The Lost Night (Page 30)

There was a long silence, which told me everything.

“Tessa, what’s up?”

“It’s nothing, we don’t need to talk about it.”

“Are you kidding? I’m here. You can talk to me.”

A swallow, then a sniff. “It’s just…we’re okay. Will just found out he’s not getting his bonus this year, and we were already barely keeping up with the mortgage on the Saugerties place, and now with this baby coming…” Her voice cracked.

“Oh, Tessa, I’m sorry. That’s so stressful.”

“Thanks.” She kind of laughed. “And everything I’ve read about pregnancy is like, whatever you do, do not flood your body with stress hormones because it’ll mess up the fetus, so I’m doubly freaking out about—”

“—about the fact that you’re freaking out,” I finished. “Aw, Tessa. I want to give you a hug through the phone. Should I come over?”

“No, it’s okay. We’re seeing his parents next week and they’ll probably want to help and it’ll all be fine.” She sighed. “I’m sorry. I try to be sensitive of whom I’m complaining to. I know it’s kind of shitty to be like, ‘Ooh, my house, and my husband, and my baby.’ ”

Hearing it so bluntly, I teared up, too. I had no idea she’d been shielding me. “Honestly, you really don’t need to think like that,” I said. “This sounds weird, but it actually…it kind of helps? I mean, it sounds awful to say it makes me feel better, but, like, it reminds me that life is still life, and ticking those boxes doesn’t magically make everything better.”

“We all have our shit,” she agreed. I did feel better, and I struggled to home in on whether or not that was a betrayal. “I mean, especially with all this crazy Edie stuff.”

“I’m fine,” I told her again, pierced by the change of subject. “I’m okay.”

* * *

It wasn’t until I was changing into my pajamas that something hit me, a breaker of fear and fury, horror at Alex, jagged resentment and disgust and those barbs of jealousy toward Edie, dead and gone and still messing with me anyway.

“Fuck this,” I whispered aloud, because I was done, done scuba diving in the past, unearthing horrible things about my friends that I couldn’t share and would never unknow. Suddenly I was crying so hard that it was like I’d never existed outside of this cry. I smeared the tears so they stung, then flopped down and slept with the yellow lights on overhead.

Chapter 9

Around noon the next day, my phone chimed. “Hey, it’s Josh!” it read, exclamation point standing tall. “How’s it going?”

I was supposed to wait—Edie would have demanded it, she’d been my flirt-texting Cyrano back in the day—but I figured this kid might as well know now that dating a thirty-three-year-old does not leave room for bullshit games.

“Hey!” I texted back. “Just at work. How are you?”

I stared at the screen until I saw he was typing back.

He stopped typing. Fuck me.

“Just walking in Brooklyn Bridge Park.”

Now what? Tease him for making it sound like he’s jobless? Say something about the park? Why hadn’t he asked a follow-up question? What Would Edie Do?

“I can see DUMBO from my building,” I typed. “Wave.” I’d have to actually enter a conference room to look east, but, technicality.

No response. Two minutes passed, then three.

Then: “Ha, nice, you in FiDi?”

“Yep. How are things on your side of the river?” God, I was bad at this.

“View’s better from here. You’re only one ferry stop away.”

What did that mean? An invitation? A statement of fact?

Then he wrote again: “I’m by Ignazio’s. Come have pizza with me.” Three pizza-slice emojis to underscore his point.

Something pitched in my chest. Damien walked by just then, so I pulled him in.

“Wait, who is this?” he screeched, delighted.

I blushed as I scrambled for something to say—I hadn’t mentioned that I’d been stalking Edie’s ex and couldn’t think of a suitable meet-cute for a guy ten years my junior. Damien had moved on from the Edie mystery and I didn’t want him to know how fixated I’d remained.

“He’s waiting!” I spat, handing him the phone. “He’s a dude I met. Answer now, info later.”

Damien scrolled. “Well, do you want to have pizza with him?”

“I mean, sure! Yeah.”

“Hmm.” He stroked his chin stubble.

“Can I just say that? Pizza, sure?”

Damien looked up, eyes sparkling, and I dropped my face into my hands. “I am horrible at this.”

Damien started typing. “What kind of pizza do you like?” he asked.

“What?”

“Damn it, Lindsay, this is not a drill! What kind of pizza!”

“Uhhh, I don’t know! Pepperoni!”

He hit send and handed the phone back to me just as my cheeks started to hurt from laughing. He’d written: “Meet me at the dock. I’ll take pepperoni.”

“What the hell, Damien! He’s supposed to bring me pizza to go?”

“I’m really glad you said pepperoni. Because it’s phallic.” He leaned on my desk and sighed happily. “Mystery man, bring me your big, hard pepperoni.”

“Jesus Christ. He’s writing back.” We both leaned in to watch.

“You got it. Be there in twenty or I’m eating both slices myself.”

Damien whooped. I gathered my things, ignoring his screeching request for more explanation.

“If you’re not back in an hour, I’m calling the Coast Guard,” he called as I hustled to make the 12:30 ferry.

* * *

I stepped onto the dock in DUMBO and spotted Josh, back behind the gate and clutching a greasy white bag. We waved hello when I was still twenty feet out and then he lifted the food up near his head; I gave a dorky thumbs-up. Finally we were together and he gave me a one-armed hug hello, with one of those little air pecks somewhere near my ear. He was handsomer than I remembered, tall and broad-shouldered. Why did he want anything to do with me?

“Hi!” I said. “Is that for me?”

“Half of it. I got the same thing.”

“Can’t go wrong with a classic.” Everything I said dated me. My dating skills are dated, I thought crazily. I date datedly.

“Should we sit down?” We settled on a bench, looking out at the skyline, a mosaicked cliff of brick and glass.

“Which building is yours?” he asked. I pointed it out: a gleaming silver one next to a big black spire.

“That’s the Tress building, right?”

“Yeah, I work at Sir magazine.”

“Seriously? I used to read that!”

“Not anymore?”

“I think my subscription ran out. Wow, what do you do?”

“I’m the research chief.”

“So you research the articles?” He’d succeeded in sliding out the slices, each on its own paper plate.

“Not exactly. I fact-check the articles after they’ve been written. Well, I lead the team that does.” He handed me the top plate, which was probably a nice gesture, but it meant its bottom was soaked with oil, so I couldn’t set it on my lap. I pleated the slice and took a bite.

“Wow, so you’re a boss lady.”

“I guess. Tell me more about what you do.”

“You know, it’s just boring operations stuff.”

“Do you want to be an architect eventually?”

“Not really. I studied civil engineering and got really into the technology piece: 3-D printing and advanced CAD, that kind of stuff. Kinda figured I’d end up at a startup, but they hired me first.”

“Well, they do have a cornhole room,” I cracked. He smiled, chewing. “What’s it like working for Greg?”

“Oh, he’s the best. Really good guy, really smart. Everybody loves him.”

“Are you just saying that because he dated my friend? You can be honest. She dumped him.”

“No, I’m serious, he’s awesome. Your friend really missed out.” He shot me that beautiful goddamn grin, and something between my chest and stomach cartwheeled.

“All right, I believe you.” I worked up something new. “So how long have you been there?”

“Two years last month.”

“Since right after college?” Please let him be older than twenty-four.

“Yep!”

Twenty-four, then. A barge glided by, majestic in the sun’s glare.

“And do you like it?”

He shrugged. “It’s good, they treat us well. Eventually I’ll probably start my own company.”

Right, easy as pizza pie. “Doing what?”

“Probably with 3-D modeling. Making it more accessible to the masses.”

“So that the masses can do…what?”

“Whatever they want. Print their own custom orthotics. Or jewelry. Or, like, a bust of their great-grandfather. There are instructions online now for printing and constructing a functional handgun.”

Handgun. This was the arrhythmic pattern of the last couple of weeks: periods of distraction, of time passing normally, and then screeeh, jolt, and crash.