I’ll have an excuse to chase you out west if you still get on that plane.”
“I am getting on that plane, goob! And you promised to leave me alone once I do.”
Saying nothing else, I place my hand on the lower part of her back and nudge her forward, continuing across the bridge toward the AIC’s Modern Wing.
“What are we doing? The museum? Really?” She frowns at me.
I try to put a finger on her lips to shush her, but she slaps my hand away. So much for foreplay. “You’ll see.”
As we reach the glass doors, a waitress in a white shirt and a black skirt puts on a smile and opens the door for us. “Nice to see you, Cam.”
She gives me a polite nod as I escort Hope into the restaurant. I glance over at her to see how impressed she is. On a scale of one to ten—ten being absolutely dumbfounded—I place her at a one, absolutely unimpressed.
“Right this way,” the waitress says, steering us past the reception counter to a wide-open, white room. Normally, this space would have a variety of tables positioned throughout the vast floor. Then again, Terzo Piano normally doesn’t open until eleven during the week. Instead of its regular scattering of dining tables, there is only one table here today.
A white one, with two white chairs and white table settings.
Squarely in the middle.
I glance at Hope a second time to see if the needle has budged from that one to something higher, like a twenty.
“So?” I ask, because it doesn’t look like she’s really all that absolutely dumbfounded.
“Am I supposed to be taking pictures?” she responds.
Okay . I start laughing because what she just said was a little funny, but I’m also disappointed she doesn’t get the message just yet. “Let’s sit down.” Maybe it will sink in for her then.
The waitress holds Hope’s chair out for her, then presents us with orange juice and offers coffee or tea. I decline, but Hope motions for the tea. When the waitress disappears, she leans over the table to get closer to me, and if her crimped forehead is any indication, she’s a little confused.
“What is all of this supposed to mean, Cameron?”
I lean forward, toying with the napkin. Here goes. “Two months ago—”
She presses her back into her seat, shaking her head and cutting me off. “No, no, no. This is not about what happened two months ago.”
I think about it for a minute. “Okay, you’re right. It’s not just two months ago. It’s three years ago, it’s ten years ago, it’s since the beginning of time for us. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”
She gives an elaborate wave to the nearly empty white space. “If you’re trying to impress me—”
“I knew it!”
“Knew what?” she asks, sincerely unimpressed.
“I knew that you were impressed.”
She laughs at me. “That’s the point. Because I’m not impressed. Taking me out of work to buy me breakfast at some restaurant you paid off with your big-shot connections and big-shot severance package—”
“What are you suggesting, Hope?” I can hear my voice getting tighter and the high-pitched words echoing off the walls and tall ceiling like a ping-pong ball in a concert hall.
She rolls her eyes, and, just like that, we’ve fallen back into that push-and-pull existence that we know all too well.
“Matt never bought me,” she confides. “You think it’s about his money, but I’m not something he picked off some shelf and bought.”
“You’re right, he hasn’t bought you. If anything, he’s renting you,” I mumble.
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re in denial, Hope.” I point back over my shoulder, the tension rising into my shoulders. “Two months ago wasn’t goodbye. You showed up at my place after you told me to fuck off at lunch, remember?”
“Stop it.” She crosses her legs and pulls her attention away.
“You kissed me, and it was fucking perfect and everything that followed was—”
She throws her napkin on the table and pushes her chair
“I am getting on that plane, goob! And you promised to leave me alone once I do.”
Saying nothing else, I place my hand on the lower part of her back and nudge her forward, continuing across the bridge toward the AIC’s Modern Wing.
“What are we doing? The museum? Really?” She frowns at me.
I try to put a finger on her lips to shush her, but she slaps my hand away. So much for foreplay. “You’ll see.”
As we reach the glass doors, a waitress in a white shirt and a black skirt puts on a smile and opens the door for us. “Nice to see you, Cam.”
She gives me a polite nod as I escort Hope into the restaurant. I glance over at her to see how impressed she is. On a scale of one to ten—ten being absolutely dumbfounded—I place her at a one, absolutely unimpressed.
“Right this way,” the waitress says, steering us past the reception counter to a wide-open, white room. Normally, this space would have a variety of tables positioned throughout the vast floor. Then again, Terzo Piano normally doesn’t open until eleven during the week. Instead of its regular scattering of dining tables, there is only one table here today.
A white one, with two white chairs and white table settings.
Squarely in the middle.
I glance at Hope a second time to see if the needle has budged from that one to something higher, like a twenty.
“So?” I ask, because it doesn’t look like she’s really all that absolutely dumbfounded.
“Am I supposed to be taking pictures?” she responds.
Okay . I start laughing because what she just said was a little funny, but I’m also disappointed she doesn’t get the message just yet. “Let’s sit down.” Maybe it will sink in for her then.
The waitress holds Hope’s chair out for her, then presents us with orange juice and offers coffee or tea. I decline, but Hope motions for the tea. When the waitress disappears, she leans over the table to get closer to me, and if her crimped forehead is any indication, she’s a little confused.
“What is all of this supposed to mean, Cameron?”
I lean forward, toying with the napkin. Here goes. “Two months ago—”
She presses her back into her seat, shaking her head and cutting me off. “No, no, no. This is not about what happened two months ago.”
I think about it for a minute. “Okay, you’re right. It’s not just two months ago. It’s three years ago, it’s ten years ago, it’s since the beginning of time for us. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”
She gives an elaborate wave to the nearly empty white space. “If you’re trying to impress me—”
“I knew it!”
“Knew what?” she asks, sincerely unimpressed.
“I knew that you were impressed.”
She laughs at me. “That’s the point. Because I’m not impressed. Taking me out of work to buy me breakfast at some restaurant you paid off with your big-shot connections and big-shot severance package—”
“What are you suggesting, Hope?” I can hear my voice getting tighter and the high-pitched words echoing off the walls and tall ceiling like a ping-pong ball in a concert hall.
She rolls her eyes, and, just like that, we’ve fallen back into that push-and-pull existence that we know all too well.
“Matt never bought me,” she confides. “You think it’s about his money, but I’m not something he picked off some shelf and bought.”
“You’re right, he hasn’t bought you. If anything, he’s renting you,” I mumble.
“You’re an asshole.”
“And you’re in denial, Hope.” I point back over my shoulder, the tension rising into my shoulders. “Two months ago wasn’t goodbye. You showed up at my place after you told me to fuck off at lunch, remember?”
“Stop it.” She crosses her legs and pulls her attention away.
“You kissed me, and it was fucking perfect and everything that followed was—”
She throws her napkin on the table and pushes her chair
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