I’ve never been adept at lying. When my mother asked me point blank if I was sexually active when I was sixteen, I told her that I was, and that since she’d asked, I’d like to go on birth control pills, because all the ballerinas I knew said to use at least two forms of birth control at all times. I did and do want to have a family one day, but for a ballet dancer, getting pregnant at the wrong time is usually career-ending. My mother agreed, as long as I didn’t tell my father about my sex life. I wouldn’t have been able to lie to him if he’d asked—fortunately we’re from the Midwest, so it will probably never come up.

So, when Callie asked what was up with John Brandt, what I told her was mostly true: that I’ve known Johnny my whole life because he’s my brother’s best friend, that we hadn’t seen each other in a few years and he just showed up at my restaurant and asked me out. Which is essentially all there is to it. Maybe he was right—by the time we get to Cleveland it might feel real. Or by then he may have driven me so batshit crazy that I won’t know the difference between fantasy and reality. 

When pressed further, I told her about all the time he’d spent at my house when I was a kid, because his parents are workaholics who were almost never home. He slept over on weekends more often than not. We celebrated his birthday when Nathan had his parties because John’s parents were always too busy to throw their son a party of his own, though John never complained about them. Once, he got the flu and when my Mom found out he was home alone, she went to pick him up and brought him to our place and made him soup.

By that point, Callie’s hands were covering her heart. I didn’t want her to get attached to the idea of him, so I got into the other stuff. When he and my brother turned thirteen, they spent most of the time in the basement, but we only had one TV in the house, so there were a lot of arguments and subsequent retaliatory high jinks related to what to watch. I told her about the time he tried to explain the mathematics of classical music to me, and I explained how much I hated his inability to experience music viscerally by pouring a can of root beer on his head. I was grounded for a week but it was worth it, shutting him up.

“Gosh, O, the way you talk about him it sounds like you barely even liked him.”

“No, I did. I liked him. I do. I mean, he was an acquired taste, and I acquired it. Eventually. He was always very neat and tidy when he shared our bathroom. And he helped me with my math homework most of the time without my even asking.” He didn’t help me so much as he’d see me struggling with it and just do my homework for me while barking out basic mathematical rules that he could not believe I didn’t comprehend.

“He’s just a nerd, you know. But he’s changed.”

“Uh, yeah. He’s an acquired taste who’s acquired hundreds of millions of dollars.”

“Are you Googling him? Don’t Google him!”

“Why not? He’s highly Googleable. No way—he founded Brainy Biz? My cousin used that to get funding for this app he developed. I knew I recognized his name. He’s a big deal! Why aren’t you more excited?”

“I am, I’m just, it’s still so new. He’s so different from the guys I usually date.”

“Yeah, he’s not a cocky shithead.”

“He’s cocky in his own way.”

“What, you think he’s not good enough for you just because he’s not an artist? Give me a break.”

I got a text from John, reminding me to get to a passport photo place before they closed, so I didn’t see Callie for the rest of the day.

This morning, she’s back to Googling him while I stretch on the floor and eat toast.

“It’s not like you’re the first beauty to date a nerd, you know.”

“Not counting John Hughes movies?”

“Hello—Miranda Kerr married that guy who co-founded Snapchat.”

“Who’s Miranda Kerr?”

“The Victoria’s Secret model. She has a line of organic beauty products? She’s one of the richest supermodels in the world. She was married to Orlando Bloom?”

“Who?”

“Oh my God. Who’s the nerd?”

“I’m not a nerd. I’m just too busy to read People magazine.”

“I don’t read People magazine, this is stuff that people know just from being alive and having an internet connection.”

She types in something onto her laptop and stares at the screen. “Uhhhh…”

“What?”

“Your new boyfriend has dated a supermodel. Did you not know this?”

“No.” I haven’t Googled him yet. “We don’t talk about our past relationships.”

“That’s probably smart.”

“Why? Who is she? Let me see.”

She turns the laptop around so I can’t see it. “I don’t think you want to. It looks like they dated for a few months a year ago…”

Must have been another fake relationship.

“I don’t care just let me see!” I go over to where she’s sitting on the couch, pull the laptop away from her and experience all kinds of unexpected feelings as I stare gaping at dozens of photos of Johnny with a supernaturally stunning woman. In every picture she’s looking at him like she’s in awe of him—and not like “I can’t believe you’re such a dork” awe, but like “wow you are so amazing” kind of awe. “Montana Reed? What kind of bullshit name is that?”

“The kind that gets listed in Maxim’s Hot 100.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds sexist.”

“It is, and you need to face facts: you may be the nerd in this Beauty and the Nerd relationship. Because that man is freaking beautiful.”

On the outside, yes, I’ll admit. “Yes, he’s very photogenic.”

“Hold up!”

“What?”

“He did a Ted Talk!”

“You’re kidding. About what?”

She smiles. “Let’s find out!”

* * *

I’ve been at work for two hours, and I can’t stop thinking about Johnny’s Ted Talk. If I hadn’t known him personally before watching it, I would have instantly fallen in love with him. His topic was “How To Leverage Your Weaknesses.” He spoke about what led him to develop Brainy Biz, and how he and this company has helped thousands of individuals and companies connect and prosper by forcing them to become self-aware of their quirks and branding themselves by calling attention to what makes them different, as opposed to familiar. There is a moment where he refers to “someone I grew up with, who has always been a friendly critic of my own particular shortcomings,” and how he is grateful to this person for helping him to see himself from another perspective, and rather than change who he is, as long as it’s not harming anyone, he has learned to change how he interacts with people. He has this poignant smile on his face when he’s talking about “this person,” and I just fucking know he’s talking about me.

I’m both touched to find out that I’ve been such a significant person in his life, and also annoyed that it never occurred to him to tell me this directly before.

He’s somewhat self-effacing in the TedX Talk. He says he realizes that he sounds like a deep learning artificially intelligent robot, but it’s like when someone makes a joke about himself on a first date—it’s charming and you don’t read into it until it’s too late. At the end of the talk, the camera shows the women in the audience applauding him like he’s Deep Learning Robot Elvis.

“Um, O?”

I snap out of it and look over to see Tara the hostess’s legs heading towards me, and an enormous flower arrangement where her torso should be. She manages to poke her head around a peony.

“Hi. This just came for you. I signed for it, but there’s nowhere to put it out front. You’ll have to put it in the break room.”

“Oh my God that’s huge, here let me.” I cradle the large vase in my arms and manage to rest it on one hip so I can get to the back without knocking anyone or anything over. Leave it to Johnny B. to make a grand romantic gesture without considering what I’m supposed to do with a forty-pound vase of flowers at work. Not that I’m ungrateful. The arrangement is stunning and it includes every type of flower that I love and none that I don’t.

“It’s from Hot Guy, isn’t it?” Tara says, grinning.

“Um. Probably. Thank you.” Or more likely his assistant sent it for him.

Franklin doesn’t offer to help me carry this gorgeous monstrosity, he just whispers “Lucky slut” under his breath as he passes me by.

There’s a bench in the middle of the small break room, but I don’t want anyone to knock it over, so I place it on the floor in a corner, by the trash bin. When I pull out my phone to text Johnny to thank him, I see that he has sent me a text asking if I’ve received the flowers he sent me.

Me: Just now! So beautiful, thank you! I love them.

Johnny: I can have my driver pick you up after work to help you get them home. Just realized you’ll have to carry them ten blocks.

Me: Is your driver in the area?

Johnny: No he’s in Palo Alto, but he’s free for a couple of hours before he has to pick me up and bring me to you for dinner.

Me: I can carry it, it’s fine.

Johnny: I should have another arrangement sent to your home. You can leave that one at the restaurant.

Me: There really isn’t room here, it’s fine! Thank you.

Just as I’m about to put my phone away, I get a call from Callie.

“What’s up, I gotta check on my salmon order.”

“Um. There’s someone in our apartment.”

“What oh my God call the police.”

“No she’s uh cleaning. Everything.  She says your boyfriend sent her.”

My brain freezes.

“John Brandt.”

“Oh right! Sorry. I totally forgot about that. He told me he’d send his housekeeper and I forgot to tell you. Do you want me to ask her to leave?”

“No I want you to have him send her every week dummy. I also want her to adopt me. She made me an iced coffee that’s better than Starbucks!”

“Oh. Okay, well. She’s not like, doing laundry and everything, is she?”

“That’s what she wanted me to ask you, actually, that’s why I’m calling. Because I totally want her to do my laundry.”

“Um. I don’t think I want a stranger doing my laundry. But you go ahead.”

“Suit yourself. I’m gonna drink iced coffee until I get iced diarrhea. Well I guess I shouldn’t because the bathroom’s so clean I don’t want to mess it up.”

“Hanging up now bye.”

I call John, expecting to leave a message, but he answers on the first ring.

“Olivia?” He sounds concerned. I can hear people talking in the background.

“Did you give your housekeeper my key?”

“I had a copy made for her.”

“You can’t just make copies of my house key and give them to people that I don’t know!”

“Olivia, I’m about to step into a meeting. Is there a problem that you need to discuss with me?”

“Well…Not really. No.”

“Great. So we’re on for dinner tonight?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven. Pack an overnight bag. We’ll be staying at my place tonight. You’ll be in the guestroom.”

“Okay.”

“Wear something tasteful and elegant casual, but not so attractive that Phil’s wife will feel intimidated.”

“Roger that.”

He hangs up.

Two hours later, after getting Franklin to cover my last table (which happened to be filled with sexy gay businessmen), I manage to get the flower arrangement home without tripping, running into anyone, falling or dropping it, and there is now space for it on the counter because Johnny’s housekeeper organized all of our random flyers and takeout menus and magazines and notepapers into lovely piles. The apartment looks a thousand times better than it did when I left this morning, and I feel like my life is several steps up from mediocre. Not that it was mediocre.