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My mom is also out. She worries that I’m too naïve to be out on my own and looks for any excuse to advise me to move back home. Dominic might scare her into moving in with me. So that leaves Keiko, my all black wearing friend from my first stint at grad school. Don’t get me wrong, I love her to death, but she’s more likely to suggest I jump his bones before he gets the chance. She’s not faking the edgy, like I was.
I step into one of the little private break rooms — with glass walls, so everyone gives an eye roll when mentioning them — and call her, anyway.
“Lenny!” she shouts into the phone with delight. Everyone has a nickname for me that’s different. What does that say about me?
“Hang on, let me turn the music down.” She disappears and I hear the sounds of Arabic pop music slowly fade. Keiko is fourth generation Japanese-American who even at ten was sneaking out of the Japanese school her parents sent her to on the weekends to hang with the street kids her conservative doctor parents would have severely disapproved of. Consequently, she can’t read Japanese. Keiko always admits this in a hushed whisper with an overly-dramatic shocked face which says she isn’t sorry at all. And then she went and specialized in middle-Eastern dialects. She says nobody expects the Japanese chick to understand them and she gets more intel than any of the other analysts when onsite. Is anyone surprised she works for a government agency? Yeah, no.
“What’s up, my brainy chicklet?”
“There’s a guy…” I start, only to be interrupted by a crow of victory.
“Finally! All that incense at the temple wasn’t wasted after all.”
“Keiko!” I roll my eyes. “Will you shut up and listen? He’s older. And a bit scary.”
“Scary, how?” She sobers right up.
“Like lights out in a small conference room, but he never touched me kind of scary. And now he wants me to come for dinner or he’ll take me to lunch. No other options.”
She snickers, the protective older sister vibe disappearing into the ether. “How much older?”
“Um, probably about fifteen years? I just… you know me. I don’t have the experience to jump from riding a tricycle to free-falling on my own for the first time.”
“Interesting analogy,” she comments dryly. “Pretty much how you’ve lived your entire life, Lenny. Why would you expect love to be any different? Tell you what, give me a name and I’ll ask around to make sure he’s not actively dangerous. If he gets the green light, you go with your gut. Promise?”
“Okay.” I let out a shaky breath. My gut is what scares me the most, honestly.
“So who’s the guy, Lenny?”
“Dominic Jamieson,” I tell her quietly, hoping the sound proof glass in these little booths really is.
Keiko whistles quietly. “I think I’ve actually heard of him. Let me check on the down low and I’ll send you a text message in a few hours. Okay?”
“Thanks.”
“No, you know the rules. No thanks, just info. I’ll expect a debrief sometime tomorrow.” She snickers quietly and hangs up.
7
Leanne
Of course Keiko gave her blessing — along with some expressive strings of emojis featuring eggplants and chili peppers and some Japanese food ones I don’t even want to guess at. So here I sit outside Dominic’s house, trying to get up my nerve to go in. I’ll have to in a minute or he’ll be out here staring me down.
I sigh and open the car door. The curtain flicks and I see Cass’s curious face peeking out. She smiles wide and drops the curtain back, no doubt announcing my arrival. At least not much can happen with an eight-year-old present, right?
Except when she opens the door and glances down, she frowns.
“Um, hi, Cass. Everything okay?”
“You don’t have any bags,” she comments. “When Chelsea’s dad’s girlfriend stays over, she brings a bag.”
“Makes sense. But I’m not staying over,” I observe quietly.
“Let her in, Cass,” a firm voice commands from farther back in the house.
Cass sighs dramatically and opens the door wider, allowing me to step into what is a surprisingly charming and cozy home. It does not match my image of Dominic Jamieson in the slightest.
Dominic appears and without a word takes my purse and sets it on a side table. Then his hand wraps gently around my bicep as he leans in. “How long did you sit out front, baby?”
