Trevor
You would think I’m seventeen on my first date.
Since leaving the bar with Max and receiving Shana’s text that she was done for the week and wanted me to take her mind off work, I’ve been in planning overload. It’s what I do. I plan, probably excessively. After all, a structure doesn’t become a fifty-story building without planning. First there are specs. What will be needed to secure the foundation? A building or a bridge, no matter how well constructed, won’t stand without a strong foundation. After that, preliminary plans are developed. The investors’ desires are taken into consideration but always with safety regulations in mind.
Once the basics are formulated, a model is constructed. While I loved Legos as a kid, these models are different, being built to scale for a very specific reason. If the model can’t stand or withhold the stresses placed upon it, neither will the structure.
It’s the way my mind works.
Of course, things are different for creating a weekend with the woman I’m falling for. I know it’s true. Then again, maybe Kimbra was right and I’ve already fallen. That morning in Indianapolis, when Shana woke in my bed, I was a goner.
I’ll never forget the way she looked at me. With her beautiful blue eyes wide, wearing my button-down shirt, her expression filled with surprise and wonder. I admit I had fun teasing her and stretching out the explanation for our situation.
Through it all, she remained calm and innocent.
Oh, I wanted her that night. I wanted her that weekend, but not taking her has made what we’ve shared this week so much better.
I stop and look around my apartment. It isn’t a bad apartment for New York. When I first moved in, I had Eric as a roommate. That helped with expenses. Now that he’s getting married and living with Cynthia, I can’t imagine downsizing. Not that it’s large, but two bedrooms in Manhattan—unless you’re my brother—is like a mansion in other areas.
Since I’ve taken Shana to many of her favorite spots this week—last night we went to Gaston’s—I decided that this weekend would be different. No fancy restaurants—she has to dress professionally all week. No crowded venues. No fuss.
I remembered something Duncan told me once about Kimbra. He said that one of his favorite times is when they hide out all weekend getting lost in one another, movies on Netflix, and comfort food.
Shana and I may not have the jet-set life of Duncan and Kimbra, but I like what he said. It shows me that despite what he does, my brother is still the down-to-earth guy that our parents raised. We didn’t always have a lot growing up, but we always had home.
For one weekend, I hope I can give that to Shana.
I take a look at my phone, hoping there’ll be another message from her, but instead there’s one from Max and one from my mother.
Great.
I open the one from Max first.
“EVERYTHING WAS CONFIRMED RECEIVED AT THE MAIN OFFICE. I’LL KEEP YOU POSTED.”
I don’t know if this is the best career move I’ve ever made. I’ve always been the guy who went where he was needed and picked up the pieces of whatever was given to me. This is the first time I’ve pursued a project with this much vigor. It could either work or backfire.
I scoff at my limited options.
“Yes, Trevor. You’ll either succeed or fail. There’s no gray area in that.”
It seems like my options are a lot like Shana’s. She did her best for that damn fashion show, the one I didn’t want to attend. She put herself on the line and according to her, the sales have been successful; however, the decision she made to walk on that stage, to put aside her insecurities for others, could be her undoing in ladies’ lingerie.
Nothing worthwhile comes without risk.
I decide to bite the bullet and open my mother’s text.
Mom: “DAD AND I ARE COMING TO THE CITY FOR A CONCERT ON SUNDAY. I HEARD A RUMOR THAT I’D LOVE TO HEAR FROM YOU. MAYBE YOU COULD GIVE YOUR MOM A CALL?”
Fuck!
My damn brother is closer to our mom. It’s not an issue for me. I’m a thirty-three-year-old man. I don’t need to have dinner with her once a week. Yes, I think he still does that even now that he’s married.
But just because he has dinner with her doesn’t mean he has to tell her about me.
I look again at Shana’s text.
With Friday-night traffic, she should be here soon. Shaking my head, I decide to rip off the Band-Aid and face my mom.
Her phone rings only once. “Trevor!”
“Hi, Mom. I just read your text message.”
“So? Tell me...” Her voice is filled with excitement as if I’m about to divulge some Christmas secret.
“I can’t talk long. Did you say you’d be in the city?”
“Yes, your dad and I have tickets to the Philharmonic. It’s a rare Sunday evening show, Tchaikovsky and Elgar. I can’t wait.”
“I’d love to see you two, but I have plans this weekend.”
“Trevor,” she says, the elongation of my name meaning more than what she’s saying.
“Mom, I’m going to guess you heard a rumor from Duncan.”
“No, I heard a rumor from Kimbra.”
I scoff, shaking my head. It’s so much easier to be mad at Duncan than Kimbra. “And what did Kimbra say?”
“She said you are seeing someone. Oh, please, tell me it’s true.”
The intercom on the wall near my door buzzes.
“It’s true, Mom, and I need to go.”
“I want to meet her.”
The intercom buzzes again.
“Mom, I need to go. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Okay, see you Sunday at Kimbra and Duncan’s at three o’clock.”
Before I can reply, she is gone.
No. Just no. This weekend is about hiding from the world, not taking my girl to meet my parents. That’s like taking her from a bearskin blanket in front of the fire into the fire itself.
I push the button on the intercom. “Hello.”
Shana’s voice rings through the speaker. “Hi, it’s me.”
“Hi, me. Come on up.”