy. A hopeless, brokenhearted, life of emptiness. Is that me? I hope not.

I put on a shirt and Levis, my favorite orange Addidas Gazelles, and denim jacket. I check my wallet and bring my phone. No one has called, thankfully. I flick through my messages while I wait for Rosa. There are three from Ingrid. I don’t read them. We are not together anymore, but I still feel somehow connected to her, as if she still has a hold on me. And even though nothing happened with Rosa, there’s a twinge of guilt as if I’ve been unfaithful, which is ridiculous.

Rosa appears wearing black stretch pants and a colorful flower-print wrap-around dress over a tank top. It looks great with her green woolen coat. She twirls at the door, clearly pleased with herself.

“I might just keep this outfit,” she says, smiling impishly slinging her bag over her shoulder.

We take the elevator down and talk about what we want to eat for breakfast. Rosa tells me coffee is the most important element in the morning, so we head over to a French patisserie that I think she’ll like.

We are only a few yards from my building when I see a familiar tall blond figure striding toward me. It’s Ingrid. Her face is set into an expression as hard as granite. She doesn’t look happy at all.

“Nathan,” she says when we are almost within hearing distance. “I’ve been trying to reach you. Didn’t you get my messages?” Her voice is syrup, thinly disguising an underlying bitterness. “Oh, hi, Rosa.” She turns her attention to Rosa. It’s almost a snarl. “Did you know that Kendra is out of town for a few days?” Ingrid doesn’t wait for a response but continues. Her attention is back on me. “So, how have you been?”

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