Capture

“You’re not talking about drugs, are you? Because, smack is whack.”

I laughed and rolled my eyes. “No. I’m talking about buying a T-shirt that fits. Maybe a new dress, so I don’t have to keep borrowing yours.”

What I didn’t add, because I hadn’t yet told her about seeing Martin at the coffee shop, was that trying new things also included agreeing to a friendship with Martin Sandeke.

***

The next morning Sam was out of the apartment.

Even so, I shut the door to my room in order to achieve maximum privacy. I was going to call Martin.

I’d thought about making the call from the bathroom, just in case Sam came home unexpectedly, but I decided that was taking things a bit too far.

I gathered several deep breaths as I psyched myself up. Then, feeling an odd surge of courage, I grabbed my phone, tapped in his number, and lifted the cell to my ear.

It rang three times.

I was trying to figure out whether or not I should leave a voicemail—should it come to that—when it was answered.

“Hello?” asked a female voice on the other end.

I frowned, glancing at the card he’d given me, wondering if I had the wrong number or if I’d been given his PA’s phone number instead.

“Hi. Hello, um—I’m sorry. I think I might have the wrong number. I’m calling for Martin Sandeke.”

“No. You have the right number.” Her accent was British.

“Oh. Okay. Is this his PA?”

“No. This is Emma Cromwell, his partner. Who is this?”

Partner. Partner? Oh! …partner. Well, barnacles.

I closed my eyes and released a silent sigh, felt my stomach fall painfully to my feet. I sat on my bed and cleared my throat before responding, “I’m…Parker.”

“Kaitlyn Parker?” It might have been my imagination, but she sounded a little irritated by this news.

Which meant she knew who I was. That was just lovely. Now I felt like an evil usurper. Here I was, the ex-girlfriend, calling her Martin. I was pretty sure that if I were in a committed relationship, I wouldn’t want my boyfriend’s ex calling him.

How did I even get here?

I nodded, then realized she couldn’t see me, so I said, “Yes. Kaitlyn Parker. If now is a bad time, you can just have him call me later. But no rush.”

“He’s just getting out of the shower, so I’ll have him call you back when he’s not busy.”

I nodded again, my heart joining my stomach, beyond my feet, falling down to the center of the earth. “Sure. Like I said, no rush.”

“Mmm-hmm. Goodbye.”

“Good—” I didn’t get to say ’bye, because she’d already ended the call.

***

I was coming to recognize I was probably still very much in love with Martin. Maybe I always would be. This thought made me want to cry, but I didn’t.

Instead I decided to go shopping because I had Christmas presents to buy. If there was one thing I’d learned over the last nine months it was the importance of going through the motions. Sam called this: Fake it ’til you make it.

This last week leading up to the big holiday was going to be crazy busy. We had two or three gigs a day, starting tomorrow. Last minute office parties, hotel feature events, themed weddings, and holiday brunches. As they were in New York, I was planning to stay in the city for the week with Janet (my bandmate) and two of her friends.

I was an efficient shopper, mostly because I’d always been ambivalent to shopping. I quickly grabbed the items on my list and was finished, ready to head back to the apartment after two short hours. But for the first time in perhaps my entire life, I didn’t want to go back to the apartment and be alone. So I window-shopped for a bit.

Strangely, window shopping turned into store buying, and after another two hours I was back at the apartment with three new pairs of women’s jeans, several fitted but delightfully nerdy tops, four matching bra and panty sets—because they were on super sale—and two new pairs of shoes. I also bought myself some cozy socks with Abraham Lincoln on the calves, because he was my second favorite president.

Once home, I unpacked then repacked my bag, deciding to take some of my new stuff with me, then went to the kitchen in search of hot chocolate.

That’s when my phone rang. I didn’t look at the number before answering because I was still thinking about how much I’d enjoyed my morning. I was floating in my new-clothes-euphoria.

“Hello?”

“Kaitlyn?”

Aaaand…now I was crashing back down to earth.

“Hi, Martin.” I endeavored to ignore the familiar ache in my chest.

“I hoped this might be your number. You called earlier? You should have left a message.”

This gave me pause, but then I started speaking and thinking at the same time. “I did leave a message.”

“Really? I didn’t get a voicemail.”

“No, I left a message with your…” I tripped over the word, but then forced myself to say it. I knew it was better to rip the bandage off than to try to peel it back slowly. “I left a message with your girlfriend.”

He was silent for a beat, then asked, “My girlfriend?”

“Emma.”

“Emma? No. No, no, no. Emma is not my girlfriend. She’s my partner.”

“Partner, girlfriend, significant other, sensei—whatever.”

“No, Kaitlyn.” I heard him laugh lightly, like he was both relieved and anxious. “Emma is my business partner. We’ve never…we’re not like that.”

This gave me pause. I was fairly certain Emma had sounded irritated on the phone earlier when she’d discovered my name. Perhaps I’d been imagining it.

“Anyway, you called?”

“Yes. I did. I called.” I glanced around the kitchen as though it might help me figure out what to say next. My mind hadn’t quite reconciled the fact that Emma wasn’t his girlfriend; my heart and stomach were looking to me for direction on whether to soar or switch places, and I had none to offer.

Should I feel happy? Relieved? Ambivalent? Unsurprisingly, the kitchen offered no guidance.

I must’ve been quiet for too long, because Martin asked, “Are you still there?”

“Yes. Sorry, I’m here. Yes, I called. I wanted to talk to you about the terms of our friendship.”

“Our friendship?” I heard the smile in his voice.

“Yes. I was thinking, you and I…I mean, even though we only spent a week together, I feel like—on some level—we became friends. And I liked our friendship, I liked you.” I closed my eyes, winced, and covered my face with my hand, feeling mortified and glad he couldn’t see the monster blush creeping up my neck.

“I liked you”…really? You are so bad at this.

But then Martin surprised me by saying, “I liked you, too. If you remember, I liked you a lot.”

This made me laugh my relief, pleased I wasn’t the only one risking part of myself and my pride.

I answered quietly, “Yes. I remember.” Now I was blushing for an entirely different reason.

“So, terms?” He prompted, “What days of the week do I get custody? And for how long?”

“Custody?”

“When do I get to see you?”

“Martin, we don’t need a schedule. If you want to see me or talk to me, just call me.”

“What about today?”

Again I glanced around the kitchen; it had no advice to offer.

I sputtered, “Uh…well…I guess…sure. If you have the time. I’m heading up to where you are in a little bit, as we have a show in the city tomorrow morning.”

“I’ll take you out to dinner tonight.”

Going out to dinner felt too much like a date. I didn’t think I was ready for anything that my heart might misconstrue and pin hopes upon.

“Or we could meet at the MET and grab a bite there.” The cafeteria at the Metropolitan Museum of Art had great food and was extremely public. Plus, it felt like a neutral spot, like something platonic friends would do together.

He was quiet for a few seconds and I could almost hear him thinking. Finally he acquiesced, “Sure. That’s fine. Where are you staying tonight?”

“In Brooklyn, with my bandmate, Janet, and a few of her friends. We’re actually staying there all week. I have, like, three shows every day this week.”

“You’re not going home for Christmas?”

“No. I went home for Thanksgiving. Plus the Christmas season is a very lucrative week for the band. I promised Willis I’d be available.”

“Willis?”

“My boss.”

I heard the creak of leather, like he was shifting in his seat, and when he spoke his words sounded measured, carefully casual. “You could stay with me, if you wanted. I have plenty of room and I’m in Manhattan.”

My heart sped up at the offer. Hmm, let me see. Spend a week with Martin on an island. Why did that sound so familiar and hazardous? It actually sounded amazing, at least my pants thought so…but also like a really, really terrible idea.

“No, thank you. I wouldn’t want to soil your linens.” I was pleased to hear him laugh at this while I continued, “But that’s really nice of you to offer.”