“What’s this one?”
“A friend of mine in college had a lead on a super cheap sub-lease on the upper east side that I almost moved into before I started the MBA program. I didn’t get the apartment, and I was devastated at the time.”
“So you made a charm?”
“It all worked out for the best. Because now I have a great roommate and an amazing place in Chelsea,” I said giving him another sanitized answer. If I’d wanted to let him in, I’d have told him the full story. That it was a good thing I didn’t move into that building, because then I went to see an odd little musical theater showcase in Hell’s Kitchen. I wound up hanging out with the cast afterwards, including the lead actress, an amazing girl named Jill who had just nabbed a rent-controlled apartment in Chelsea that was handed down to her from her aunt. She needed a roommate; I needed a place. Now she’s my best friend, and we also have the one cheap and cool apartment in all of Manhattan. Plus, she practiced her audition songs in our living room for an off-Broadway modernized version of Les Mis that she’s in starting this week. She landed the part of Eponine and she’s awesome.
“Chelsea is great. Very eclectic. Perfect for you,” he said.
I stared at him sharply. I resented the assumption that he thought he still knew me. “How would you know?”
“Know what?”
“What’s perfect for me. How would you know?”
“It just seems very you. Chelsea, that is,” he answered, stumbling on his words as I dug in.
“But you don’t know me anymore. You don’t know a thing about me.”
He nodded once, taking my brusqueness on the chin. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry.”
“For what? What are you sorry for, Bryan?”
“For…” he started, but then the Glinda-clad woman ran past us, a giant bubble trailing behind her that the children chased.
I took a quick breath, reminding myself to let go of all these warring emotions. To feel nothing.
“Chelsea is great,” I said, like a robot. Then I took the reins of the conversation, pointing to another charm, this one a silver book with the pages open. “I almost majored in English when I started college. I wasn’t sure I was going to study business as an undergrad. But at the end of my freshman year when a shopowner started carrying my necklaces, I switched to business. So my almost-major is another favorite mistake,” I said, and this time he got the whole tale because everyone did. This was a true story, and it was also the backstory on the Web site for My Favorite Mistakes.
He nodded. “I like that. Very smart decision, and a good way to acknowledge the road not taken. And this one?” He fingered the movie camera, his hand resting on the space just above my breasts. My chest rose and fell, and I tried to steady my breathing.
I called up my recollection of a risk management class lecture so I could deliver an offhand answer. “Oh, that one. I just made that to remind myself not to spend too much time watching movies.”
Because movies had been our thing. Our first kiss had been in a movie theater.
He was still touching the camera, but he was looking straight at me. As if he could read the lie.
I shifted the focus away from me. “And you? What about your business, Mr. Leighton?” I asked, as if I were a curious reporter.
He let the charm drop, and the metal he’d touched felt warm against me. He held out his arm, showing me the cuffs of his sleeves. “These bad boys. Women seem to love to give them as gifts.” He nodded to his cufflinks, as if to say it was okay to touch them. I resisted, banishing all thoughts of unbuttoning the black onyx, of taking off his shirt, of watching the fabric fall away from him to reveal his smooth chest, his firm stomach, his trim arms. Instead, I rewound to the morning, trying to remember if I’d dropped an umbrella into my purse, because the sky was about to split open.
“We make them at a factory near Philly, along with tie clips and money holders. But the cufflinks especially have taken off like crazy in the last few years. Especially with those books that have them on the cover. American-made, and a perfect gift from a girl to a guy. Or a guy to a guy, in some cases.”
“Right. Perfect gift.” I stood up and brushed my hand over my skirt, then gestured to the clouds. “I better go.”
He rose too. “You going back to Chelsea?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll give you a ride. I have my car.”
“I’m fine. I’ll walk or take the subway.”
“Kat. It’s about to pour any second.”
I patted my purse. “I have an umbrella in here.”