Balancing Acts Page 8

  “Exactly!” agreed Sabine, sitting up in her seat and rattling her neighbor out of her iPod trance with her excitement. “That’s really what’s happening with me, too. I mean, I go on dates you know, I just have a really hard time getting excited about guys anymore. For the most part, they’re just lame.”

  “And predictable,” said Bess.

  “Yes! Completely predictable. It’s like they all read this handout on how to behave like an affected moron.” Sabine took a breath. “Forgive me, I sound like a bitter old hag. I don’t hate men, I just. . .am largely unimpressed by them these days.”

  Bess nodded. “I hear you. Dan is an exception to the rule, but even he can be a pain in the ass.” She racked her brain for an easy way to segue into questions about Sabine’s job. How could she slip out of this conversation without jolting Sabine out of an already established comfort zone?

  “How did you meet Dan?”

  “I met him at a random party actually. You know, the typical drill. It was a Friday night and I was in the middle of a serious funk. I was on my couch, watching a Hills marathon. A green mask on my face, a full belly of sushi, two glasses of wine in.”

  “I love those nights!”

  “Me too. But when it’s the sixth Friday in a row, the love kind of dies, know what I mean?”

  “Amen,” agreed Sabine.

  “At any rate, my friend called me and literally pulled me off the couch with the most annoying pep talk I have ever received. It was straight off of Dr. Phil.”

  “Ooh, I hate that man,” said Sabine. “He truly is a massive tool.”

  “Yeah, a massive tool that fooled Oprah all the way to the bank.”

  “True enough.”

  “I got up and put my clothes on, bitching the whole time, knowing it would be the same crowd of postcollege frat boys turned bankers who were sleeping their way through New York,” continued Bess. “I don’t even think I put makeup on. I knew it would be a lame night and that I’d end up home, in bed, in two hours. I just wanted to prove my friend wrong, you know?”

  “So what happened?” asked Sabine, thinking of her own unwillingness to go out these days, for the very same reasons. It was just so much effort. And for what?

  “I showed up to the party, completely uninterested in anything other than saying ‘I told you so’ to my friend. And wouldn’t you know it—there he was.”

  “Naturally,” said Sabine. “Unreal! Who approached whom?”

  “He came up to me and just said, ‘Hi, I’m Dan,’” answered Bess.

  “No bullshit,” said Sabine. “Gotta love that.”

  “Nope. Nada.” She smiled and put her hand over Sabine’s. “And it’s been rainbows and kittens ever since!”

  Sabine laughed. “Really?”

  “Hell no,” answered Bess. “Relationships are not easy. Especially when you’re already bona fide adults. At least, age-wise.”

  “And what are you gonna do about the long distance thing? Would you move to LA?”

  “No way. I can’t give up everything for him. Moving out there would erase all of my hard work here. Plus, don’t forget that my move would automatically give him the upper hand. I would always be the one who sacrificed everything for him. Pathetic, really.”

  “I mean, I wouldn’t know because I’ve never been in a long-distance relationship, but I feel moving to LA isn’t like moving to the South Pole or something. I’m sure you could get work out there, doing what you want to do. You could make it work. Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  Bess knew Sabine was just trying to help, but her argument might as well have been delivered by a singing Shirley Temple on the Good Ship Lollipop. “Sabine, thanks. I just. . .I think that might be a naïve way of looking at the situation.”

  “Maybe. . .but I really don’t like the idea of thinking about ‘upper hands’ in terms of relationships. Seems to me that once you start going there, the magic is already long gone,” Sabine said before looking up suddenly. “Oh shit! I missed my transfer!”

  Bess panicked. She’d been blabbing about herself the whole time and had gotten zero personal details from Sabine.

  “Um, stay on the train, we’ll uh. . .we’ll grab lunch!” said Bess. Time was super limited and she had just blown a chunk of it by jabberjawing about her own troubles. What was happening to her?

  “I wish I could,” answered Sabine, getting up as the train pulled into the station. “But I have two manuscripts to read this weekend and I have to chain myself to my apartment.”

  The doors opened. “Well, are they good reads at least?” asked Bess.

  Sabine moved toward the door. Looking back over her shoulder she shook her head.

  “Terrible. But what can I do? See you next week, Bess!” And with that, she breezed through the subway doors and was gone.

  Bess felt a headache seize her temples. How was she ever going to pull this off? These women were so refreshingly cool and down-to-earth. And smart. That comment Sabine had made about relationships was spot-on. They were almost impossible to not like. Or to judge, for that matter. She looked up to find the man across from her reading the Times intently.

  Almost, thought Bess, but not quite. This story had all the right ingredients for success. She wasn’t going to sabotage her ticket out of tabloid magazine hell because of some girl crushes.

  No excuses, Bess, she said to herself as she got up from her seat. The train pulled into her station and she exited, her magenta hood bobbing through the crowd like a buoy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sabine

  Sabine lumbered up the subway stairs thinking about Bess. She wasn’t so bad, just a little bit of a big mouth. There was something refreshing about that. And plus, she thinks I’m pretty. Sabine laughed. She was such a sucker for compliments. “Oof, my dogs!” she mumbled under her breath. Her quads were on fire from class. Yoga might be a bitch to master, but at least you knew it was working something.

  Once on the street, she eyed the grocery store up ahead warily. There was something about picking out her food under the glare of fluorescent lighting and navigating aisles that felt like—and probably were—two feet wide that made her feel depressed. On the other hand, watching her money swirl down the drain every time she ordered takeout made her feel even worse. She took a deep breath and entered the store, tabulating a list in her head and strategizing the quickest way to get what she needed and get out.

  The best part about this is that once I get it over with, I don’t have to think about it again for the whole week, Sabine reminded herself. Once inside, she made a beeline for the vegetables. After that, a quick swipe of some milk, some cereal, veggie burgers, cheese. . .she was almost done. She made her way to the chicken, thinking about grilling some up for dinner. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the premade rotisseries, glistening seductively. For a moment, she hesitated.

  Premade rotisserie does not count as cooking, Sabine, she reprimanded herself. She continued to eye it. But chopping vegetables for a salad does! She put down the chicken breasts and grabbed the ready-made bird, along with some vegetables.

  She surveyed her cart. It was missing her favorite low-cal ice cream bars. She circled back around and tossed a box into her cart. She glanced at her phone. Less than fifteen minutes. Record time! Now, she only had to make it through the checkout line and—the worst part of the entire ordeal—walk the four blocks home carrying her cumbersome bags. Luckily, nothing was too heavy. She couldn’t count the number of times she had been convinced that her forearm was going to snap off under the weight of poorly packed grocery bags. Living in New York was filled with gigantic obstacles every day, not the least of which was carrying home your damn groceries.

  As Sabine pushed her cart to the checkout line, she noticed a very nice tush on a tallish guy standing by the vegetables. High and tight. She attempted a subtle once-over of the rest of him. Wait, is it!? Nooo. Oh shit! It is! The purple hooded sweatshirt peeking out from the top of his jacket gave him away. H
er heart plummeted into her shoes. It was Subway Crush. But not on the subway. The very notion that he could exist somewhere outside of the underground tunnels of Manhattan was wild.

  Sabine attempted to quiet her racing heart with some yoga breathing. She closed her eyes and tried to breathe in for five counts. One, two, three, four, five, she instructed herself, as her rib cage contracted. Now let it out. One, two, three, four, five. Sabine exhaled deeply. She did feel better.

  She opened her eyes. He was gone! Nooooooooooo! She wanted to scream. She looked around, hoping that maybe he had just darted down an aisle to grab something before checking out. Nothing.

  Sabine pushed her cart to the line, feeling defeated. She had closed her eyes for only ten seconds! Literally, ten seconds. Maybe Subway Crush is just a figment of my imagination, she thought. What if he doesn’t exist at all, and is just a reminder of my lameness?

  She began to pull her groceries out of her cart and place them on the belt. As she reached in for the chicken, a voice behind her asked, “Are those any good?”

  “You know, I think they’re pretty delicious,” she answered, not turning to face the questioner until she had released the bird.

  Holy shitttttt! Holy shit cowballs shit gahhhhhhhhh! she thought to herself, as she subtly tried to avoid collapsing in disbelief. It was him. He had a voice. He could speak. He was talking to her. To her!!! She tried desperately to compose herself.

  He smiled at her, somewhat nervously. Up close, his face looked different. Better different, but not in any weird, supermodel way. He looked like a human being. She could see that he had missed a spot shaving, and that he had the beginnings of a pimple on the left side of his nose. His eyes, however, were just as amazing as she had always imagined from afar. Raisin jewels, indeed. They sparkled like diamonds.

  “Well, I’ll take your word for it, then,” he answered. His voice was low, but seemed to have a bit of a twang. She wondered where he was from. Could it be that he was a Southern boy in the city?

  “I saw one in your cart and it looked so good,” he explained. “I went and grabbed one for myself. I copied you.”

  Jesus, his smile is blinding, thought Sabine. For a moment, she forgot the English language.

  “I believe that’s a copyright infringement,” she finally replied. She couldn’t believe it. She was actually managing to be clever! It was a miracle.

  He laughed. “Please, don’t sue!”

  “Miss?” interrupted the cashier. “Are you going to pay or what?”

  “I’m so sorry,” she replied. “How much?”

  She got out her wallet. She had approximately three minutes to lock down the man formerly known as Subway Crush and was now officially called Raisin Jewels. He was flirting with her. Even she, self-deprecating Sabine, could not deny that. Should she ask him if he wanted to walk home together or was that too desperate?

  “Hey, do you mind waiting a minute?” he asked, beating her to the punch. “We can walk home together.”

  Sabine’s smile threatened to break her jaw. “Sure, that works.”

  The cashier watched their interaction with a bemused expression. “I see this girl on the subway all the time,” Raisin Jewels explained. “I can never get up the nerve to talk to her though. She always looks so busy, you know?”

  The cashier smiled as she scanned his groceries. “The train is hard,” she agreed. “Everybody’s busy gettin’ somewhere.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You never exactly looked open either,” countered Sabine. For a moment she had considered playing dumb, as though she had never seen him before, but then she just couldn’t hold back. She had imagined this happening for so long that playing any games to suggest otherwise seemed a gigantic waste of time. He had been looking at her! Unbelievable.

  He paid and gathered his bags. “Do you have a name?”

  “Sabine. I would shake your hand, but my bags. . .”

  “Of course, no worries. Here, let me take one for you.” He looped her heaviest bag around his wrist. Sabine was speechless. Beautiful, charming, and a gentleman? With good shoe taste!? He was the very definition of an urban legend.

  “I’m Zach.”

  “Oh wow, what an ass I am!” replied Sabine. “I was going to ask you for that, honest.”

  “It’s okay,” he answered, laughing. “It’s not every day you get steamrolled in the grocery store by a virtual stranger.”

  Sabine laughed. “Yeah, I came in here for some cereal and I’m leaving with a dude. I had no idea there was a special going on! Buy one box of cereal, get one man free.”

  Zach smiled. “So where do you live?”

  “Oh, just a couple blocks up.” Sabine stopped herself from telling him that he didn’t have to escort her anywhere, she could take care of herself. Of course she could, but this was Subway Crush slash Raisin Jewels for chrissake. And he was carrying her groceries! If there was ever a time to accept the damsel in distress role, it was now. They began to walk.

  “So, where do you go on the subway every morning, looking so determined?” Zach asked.

  “Do I really look that scary? God, I don’t mean to, I swear. I guess it’s just my New York bitch face. After you live here for ten years, the city gives you one. It’s kind of like a badge of honor.”

  Zach laughed. “Beautiful and funny, huh? What are the odds?”

  Did he just call me beautiful? Sabine wondered if she was dreaming. Maybe she went straight home after yoga and passed out in exhaustion. She looked up to see Zach’s eyes sparkling at her—his face only inches away, her bag of chicken looped around his wrist. This was no dream.

  Sabine dismissed his compliment. “I’m a book editor,” she explained. “I work for a publishing house in midtown.”

  “Aha! I thought you might be. I’ve seen you reading manuscripts once or twice.” He paused, a little embarrassed by his candor. “I guess I’ve been watching you pretty closely. I hope that doesn’t creep you out. Not in a stalker way or anything, but just in a ‘There she is! It’s Subway Girl!’ kind of way.”

  “Wait, I’m Subway Girl to you?” Sabine asked, smiling broadly. “That’s amazing.”

  “Really? Why so amazing?”

  “Because you were Subway Cr—Subway Guy!” Wait, did I just admit that out loud? To him? At least I left out the ‘crush’ part. Sabine cringed.

  “No way!” he responded, clearly pleased by the confession. “Why didn’t we ever speak to each other?”

  “I guess we were both chickenshit. I always wanted to say hello, but it’s such a crapshoot in general, you know? And then, the morning commute element only further complicated things.”

  “Exactly. It’s the sacred time before the grind. Interrupt someone who doesn’t want to be interrupted, and you could lose a hand.”

  Sabine laughed. He was funny, too. Who was this guy? “Where do you go in the mornings, Zach?”

  “I’m an environmental lawyer, so I go off to save the world.” He rolled his eyes. “There are some good parts of my job, but it’s definitely not as idealistic as I had originally imagined. There’s a bit too much bureaucratic red tape for my taste.”

  “Ah, the man is keeping you down. We deal with a lot of red tape BS at my job too. How long have you been there?”

  “A little over three years,” Zach answered. “How long have you been at your company?”

  “I’ve been there since the dawn of time,” Sabine replied. “It was my first gig out of college. I’ve been there about”—she paused to do a mental calculation—“nine years, give or take.”

  “Wow, that is a long time. Especially by New York standards. But I’ve heard about the ridiculous publishing ladder. It sounds like a beast.”

  “Yeah, you’re basically on welfare for your first five years, and you always bring work home on the weekends. Then you finally get the promotion, only to realize that you never liked the job in the first place.”

  “Yikes, is that what’s happened to you?” asked Zac
h.

  “Maybe. A little. Oh, I dunno!” Look at me, she thought, already being Debbie Downer, not fifteen minutes into her very first, nonimagined conversation with Subway Crush. She needed to snap out of it, stat.

  “So,” she began, changing the subject, “do you live close by?”

  “Yeah, just over three blocks on Seventh Street. It’s pretty nuts, right?” asked Zach. “I mean, we could have never seen each other not on the subway conceivably. Thank God for poultry.”

  “And neither of us would have ever spoken,” Sabine added. “God knows how many more years this would have gone on!” She smiled and then immediately panicked as she realized that they were at her apartment. What did she do now? Ask him up for chicken?

  “This is where I live,” she offered.

  “Oh,” Zach replied, handing her her bag. They gazed at each other with goofy grins.

  “Thanks for carrying my bag,” said Sabine.

  “Oh, no problem,” said Zach, avoiding her gaze suddenly and examining the pavement.

  Sabine racked her brain for ways to ask him out. Should she be aggressive here, or just wait for the next time she saw him in the morning? Her mother’s voice rang in her ears: You’re not getting any younger, Sabine! Carpe diem!

  “So, would you maybe want to get dinner sometime?” Zach asked, his words tumbling out in a nervous avalanche.

  “Yes!” Sabine replied, her face lighting up like the Chrysler Building. “Yes, that would be great,” she repeated, hoping to appear relatively calm. Her insides were exploding like firecrackers.

  “Great,” said Zach, his face relaxing into a grin. “Next Saturday?”

  Sabine racked her brain. Did she have plans next Saturday? It seemed light years away. She decided that if she did, she didn’t give a shit. “Sure, I’m free.”