Chapter Ten: Desmond
Talking to one’s friends is a healthy balance of brutal honesty and careful allowance of self-denial. Desmond could tell that was happening as he was talking to Frank and Sean. Frank was lounging on the couch, head back, eyes closed, and legs sprawled with cheese cubes in his hand. Desmond wasn’t going to say a thing about it because Frank needed this moment.
Desmond could tell.
Sean, one of their friends they rarely saw, sat beside him, sipping some wine Desmond had in storage and eating tiny bits of cheese.
He had been telling them about last night’s dinner and how shocked he was that Claire asked him to dinner and that he even went. Even more, the fact that he really enjoyed his time with her. It was like he was with another woman, and it was at that moment that Desmond realized he really liked Claire more than a mere associate or friend.
And it was at that moment when he came to himself, he could tell his friends were carefully trying not to laugh at him.
Of course, they wanted to laugh. He knew he would have wanted to if the situation had been reversed.
He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his chin as he reflected on his behavior for the past month. He had been hanging out with Claire in the store, buying her gifts, and learning about who she was behind the hellish woman who planned parties and didn’t relent until it was done the right way.
So, he was just the dummy that couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
They were doing their best not to laugh and he, in turn, decided not to get mad at them for not telling him. Which would have been silly, but that’s what friends were for, telling you about yourself, even, no. Especially when it seemed silly.
“Okay. Dinner was great,” Frank said. “Now what?”
Desmond could tell from his voice that he was three cheesy bites from tipsy. He was happy to see Frank set the rest of the cheese bites down. He came to relax, and he was doing that right now. Anything more would be drunk.
“I don’t know what,” Desmond said in frustration. “She doesn’t appear to be very interested.”
“What do you mean she doesn’t seem interested? Uninterested women don’t invite you to dinner,” Sean said.
“Yes, but she asked to leave early,” Desmond said. “We didn’t even get to dance.”
“Well, what did you do?” Frank said, leaning over to drink some water.
“I don’t think I did anything,” Desmond defended, folding his arms over his chest.
“Of course, you don’t think you did anything. You’re a man,” Sean said.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean? So are you,” Desmond said, getting up to grab some of the cheese squares Frank left.
“Yes, I am, but I’ve been told that enough times by my sisters and my mom. Men are wrong most of the time.”
Sean had three sisters, so he was the resident expert in things women might be thinking.
“If it makes you feel any better, Violet says that Claire might be interested in you, but she’s too stubborn to back down and admit that she was wrong about her first impression.”
“Dude, what the hell? Aren’t you guys supposed to be comforting me?”
“Wow. What are you going to do next?” Sean asked. “Cry?”
Frank laughed, and fist bumped him.
“Shut up,” Desmond yelled, and plopped on the couch in between them, reaching over for another cheese block. “You’re my friends. You’re supposed to say something supportive. Is that too much to ask for?”
“No,” Frank said, shrugging, “but it is a lot to expect. You might be better off talking to Violet for that.”
“No. You know if I talk to her then she’ll tell Claire.”
“Well, you’re telling me, and I’m going to tell her, so you might as well cut out the middleman,” Frank said.
“Get out,” Desmond said, standing and pointing at the door. “You’ve been no help.”
Sean laughed and drank the last bit of wine in his glass. Frank ate the last cheese cube before walking to the door. “Well, we never said we would be helpful. We just came over for the cheese and the wine.”
“Why do I even talk to you?” he said as they walked out the door.
“Because we’re your friends,” Frank said, holding the door open. “I know this can feel tricky, but you’ll figure it out. I’m certain you will. If there’s anyone that can handle Claire, it’s you. She just needs to know that you won’t take advantage of her soft side if she shows it.”
Desmond watched Frank walk out of the office, happily buzzed and relaxed enough to focus on the better things in his life: his thriving business and the mother of his unborn children. Desmond wanted that, and he could see himself having that someday. The question was, with who and what would he have to do to make that happen with Claire?
He thought about dinner. What had he done to make her want to end it early?
Maybe it was the number of reservations? Planning the party had taught him that Claire didn’t like things to be as dramatic as he did. Maybe she had gotten mad because she didn’t want such a fuss made. But what woman wouldn’t want a fuss?
Desmond decided that whatever he’d done wrong, it probably wasn’t planning the date. Maybe he’d had vegetables in his teeth or something. Maybe it wasn’t him, as Frank has implied. Maybe Claire was too stubborn to admit she was having fun and had left because of that. When he said it all out in his head like that, it sounded stupid, and he figured that wasn’t the right answer either. Maybe she just didn’t like him, as much of a blow to his ego as that would be.
He thought about calling Violet, as Frank had suggested, but he didn’t want to disturb her. He’d call Monica, but she’d talked him through a lot of emotions already. Ultimately, he wanted to call Claire; her perspective on the situation would have made him feel better if it had been about anything else. He couldn’t just call a woman up to make her comfort him about how much he liked her, so he put his phone down without doing anything.