I smile back at him.
“Okay.”
Ian took me to Daniel, the famous, ultra-classy French restaurant on the Upper East Side, where they served cocktails with large spherical ice cubes suspended in liquor, and other frothy concoctions. I felt incredibly out of place in my black leggings, chunky shoes, and nubby knee-length sweater.
Note to self—must buy cuter clothes for dates at posh, la-di-da restaurants.
Ian asked me about my decision to pursue IVF. When he asked who my donor was, I told him I’d hoped to do it with a family friend but was going to go with an anonymous donor instead.
“You know Josh Lewenthal, don’t you?” he asked. “Your brother is Dylan Jacobs?”
“Yeah. I know him. You do too?” I was surprised that Ian of all people would know Josh, but not really excited to talk about him with Ian, or really, with anyone.
“You don’t think much of him?” asked Ian, picking up on my disinterest.
I shrugged. “We have history,” I said and left it at that.
Ian winced sympathetically. “Sorry. But I can’t say I’m surprised.”
“What do you mean?”
He leaned in over the candlelit white tablecloth and the shadows played over his face. “Just that Josh has a habit of disappointing people. If you know what I mean.”
“Oh. Yeah. I guess so,” I said, although I didn’t know what he meant at all.
After that, the topic turned to the online conference we were prepping for. It was two months away and we had a load of work to do. The project was my baby and I was determined to prove myself. I’d even be introducing Ian as a speaker and hosting a Q&A session.
After the date, at the door to my apartment, I held my keys in my hand and slowly inserted them into the lock.
Ian stilled my hand and turned me to face him. The patrons at the rowdy sports bar on the first floor of my walk-up apartment cheered as some team scored a goal on the TV. I smiled, because they echoed exactly how I felt.
“I’ve dreamed of kissing you since the first time I saw you,” Ian said.
Tiny snowflakes swirled down as he slowly turned me toward him and kissed me. His lips were cold and I shivered in the frosty night air.
He pulled away after a few seconds, then grinned at me, his chin dimple deepening at his expression. “You should always believe the universe is going to give you good things, because sooner or later, it will.”
I smiled back. “You’re right.”
Back in my apartment I change into a well-loved pair of cozy flannel pajamas with my favorite snowflake print and climb into bed. I put my phone on the nightstand and set my alarm. It’s then I notice a missed call.
Josh.
I look closer. He called at nine thirty. Right about when Ian and I were talking about him. Mandar, I swear he has man radar.
I open my phone and check to see if he left a message. There’s nothing.
Then, thinking about what Ian said about believing the universe is conspiring to deliver good things, I hit redial.
I pull my comforter around me and wait for Josh to pick up.
He doesn’t, the call goes through to voicemail.
“This is Josh. Who calls anymore? Send a text. Anyway. Leave a message.”
I smile and lean my elbows on my knees. “Hey. Josh. It’s me, Gemma. Umm, I saw you called. I thought, maybe you’d changed your mind about the donor thing? Or not. I don’t know. I still stand by what I said, I feel like you’d be great, soooo…right, anyway, my next appointment is tomorrow. If you want to come, you can meet me there. It’s at four o’clock in Midtown.”
I give him the address and then say, “Sorry, if I made you feel like an object. Or if you were offended. I don’t think of you like an object. I think you’re a good guy. Like maybe, we could be friends. You don’t have to be friends only with Dylan. You could be friends with me too, you know.” I realize that I’m rambling and his voicemail will probably cut me off soon, so I say, “Alright, that’s all. I hope I see you tomorrow. But if not, I understand. That’s okay, too. And thanks for not telling anyone. I’m not quite ready for my family to know yet.”
I hang up.
For a good five minutes I sit cross-legged in my bed and stare at my phone’s display waiting for Josh to call back.
He doesn’t.
Finally, I put my phone down, turn off my light, and try to go to sleep.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow is another day, another step forward.
9
I can’t believe it. It’s quarter to four, I’m waiting for the crosswalk light to change, and Josh freaking Lewenthal is leaning against the stone wall of the doctor’s office. He hasn’t noticed me yet. His shoulders are hunched and his hands are in his pockets. He looks out over the traffic, his eyebrows drawn down, his mouth curved in a pensive frown.