Authors: Laurel Osterkamp
His correct use of the word “whom” (so few people bother with that sort of thing nowadays) tickled me, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to be having this conversation. I didn’t even know him, yet he confused me. Plus Carolyn was avidly listening as she chewed her sandwich. The whole situation felt more like an episode of The Twilight Zone than say, The Bold and the Beautiful. But his silence on the other end of the line prompted me to answer back.
“Well, I think you have to do what feels right at the moment. It’s impossible to know how something’s going to turn out.”
“Unless you’re psychic.”
Okay, on this, it was my duty to enlighten him. “Well, even then, it’s not actually possible. Most psychics just have an idea of things that might happen, they don’t really know. That’s a common misconception. Actually, it’s as hard for a psychic as it is for anyone to make heads or tails out of their interpersonal existence. Human beings are such an inconsistent variable, there’s no absolute certainty when it comes to matters of the heart.” I had more to add, but catching sight of Carolyn’s glare prompted me to shut up.
There was a long moment when neither of us spoke, then Ethan broke the silence.
“Thanks. So anyway, do you want me to go ahead and replace your rear sway bar? I have one here already in the shop, so with parts and labor, it should cost you around one hundred fi fty bucks.”
“Um, okay.” I don’t know anything about cars, so I figured I had better take his word for it. Besides, if he were trying to rob me then he would have come up with something far worse than needing to replace the rear sway bar.
“Great,” he said. “I can go ahead and do that for you this after-noon. If you want to pick your car up today, it should be ready by five.”
“Okay, I’ll be by at around five.”
“Sounds good, Faith.” I did like how soft his voice sounded when he said my name. “I’ll see you then.” He hung up.
From the kitchen Carolyn said, “Well?”
“Good news,” I said. “It’s just my rear sway bar. My car will be ready by five.”
“Great, so you’ll see him tonight. What are you going to wear?”
“I was thinking I’d wear my black see-through tank top, and a thong.” I walked into the kitchen, grabbed a plate, and began to eat the remaining sandwich.
“Hmm, that’s a good start, but what else? Do you want to borrow my short jean skirt?”
“No,” I said. “I am simply going to wear the tank top and thong. Why mess around with mixed signals?”
“You know Faith, you make fun, but mark my words, this Ethan will make a great rebound guy for you.”
“No he won’t. He’s not interested. I could tell by how he sounded on the phone just now. He was all business. There was nothing there.”
Carolyn pondered for a moment before she spoke. “Maybe he was responding to how you sounded on the phone. The way you were talking, you sounded like a schoolmarm.”
Carolyn knew how much I hated being called that. “Shut up! I did not! Anyway, I’m not even interested, okay? I don’t want to think about men right now, I have too many other more pressing concerns.” That was a lie. Whether I wanted to be or not, I was actually very attracted to Ethan. But looking at the situation intellectually, I knew it was wrong of me to pursue him. He was getting over someone, I was getting over someone; that’s not a superior combination.
“Pressing concerns, my ass! What concern could be more pressing than getting laid by a cute car mechanic? Huh?”
“How about finding a job and a place to live?”
“Yeah, well, maybe doing it with Ethan would put the rest of your pressing concerns in perspective.” Again, I had to wonder if there was something wrong in Carolyn’s own life that might explain her sudden interest in turning me into a slut. But I didn’t feel like asking.
Instead, I said, “Give it a rest, okay Carolyn?”
“Fine,” she said. “But at least let me do your hair and makeup before you go to pick up your car.”
* * *
The next morning my first waking thought was, “Where am I going to live?” My second thought was about Ethan. My third was a realization that I’d had two whole thoughts before Peter and Lacey jumped into my head. Not perfect, but I was making progress.
However, the hours between when Carolyn and I discussed Ethan over tuna salad and the next morning had not transpired as I had wished. First of all, when I went to pick up my car from Ethan, I was not in my most confident place. I blame Carolyn for this, since she insisted on making such a big deal of it, dressing me up and doing my hair and makeup. I was wearing her denim mini-skirt, which hung only a couple of inches below my crotch. With it I wore a simple black cotton tank top, and black leather sandals. My hair had been curled and sprayed, but hung loose around my shoulders, and I had on way more makeup than I was used to wearing. My instincts told me I was about to make a mistake, but my skin didn’t hurt, nor did my toes itch, so I wasn’t sure.
When I walked into the office, Ethan was there behind the desk, looking even cuter than I remembered. With his jeans and white t-shirt he looked like he could easily fit into any era post 1950s. His short sleeves exposed the tan skin of his arms, and I noticed that he had a small tattoo of a yin-yang on his left bicep. The light he was sitting under highlighted his prominent cheekbones and slightly large nose, but his casual attitude was the most noticeable thing in the room. He was reading a magazine, and the thick black rimmed, Elvis Costello type glasses he wore only added to his hipster look.
“Hey,” I said. “What are you reading?”
He looked up, and it took a second for the recognition to spread across his face. Then he gave me a crooked smile. “Hello Faith.” His voice sounded like warm maple syrup over Sunday morning pancakes.
I faltered. What the hell was I doing? I couldn’t even decide if I was after him or not. He was the first guy who had piqued my interest since Peter, but even if he was actually interested, the last thing I should do was get involved with another flirtatious guy who confused me. I was setting myself up for hurt. Besides, it was too soon to be in another relationship, and I’m not the casual sex type. So I decided to actively resist sending signals of any type.
“I’m here to pick up my Mazda 323,” I said in my strict teacher voice (and thus my least sexy voice).
“Yeah, I remember.” He put down his magazine, and walked towards the wall where he kept the keys. In an after-thought he turned to me, and said, “Uh, I was reading Harpers.”
I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. Bad idea. “Wow, you read fashion magazines?”
He responded. “No, you’re thinking of Harper’s Bazaar. This is Harpers, part of the liberal press.”
“Right, yeah, I knew that. I always confuse it, I assume because the titles are so much the same, you know? Maybe they ought to change the name of one of the magazines, to distinguish them. Like, rather than being Harpers, it could be Sreprah, which is Harpers in reverse. That would be a lot less confusing.” Pause. Ethan looked at me like I was as odd as I felt. “So, um, are you like this liberal political guy then? Or is it your cousin’s magazine?”
He gave me another crooked smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “No, it’s mine. I like to read up on both sides of the issue.”
“Oh, so do you watch Fox news for the conservative side?”
“I don’t watch a lot of television.”
The phone rang. “Excuse me,” he said, picking it up. “Honest Abe’s!” he answered. “Hey.” His voice immediately lost its previous enthusiasm. He turned his back to me, the tension growing in his voice as the conversation progressed. “Yeah, I can’t talk right now. (pause) No, I have a customer. (pause) Yeah, I really do. (pause) What, do you want me to put her on? (pause) Look, I’ll call you back. (long pause) That’s completely unfair. (pause) No. (pause) No! ( another long pause) Look, I’m calling you back. Goodbye.”
He slammed down the phone and turned back towards me. He was now wearing all of the tension that had been in his voice; his shoulders were hunched and his smile was gone. He didn’t make eye-contact as he spoke, his voice now projecting cyanide rather than syrup.
“Sorry. That will come to one hundred and fifty bucks. On the nose.”
I handed him my credit card. The silence between us as he ran my card through was uncomfortable, but I had no idea what I should say. So again, I stupidly said the first thing that popped into my brain. “Do you ever wonder where that expression comes from, ‘on the nose’? I mean, did people used to put exact amounts of things on their noses? The English language is so odd, it never ceases to amaze me.”
“It’s an idiom,” he said, as he handed me the slip of paper to sign, along with my credit card.
“What?” I had already lost my train of thought.
“On the nose, it’s an idiom.” He spoke in the same impatient way he had first spoken to me the day before. I looked up from the desk and realized he wasn’t even looking at me. Instead, he was staring at the velvet painting of
Niagra
Falls
on the wall beyond me, boredom planted clearly on his face.
I put my credit card in my wallet and shoved it in my purse. “Yeah, I happen to teach English, so I get that it’s an idiom. Thanks. What I meant was, what is the root of the idiom? Idioms don’t just make themselves up. They come from somewhere.”
“Sorry.” He sounded genuine; I think he was responding more to my tone than to my actual words. Then, for the first time since I had gotten there, he actually really looked at me. “Hey, where are you off to? You look nice.”
It was too late. I already regretted my behavior and his response to it. Since it’s easier to blame others than ourselves, I took my frustration out on him.
“Just tell me where my car is,” I said tersely, and he responded quickly in return.
“It’s outside, right around the back.”
“Thanks.” I started to walk out.
“Hey, let me know if there are any more problems with it. I’ll take a look – no charge. Those older foreign models can be a little tricky.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’m sure it will be fine.” Even if it wasn’t fine, I knew I would never bring my car back here. This guy was too into mixed signals and ex-girlfriends to be good for me, and I was too into him to be able to exercise superior judgment. Furthermore, my intuition was failing and that scared me. I needed to leave. I had my hand on the doorknob and was about to go when he stopped me once more.
“Uh, who was it that said, ‘It’s a constant struggle to see what’s in front of your nose.’?”
I turned to face him. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not it exactly, but it’s something like that. Some twentieth century author, I can’t remember who.”
“I truly have no idea. I’ve never heard that quote before.”
“Oh.” he said. “Well anyway, he probably said it after ‘on the nose’ became an idiom, but it’s interesting anyway. If something is on your nose, or even right in front of it, it is impossible to see. You’re too damn close. You know what I mean?”
“Sure.”
He brushed his dark hair away from his forehead, and continued. “So why would we use ‘on the nose’ to describe something that is exact? How can something be exact when we can’t even see it clearly enough to have perspective on it?”
Perhaps Ethan was as big a geek as I was. I stood there for a moment, trying to think of something profound to say in return, but came up blank.
“Well anyway, let me know if your car gives you more trouble. I’m running late, and I sort of need to call someone back.” He was up, organizing the stuff in his office, perhaps in preparation to leave for the day.
“Your ex?” I inquired.
He stopped what he was doing, and looked at me in shock. Then his face relaxed. “Oh yeah, I mentioned her before. Yeah. She was sort of angry, so I better call her back.”
“Good luck.”
“See you around.”
* * *
When I got back to the apartment I relayed the story to a disappointed Carolyn and an amused Charles.
“You’re being too sensitive.” said Carolyn. “He was just preoccupied because his ex called while you were there. If you had been a little more friendly something would have happened.”
“Just because she called doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to do you,” said Charles. I think that was supposed to cheer me up, but it didn’t. I was sure that Ethan wasn’t interested, even though Carolyn insisted he was. Otherwise, she said, why would he offer to look at my car again for free?
“He was probably worried that he didn’t fix it right, and he wanted to have all of his bases covered before I called the better business bureau on him.”
“Come on,” said Carolyn. “With an attitude like that, you’re never going to move on from Peter.”
She was right on that count, but it’s hard to get your attitude to change simply because you want it to. And truth was, I still missed Peter. Sure, I knew that ultimately I was better off without him, but my heartbreak refused to disappear so easily. In my weakest moments I allowed myself to fantasize about him coming back to me. In these fantasies he would admit how foolish he had been, how much he loved me, how much he needed me. Of course, at first I would refuse him, but after many apologies and groveling attempts to win back my heart, I would finally relent, and we would have a tearfully bittersweet and passionate reunion.