Page 63 of So Much More
“Okay,” Tammy says again before taking a step back, giving each of us one last apologetic look, and walking away.
Wendy slides off her chair and says to me, “Don’t look at her. Don’t draw any attention to her. Get off that chair, put your arm around me as if you’re comforting your sick girlfriend, and let’s go.”
She places her hand on her belly and makes a face as if she’s trying not to be sick, and I wrap an arm around her shoulders and lead her out. Once we’re outside on the sidewalk, she slips out of my grasp, leaving me with a distinct feeling of loss.
“That went about as well as it could have,” she says.
“I guess. I hope she forgives herself.”
“Me, too. I don’t think we can come back here. It’ll make her feel awkward every time.”
“I’m—”
Wendy’s hands fist at her sides. “If you say you’re sorry one more time …”
I hold my hands up. “I hear you. Where do you want to go to discuss the work situation?”
“Let’s go to that diner over by Leslie’s apartment. I need one of their sundaes.”
“Diner it is.”
We’re silent as we walk the few blocks to the diner, though it’s not an uncomfortable silence. She doesn’t attempt to take my hand again, much to my disappointment, but she stays closer to my side than a friend would.
Once we’re seated and the waitress takes our order, Wendy says, “Brian thinks we’re dating, and I didn’t tell him we’re not.”
My heart beats a little faster. “Why not?”
“He took me by surprise, and I wasn’t sure what to say. I guess I was embarrassed, because I didn’t want to admit that we dated for all of two days and now we’re not together anymore.” She points a finger at me. “Do not apologize for creating that situation.”
I act like I wasn’t going to do that exact thing. “So what did you tell him?”
“That we’re spending time together and taking things slow.”
“Well, that’s the truth.”
“Yes, but if people at work think we’re dating, but we don’t act like we are, they’re going to know.”
“And you care if they know?” A few days ago she didn’t want our co-workers to know anything.
“I don’t think I would care if there wasn’t a chance we might date again, but I don’t want to seem wishy-washy.”
Her declaration that we might date again makes me want to get up and pull a Fred Astaire in the middle of the diner, but I restrain myself. “You’re not being wishy-washy.”
“I know that, and you know that, but since I don’t have any intention of telling anyone at work what you did, it’ll look like we can’t get it together and figure out what we want.”
“I don’t think anyone will think that. All relationships have their ups and downs.”
“True, but our co-workers don’t need to be privy to how ours went down almost immediately.”
“So what are you saying? What do you want to do about this?”
“When we’re at work,” she says confidently, “we pretend we’re dating.”
My heart leaps into my throat, and my eyebrows join my hairline. “What?”
“I thought you’d be happy about that.”
Am I? I think about it for a few seconds and determine I’m not. “I don’t want to pretend with you. If I flirt with you or hold your hand in the hallway or kiss you in the break room, I want it to be because we both want it, not because we’re putting on a show.”
