She studied me, an amused look on her face. “Just what do you think her type is?”
“I dunno, cool people?” I imagined Franny with skateboarders and artists, punk drummers and moody poets. Free spirits who could keep up with all the magic that flew out of her brain.
“You’re cool,” Perrine said, and then laughed to herself. “I can ask Lola what Franny’s type is. Drop some hints.”
“Oh my god, Perrine, please do not say anything to Lola.” My heart picked up speed, panicked.
“Hayes, you’re a grown man. What are you so afraid of?” she asked.
Everything, I wanted to say.
But instead, I snapped back, “Nothing,” and left it at that.
Chapter Fifteen
Franny
I was supposed to be finalizing the last bit of load-in needs for Arbor’s new office, but instead I was hunched over my laptop, troubleshooting a challenging new client. My mom. Since asking for my help figuring out decorations for the baby shower—excuse me, sprinkle—that she was hosting, she’d invaded my inbox with nonstop one-line emails from her AOL account.
19 people have RSVPed, read one.
I’m renting three round tables—is that enough? read another.
Wait, honey, scratch that—it’s 18 people. Donna just canceled because she needs to go wedding dress shopping with Morgan. xxxooo Mom had arrived in my inbox just minutes ago. I had no idea who Donna even was, much less Morgan, but they’d just screwed up the order I was trying to place for folding chairs, so obviously I hated them now.
Helping her plan a casual afternoon gathering at her home now included sourcing enough tables, chairs, and place settings to rent for twenty people, a tent to cover her backyard, decorations, a cooler, and party favors. What I’d thought would be one quickly pulled-together Pinterest board had morphed into an Excel spreadsheet that took up the whole screen of my laptop, and an entire day on my calendar now reserved for helping my mom throw a party for a woman I didn’t even like. I could think of eight million other things I’d rather be doing on a Sunday.
My email alert let off a ring. Do you think you could run to Costco before the shower to get the cake and drinks? You can take my car.
I had finally had enough of the emails, and picked up the phone. “Mom,” I said when she answered after one ring.
“Hi, honey, is this about Costco? You should pick up some snacks to bring back into the city too, of course,” she said, and the kind offer melted away most of the annoyance I’d felt building up in my chest, even though I could barely carry anything back to the city from Costco, much less fit it in my apartment.
“Yes, I can go to Costco,” I said, my voice peppy in an attempt to mask my reluctance. The only thing bothering me more than the amount of work this had turned out to be was the fact that I hadn’t been honest and just said no to her in the first place. I’d said yes to make her happy, but the result was that I was miserable. “I’ll try to get out there at ten, as long as you can pick me up at the train station.”
“I’m really excited to see you, sweetie,” she said. “You know you can stay for dinner—even spend the night too if you want.”
“I appreciate that, Mom, but I think I should just come back into the city.” I leaned against the couch, my hair sticking to the back of my neck. Even though the air-conditioning was blasting inside, it was still sticky and warm. You’d think the summer heat would make me tired, lethargic, but instead I felt jumpy, ready to crawl out of my skin.
Ever since Hayes and I had talked on his new office roof, I’d wanted to call him, text him, anything to force us to have to connect, to see each other. Instead, we’d exchanged a few polite emails with Eleanor and their assistant Tyler about building logistics and the delivery of a fridge for their office kitchen.
I’d spent a lot of time analyzing the most recent email, which he’d signed with Best, Hayes. It had sent me into a small spiral. Nothing was worse than getting an email from the person you can’t stop thinking about and having them end it with a Best. There was no way he signed his emails to Serena with Best. She probably got something like Desperate for your touch, or a GIF of an erupting volcano. As she should, I reasoned. They’re dating—she deserved all the sexual-innuendo GIFs in the world. But I was still silently pining for Hayes, and there was nothing even remotely flirty about a Best, and it made me wonder if everything I’d felt between us was just in my head.
“Okay, kiddo,” my mom said. “Have a good rest of your day.”