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“You’ve not had to take the train after sitting through dinner with my parents. I’m sure you’re tired.” I pull out my phone and open the Uber application. “What’s your address?”
Her lips twist and she shakes her head. “You won’t give up, will you?”
“No, I won’t.”
“Fine, let me see your phone and I’ll enter the address.”
She holds out her hand and I give her my phone. With her address entered, I make sure I have the correct pickup location before I start the search for a car. It only takes a few seconds, and better yet, the Uber is right there dropping off a fare. We load into the car, and the driver takes off. He’s not too chatty, which is fine by me. It takes us fifteen minutes to cross the city and head even further uptown. The vehicle stops, and we both get out. The driver leaves without a backward glance. I’m not sure if she’ll invite me up, and maybe she shouldn’t, but I hope she does.
Heather screws up her face and shakes her head. “You should call another Uber. They aren’t as readily available here in the hood.”
I laugh, feeling relief since we aren’t with my parents. “You don’t live in the hood.”
“It’s not Madison Avenue. There aren’t any restaurants here for drivers to haunt.”
“I want to make sure you get inside safely. And I need to carry your bag.”
She rolls her eyes and waves for me to follow. The building where she lives is well kept, almost nicer than where I live.
“Hi, Heather,” a woman calls out.
“Hi, Emily, how are you doing?”
“Great. I’m running a yoga seminar next week. It’s going to be a good photo op.”
“Sure, I’ll get with you this weekend and discuss.”
“Thanks for everything,” Emily calls out as she heads downstairs.
In the weirdness that had come about since my real fiancée left me high and dry, I haven’t even asked Heather what she does for a living. I’ve been focused on me and my problems, ignoring her totally. During dinner, my dad had monopolized the conversation, so she hadn’t really had to speak. I knew Heather was into art in school. Photography would explain her weird clothing. If she worked in an artist-based industry, she could get away with almost anything.
Heather’s apartment is on the fourth floor, a climb for sure. I will shamefully admit I’m winded by the time we reach her floor. I’m not in bad shape, but maybe the drinks I’d consumed had been too much, or maybe I need more gym time.
“Okay, this is my place. I guess you could come in.”
I nod; I don’t want to walk away. “I’d like to if that’s okay with you?” God, what is wrong with me? I haven’t acted like this around a woman in years. I think back, trying to figure out how long it had been since I’d been nice to one of the women I’d dated. Had I turned into my father? Fuck, I’d turned into my father.
“What’s wrong?” Heather is staring at me with her brows bunched. I want to reach out and smooth away the wrinkles.
“Nothing. I was just thinking about dinner.”
"Yeah, so how long is that going to go on?" She steps into her apartment, and I follow. The place is large by New York standards. I count four doors leading off the main room, and her kitchen is almost disgustingly huge compared to the tiny space in my apartment. I'd rented the place to conserve money. My father not only didn't like paying me, but he also didn't like paying me a lot of money. I may be related to the founder of the company, but I wasn't given any breaks.
“My mom doesn’t like to stay in New York for long. She loves the beach, and they’re only up here for a meeting my dad wants to attend. So we won’t have to pretend for long.”
She nods as she moves to the refrigerator and pulls out a bottle of wine. “I need more. Do you want any?”
“Sure, I’ll have a glass.”
“I have beer if you’d rather.”
I shake my head. “No, wine is fine.”
She brings over two glasses and motions to the couch. “Here, have a seat.”
I take a sip, enjoying the smooth, dark taste of the wine. “It’s good.”
“My favorite. So your parents, you were saying they don’t like to stay long.”
