Breaking the Rules Page 5

  “Just don’t fly off and get married, okay?” Ollie says, interrupting my horrific train of thought. “You’re my best friend and I absolutely want to be there on your big day. You’ll probably have to gag me when they ask if anybody objects. I might yell out: ‘the groom is dull ... and a bit of a prick.’” Ollie smirks and if I wasn’t so tired, I’d get up and smack him. I make due with rolling my eyes.

  Just then I hear the familiar clicking of Jenny’s heels approaching us. Thank God. Caffeine saves the day.

  “Hey, guys. What’s happening? I hear the designer of my future dream home is leaving us for England, huh?”

  “I am,” Ollie smiles. “But once you’re ready to design that house, I’m just a phone call away.”

  Jenny has the hugest crush on Ollie and it’s ever so apparent this morning as she puts down a cup of steaming coffee in front of me without taking her eyes off him for a second.

  “What can I get you guys?” she asks us, even though she already knows the answer. “The usual?”

  We nod. When Adam took over as manager of the Quid a few years back, he set about creating the quintessential greasy breakfast. Bacon, eggs, sausages, baked beans and toast. Ollie and I had become instant fans.

  This day could be like any other Saturday. The only difference is the suitcase sitting next to Ollie. I love our lazy Saturday mornings together and our slow walk home after wolfing down Adam’s attempted-murder-by-breakfast. (The walk is also good to numb a bit of the guilt, really. I swear I’m switching to fruit and cottage cheese soon. Maybe when I turn thirty.) When we walk together, we can catch up and I tell Ollie about all the crazy things Greta does and he tells me all about the exciting new projects at work and all the new buildings his firm is designing. The look in his eye when he talks about work makes me want to gag him—in a friendly way, of course. I wish I could talk about being Greta’s assistant with that much joy and enthusiasm. But that would entail being more than her underpaid and overworked personal gopher.

  Ollie puts down his fork and clears his throat. “I hate to bring this up again because I know you don’t want to talk about it. But are you sure you’ll be okay with money? I feel really bad. At least let me pay half the cable bill.”

  Not again. He’s such a worrier. Even before Ollie got the promotion, back when he was just another junior architect in a pool of many candidates, we’d discussed what would happen if he ended up being The Chosen One. I don’t think he believed he had a chance in hell but he was so excited at the thought. He told me he’d continue paying his half of the rent if he left and I was really grateful for that because we both knew that there’s no way I can afford to pay it on my own. In exchange, I told Ollie I’d take care of the utilities and everything else. I can deal with that and, anyway, I hate asking him to contribute more because the cost of living is so much higher in London than it is here. Or so the guidebook tells me.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve told you a million times that I’ve got some money set aside in an emergency fund.”

  In all honesty, I’ve always hoped the emergency would be a trip to Paris or a sudden need for a kitchen makeover.

  “I’m also going to ask for more hours at work.” I wince as the words escape my mouth. I’ve already given Greta almost all the time I have. What more can I give? I see Ollie look down at his half-empty plate and frown. I’m sure he knows my level of enthusiasm for that option. “And the last resort is my parents. I hate running to Mom and Dad but I know they’d help me out. But I’ll do whatever it takes not to go there.”

  “What about Ethan? Can you count on him to help you out? Or will he just lecture you about fiscal responsibility?” I can hear the smirk in Ollie’s voice. “Tali told me about what happened downstairs during the party.”

  I stare at him, speechless for a second. Can’t my friends keep their mouths shut?

  The truth is, Ethan would want nothing more than for me to move into the condo he owns in Queens. And it would certainly be a good idea, financially. He asked me to move in with him after we’d been dating for a month and a half. “Renting is like throwing money out of the window,” he’s reminded me a thousand times in his banker voice. I told him I didn’t want to leave Ollie stranded. So when he found out that Ollie was leaving me stranded, he thought I’d be happy to move. But I love my apartment. I love my kitchen with the leaky faucet and the slight slant in the floor. I love my neighborhood with the open-air markets and the bodega across the street. I love the memories I have there. I know I’ll have to give it up when Ethan and I get married, but I want to stay there until we do.

  “Ethan is very careful with his money. And that’s not a bad thing,” I tell Ollie with a sigh. “I wasn’t careful and now I’m stuck with all this debt for stuff I don’t even remember buying... and it’s not his responsibility, it’s mine. So no, I will not ask him for help.”

  I need to get Ollie off this topic. Now. It’s a low blow but I have to do it. “Have you talked to your father?” I ask, stabbing a few beans with my fork.

  “Yeah, I called him this morning while you were sleeping.” I can see Ollie’s eyes glaze over. It’s never easy talking about his family. “You’d think he’d say congratulations or something. You’d think he’d be proud. All he said was not to call him collect from London. I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

  I shake my head. Ollie’s relationship with his father was never the same after the accident. I remember Mr. Frost back when I was a kid. He was always cheerful and smiling. Ollie was the son my parents never had and my sisters and I were like the daughters Mr. and Mrs. Frost never had. We were one big, happy family. But everything changed after the accident. Most of the details are a bit hazy because I was so young when it happened. All of the other bits and pieces have been filled in by my mother over the years. I know she still feels guilty about the accident even though everyone knows it wasn’t her fault. Tragic things happen to good people.

  My mom was running late and called Mrs. Frost and asked her to pick up Steffi at daycare. She’d done it so many times before. She just got in her car and drove. The roads were icy. She was being careful but someone else wasn’t. The police told my parents that another driver lost control of his car and slammed into her. A bystander who witnessed the accident was able to pull my baby sister—still strapped in her car seat—out of the twisted metal. Mrs. Frost wasn’t so lucky.

  It was very hard for all of us. Ollie and I were just seven and I remember holding his hand during the funeral. I don’t think he really understood what was going on. There was a lot of crying, a lot of head shaking, and a lot of people coming up to Ollie just to pat him on the shoulder. Mr. Frost was a wreck. My mom tried to get him to see a grief counselor but he turned her away. He never really spoke to my parents after the accident. He didn’t stop Ollie from coming over to our house and he allowed him to go on vacation with us, but he kept the communication to a minimum. No more Saturday BBQs in the Frost backyard. No more Sunday brunches or pool parties. No more big, happy, neighborly family.

  Steffi has a long, thin scar under her right eye—which is a constant reminder of the accident and Ollie’s mom. Izzie calls it The Scar that Makes Steffi Get Away with Everything. But I don’t think that’s true. She’s the baby of the family; she gets whatever she wants with the bat of an eye—scarred or not. That’s just the way it is.

  I reach out and grab Ollie’s hand. “I’m proud of you. I know my parents are proud of you. You’re almost as big of an overachiever as Izzie so I know she’s proud of you, and if Steffi knew what an architect was, she’d be over-the-moon too.”

  Ollie rolls his eyes. “I’m sure she knows what an architect is, Rox.”

  “I know, I’m just teasing.”

  “Rox?”

  “Yes?” I don’t like the mischievous smile on Ollie’s face. I don’t like it one bit.

  “Twenty bucks ... if you go talk to Dan the Drunk.”

  I sigh and look at Dan. He’s getting ready to leave. “No
way.”

  “Twenty bucks,” he repeats, louder.

  It’s not as if I don’t need the money. “What do I say?”

  “Ask to see what’s in his briefcase.”

  “Stay right where you are, Roxy Rule.” I see Adam from the corner of my eye. He comes up to us and I give him a hug. “We’re all dying to know what’s in the briefcase but I can’t have you alienating my best customer.”

  “I wasn’t sure you’d be here today,” I say.

  “Didn’t have a choice. One of my cooks called me up at four this morning to tell me he was quitting.”

  Adam has the hardest time keeping his staff. It might be because he barely has any money to pay them. When the cooks find out that they only make slightly more than the busboys, they’re out the door in half a second.

  “Well, it was a great breakfast,” Ollie says, taking out his wallet.

  Adam stops him. “Oh no, no, no. Put that away. It’s on the house.”

  “Thanks, man,” Ollie says. “I appreciate it.” He extends his hand towards Adam.

  “Oh, come here you beautiful bastard.” Adam reaches across the table, pulls Ollie up and wraps him in a giant bear hug. I almost laugh when I see the look of utter surprise on Ollie’s face. “We’re going to miss you. You have fun, okay?” Adam finally releases Ollie after a few more seconds of bonding. “And if you see Jude Law, please take a picture.”

  We walk towards the exit, Ollie wheeling his suitcase behind him. “Adam, promise me something?” he asks when we get to the door.

  “I’m listening,” Adam says, giving Ollie a quizzical look.

  “Look over Roxy while I’m away?”

  “You bet,” Adam says, slapping him on the shoulder.

  I roll my eyes at them and they laugh. Please. I’ll most likely be the one taking care of Adam when his next flame breaks his heart and/or steals his wallet. He’ll show up at the apartment in tears and we’ll spend hours on my living room couch with pizza and ice cream talking about how much men suck. But I can’t complain—I love it, actually. I have extra pints of ice cream stashed in the freezer just in case.

  We’re halfway out the door when the sound of crashing plates makes us stop dead in our tracks. Adam gasps.

  “Adam, get in here!” Jenny screams.

  Adam shakes his head. “I’ll call you later, Rox,” he tells me with a sigh, kissing my cheek. “And you,” he says to Ollie. “Make us proud.”

  I see him shake his head again and mutter something to himself as he heads to the kitchen.

  The sky is gray and gloomy when Ollie and I leave the Quid. I look at my watch. Ollie needs to leave for the airport now or he’ll be late. He wheels his suitcase up to the curb and is about to lift his arm to hail a taxi but stops himself.

  “I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

  I make a mental checklist. “Passport?” I ask.

  Ollie opens up his messenger bag. “Check.”

  “Plane ticket?”

  “Check.”

  “Irrational fear of flying?”

  Ollie shakes his head and sighs. “Check.”

  “Address and phone number of your hotel?”

  “Check and.... check.”

  “Checks?” I raise an eyebrow and smile.

  “No one uses checks anymore, Rox.”

  “Credit cards?” I make a face.

  He pats his wallet. “Check.”

  “Ready to go?” I ask.

  There’s a moment of silence where we just look at each other. “Not quite.”

  Before I can say anything, Ollie turns around and raises his arm to hail a taxi. My heart starts beating a bit faster as one quickly comes to a halt next to us. The driver pops the trunk and Ollie places his suitcase inside.

  Ollie comes back to stand next to me. He’s looking at the ground. I’m looking at the sky. A fat drop of rain splatters on my forehead.

  “Well, this is it,” he says. His voice is thick. I don’t trust myself to say anything. If I open my mouth, I’ll cry and I don’t want to be the girl crying in the middle of the sidewalk. Not again. Yesterday was enough.

  I take a step forward and give Ollie a hug and rest my head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tight.

  There are so many things I want to say.

  Ollie is my best friend. Ollie has my back at all times. Ollie is the only person who can make me laugh when I’m having a bad day. Ollie is my rock. Ollie is...

  Ollie is kissing me.

  And I’m kissing him back.

  Wait a second … what?

  I gently push him away after a minute. “What are you doing?” I ask, a little out of breath.

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He looks straight at me and all I can see is sadness in his big chestnut eyes. And even though I know it’s wrong, I desperately want him to be in my arms again.

  “Where to, buddy?” growls the taxi driver, leaning over the passenger seat and staring at us. “I ain’t got all day.”

  Ollie gets into the cab and rolls down his window. “Goodbye, Roxy. I... I’ll email you when Rachel and I get to London.” He’s looking at me but he’s not really looking at me. His face is blank and his eyes are cold. He leans back in his seat and rolls up his window, staring straight ahead. I can still hear him give his instructions to the driver. “JFK. As fast as possible, please.”

  I watch the cab drive away until it becomes a tiny, yellow dot in the distance.

  There goes my resolution to not be the girl crying on the sidewalk. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand. The rain is coming down soft and steady now and people around me are struggling to open their umbrellas or are using newspapers to cover their heads. I don’t care about the rain coming down over me. It feels good.

  What the hell just happened here? Ollie kissed me. I don’t know what’s freaking me out more. The fact that Ollie kissed me or the fact that I kissed him back and that the little voice at the back of my head had to scream at me before I pushed him away. I liked it. Oh my God, I really liked it and I want more. Shit.

  I consider going back to the Quid and telling Adam. But I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not before I make sense of it all. My head feels a bit dizzy. I lean against a mailbox and close my eyes. Deep breaths. Deep...

  The familiar salsa beat of my cell phone brings me back to reality. I dig it out of my bag. Ethan’s name flashes accusingly on the screen. It might as well be flashing ‘Roxy, You’re a Cheater.’ I pick it up on the fourth ring.

  “Hi, Ethan,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I can’t bring myself to call him honey or sweetie. I hope he doesn’t notice.

  “Darling. Listen, I’m on my way to a meeting so I don’t have much time. I just have to apologize for my behavior last night. I was out of line and unbelievably rude. My meeting yesterday was rather stressful and I took it out on the one I love. I will make up for it, I promise. And we will sit down and discuss what we have to discuss like two mature adults. What do you say?”

  I swallow. What have I done to deserve this perfect boyfriend? “Sounds awesome,” I manage to say.

  “Great. I’ll call you later. Love you, darling.”

  For once, I’m happy he hangs up before I can answer. I do love him. I love him with all my heart. Ethan, that is. How dare Ollie put that into question. We are going to make it down the aisle and we’re going to be happy. There’s no reason Ethan needs to find out about what just happened. If I don’t acknowledge it, it’s like it never happened, right? Right. Ollie and I went for breakfast and Ollie took a cab to the airport. Yes, I was sad to see him go but it’s for the best because Ollie is advancing in his career. He’s happy and I’m happy. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

  I’m a few minutes from home when my cell phone rings again. I get a dreadful feeling in the pit of my stomach. The feeling I always get when she calls. I plead silently as I look for my phone. Once again, it’s stuck at the bottom of my bag. Almost as if it doesn�
��t want to be answered.

  Please let it be Emma.

  Or Tali—even though I know she never gets up before three o’clock on weekends.

  Or Adam—even though he’s probably dealing with a whole bunch of broken plates right now.

  I’d even be happy to have a nice chat with the credit card company about last month’s payment, which was a few dollars short of the minimum amount due. Please let it be anyone but...

  “Hi, Greta,” I answer.

  “Roxy, where are you? You’re late.”

  Greta doesn’t understand the concept of a weekend. “It’s Saturday, Greta. I don’t work on Saturdays.”

  “But I need you here. There’s an emergency.”

  Over the years, I’ve learned not to panic whenever Greta uses the E word. I’ve rushed to the office far too many times for misplaced lucky pens and a supply closet running low on paper clips. “Can’t it wait until Monday?”

  “I really wish it didn’t have to. And I really wish you took this job seriously, Roxy.”

  I stop at a red light even though I’d like nothing more than to throw myself in the path of oncoming traffic. I can see my apartment building from where I am right now. And inside my apartment is my wonderful bed with wonderful covers to crawl under. And a fridge filled with delicious leftovers from yesterday’s party. My plans for today? Sleep and eat. “I do take this job seriously,” I tell Greta in a soothing voice. I’m going to need to beg for more work soon. Soon... but not now. “I have plans today and they can’t be broken. I’m so sorry.”

  There’s silence at the other end of the line, but I know she’s still there. Thinking. Greta’s not going to give up that easily.

  I walk up the front steps of my building and start climbing the stairs that separate me from my bed, the phone still stuck to my ear. All I want to do is hang up.

  “Maybe you could come in for a few hours later this afternoon. That would be a great help. I’m so overwhelmed by this new account...”

  But I’m not listening. “Greta, there’s been a slight complication. I have to go.”