weren’t—that I started to imagine the worst. Besides, I reasoned to Margot, I was getting lots of calls from old friends, even minor acquaintances, who were checking on me. Wasn’t it the compassionate, decent thing to do? After all, I might have had bitter feelings toward Leo, but I wanted him to be alive . My rationalizing got nowhere with Margot who convinced me that I couldn’t, under any circumstances, contact Leo, and she did so with one simple, irrefutable argument: “He’s not calling to check on you, is he?”
I added a bit more detergent to the running water, the scent of lemon filling the air, as Andy nodded and said, “Clean breaks are always good.”
I murmured my agreement. “Yeah. I never really understood those people who are all buddy-buddy with their exes.”
“I know,” Andy said. “Someone’s still holding a flame.”
“Like Ty,” I said, laughing.
” Ex -actly,” Andy said. “I mean, c’mon, man, let the dream die already.”
I laughed, thinking that I had certainly let the dream die with Leo, not that I had much of a choice in the matter.
“So,” Andy came right out and asked next, “are you seeing anyone now?”
I shook my head. “No. Not really. Occasional dates here and there—mostly compliments of Margot. I think she’s set me up with every straight, single man in the fashion industry … But nothing serious … What about you?”
I asked the question even though I basically knew his status—he was single again after a short stint with an off-Broadway actress named Felicia. Margot didn’t know many details, only that they had broken up, and that she was pretty sure it was mostly Andy’s doing. Apparently Felicia was too high maintenance—a drama queen even off-stage.
Andy confirmed with a chipper, “Single,” as I handed him a crystal goblet.
He shot me a sideways smile that made me suddenly wonder if he was doing more than making small talk and helping with the dishes. Could Margot’s brother actually be interested in me? Not possible, was my first instinct. It didn’t matter that Andy was approachable, friendly, and somewhat goofy; he was still Margot’s very cute, very successful, older brother, which made him feel, somehow, out of my league, or at the very least, off-limits. So I pushed any romantic thoughts of Andy out of my mind as we continued our rhythm of washing and rinsing and drying. Then suddenly, we were finished. And surprisingly, I was sorry we were.
“That about does it,” Andy said, drying his hands, untying the apron, and folding it neatly on the counter. I pulled the stopper out of the sink and watched the water drain, slowly at first but then in a loud whoosh . I dried my hands and wiped down the counter with a monogrammed G hand towel. I had the sense that I was stalling, but stalling for what, exactly, I wasn’t sure.
That’s when Andy looked at me and said, “So. Ellen?”
Feeling somewhat nervous, I avoided his gaze and replied, “Yeah?”
Andy cleared his throat while he fiddled with a box of match-sticks on the counter and then said, “When we get back to the city … what do you say we go out? Grab some dinner or something … Just the two of us?”
There was no mistaking it—Andy was asking me out. My mind raced, thinking about the implications of going out with my best friend’s brother. Wasn’t it a risky proposition? What if we got serious and things ended badly? Would Margot take sides? Would our friendship survive? Or at the very least, would it be too awkward for me to ever return home with her? And so it occurred to me, in that second, to say no or to make up an excuse of some sort and avoid any potential conflict of interest. There were thousands of eligible men in Manhattan; why go down this road?
Instead, I looked into his blue eyes, icy in color, but warmer than any brown eyes I had ever known, and said coyly, carefully, “I think that plan has some potential.”
Andy crossed his arms, leaned back
I added a bit more detergent to the running water, the scent of lemon filling the air, as Andy nodded and said, “Clean breaks are always good.”
I murmured my agreement. “Yeah. I never really understood those people who are all buddy-buddy with their exes.”
“I know,” Andy said. “Someone’s still holding a flame.”
“Like Ty,” I said, laughing.
” Ex -actly,” Andy said. “I mean, c’mon, man, let the dream die already.”
I laughed, thinking that I had certainly let the dream die with Leo, not that I had much of a choice in the matter.
“So,” Andy came right out and asked next, “are you seeing anyone now?”
I shook my head. “No. Not really. Occasional dates here and there—mostly compliments of Margot. I think she’s set me up with every straight, single man in the fashion industry … But nothing serious … What about you?”
I asked the question even though I basically knew his status—he was single again after a short stint with an off-Broadway actress named Felicia. Margot didn’t know many details, only that they had broken up, and that she was pretty sure it was mostly Andy’s doing. Apparently Felicia was too high maintenance—a drama queen even off-stage.
Andy confirmed with a chipper, “Single,” as I handed him a crystal goblet.
He shot me a sideways smile that made me suddenly wonder if he was doing more than making small talk and helping with the dishes. Could Margot’s brother actually be interested in me? Not possible, was my first instinct. It didn’t matter that Andy was approachable, friendly, and somewhat goofy; he was still Margot’s very cute, very successful, older brother, which made him feel, somehow, out of my league, or at the very least, off-limits. So I pushed any romantic thoughts of Andy out of my mind as we continued our rhythm of washing and rinsing and drying. Then suddenly, we were finished. And surprisingly, I was sorry we were.
“That about does it,” Andy said, drying his hands, untying the apron, and folding it neatly on the counter. I pulled the stopper out of the sink and watched the water drain, slowly at first but then in a loud whoosh . I dried my hands and wiped down the counter with a monogrammed G hand towel. I had the sense that I was stalling, but stalling for what, exactly, I wasn’t sure.
That’s when Andy looked at me and said, “So. Ellen?”
Feeling somewhat nervous, I avoided his gaze and replied, “Yeah?”
Andy cleared his throat while he fiddled with a box of match-sticks on the counter and then said, “When we get back to the city … what do you say we go out? Grab some dinner or something … Just the two of us?”
There was no mistaking it—Andy was asking me out. My mind raced, thinking about the implications of going out with my best friend’s brother. Wasn’t it a risky proposition? What if we got serious and things ended badly? Would Margot take sides? Would our friendship survive? Or at the very least, would it be too awkward for me to ever return home with her? And so it occurred to me, in that second, to say no or to make up an excuse of some sort and avoid any potential conflict of interest. There were thousands of eligible men in Manhattan; why go down this road?
Instead, I looked into his blue eyes, icy in color, but warmer than any brown eyes I had ever known, and said coyly, carefully, “I think that plan has some potential.”
Andy crossed his arms, leaned back
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