Thinking Out Loud: A Romantic Comedy, page 7
Spiraling thoughts start to ensue.
Who is going to decorate? What food will we have? Are we really inviting the entire faculty? I fire off questions in my head, feeling more irritated by the minute. My mind flashes with images of shopping for supplies and decorations, and not finding the right costume.
I feel the urge to crack my neck as an irrational feeling of anger swarms inside my brain over this entire debacle. I can feel the anger trickle down my neck and into my hands. God, Eleanor, calm down. I shake them out as I make my way down the hallway.
Class just ended and the hall is jam packed with students moving in every direction. Most of the kids are dressed in the school colors: red, gold, and blue. Tonight was the first football game of the season and everyone was getting excited for it.
Football is a religion around here.
Walking down the halls, I see some familiar faces and some unfamiliar. It was nice to see the kids smiling and laughing, especially the ones I see as clients. I never had the opportunity to see my clients outside of their sessions in New York—there was never any likelihood that I would run into them on the street or see them at a book club. I just had to go home and hope they were doing well, and when I saw them next I might get to see improvement.
But I have to say, it’s nice to see some of my clients out of the office, showing signs of stability and joy.
Passing by the principal’s office, I peek in to see if Benny is still here and feel a twinge of disappointment when I see his office light is off. Sarah is standing by her locker with one of her friends as I pass by. She smiles at me, but continues talking to her friend. My goal with interactions outside of sessions is to be discrete. I have no idea how much these students share with one another and it feels like a breach of confidentiality to acknowledge them unless they approach me. So I return the smile and head to the front doors.
The disappointment I was feeling about missing Benny fizzles immediately as I step outside and see him, standing by my car. He waves at me earnestly, like he’s happy to see me.
I walk up to him, fighting the smile tugging at my cheeks. Why did I feel so happy being around this guy? He does radiate positivity, like happiness is just second nature to him. Which is the exact opposite of me lately. Maybe that’s what it was—my soul wants to be that again. Positive. Happy. So maybe it’s just drawn to positivity and sunshiney-ness.
Or it was drawn to Benny specifically. I still wasn’t sure.
It was definitely confusing to my heart to see how excited he always was anytime he was around me.
“Well hello, Ms. Bailey! Long time no see!”
He stands next to my car, with his hands stuffed deeply in his pockets. Probably to indicate a barrier between us—boss and employee.
“Hi, I thought we were meeting at Wafflin’?” I go to unlock my car.
“I figured we could walk. It’s so nice out, and I have to make a stop on the way.” He puts his hand on the hood of my car, leaning in closer to me as I open my door—barrier gone.
“Oh, that sounds great! Can I change shoes?” I wiggle the brown leather clogs on my feet in his direction.
He laughs. “Why? Those are the perfect walking shoes.”
He was joking. I liked when he joked.
Most of the time his joking was unintentional, like he didn’t think before he spoke. Which made him even funnier to me. But occasionally there were fun moments where he made the extra effort to make someone laugh. And when it was for me, it felt sweet.
“Perfect for you, maybe. What size are you? Maybe we can trade!” I laugh and reach in my car for my spare Hokas and swap them out.
I see Benny staring at me when I finish tying my laces. “What? Do I look weird?”
“So weird. I had my heart set on the clogs.” He winks and shuts my car door for me. He keeps his hand on the doorframe as he surveys my shoes, his eyes crinkling in the corners when he looks back up to me.
“Cute.” He gives me a playful smile.
I shove his shoulder as we start to walk down the sidewalk to Wafflin’. He winces sarcastically, rubbing his incredibly muscular arm like I made a dent. His arm was solid, and I found it very difficult to not just caress it.
We walk in silence for a few minutes. It was kind of nice—natural even. The urge I usually have to fill the silence wasn’t there. I didn’t get many quiet moments these days, and definitely not when I was in New York, the city that never sleeps. Even in my job, it was important for my client to feel safe enough to share everything.
It’s my job to study and interpret someone’s mind and behavior. Allowing someone the space to be open and vulnerable was an integral part of a successful client-therapist relationship and if I ever wished for a client to be quiet I was doing them a disservice. Also knowing our minds are always working, always thinking, I needed my clients to talk.
A quiet session is never a good thing.
On top of that, being engaged to a psychiatrist never allowed for silence. Both of us were guilty of always interpreting the others’ feelings or emotions, then constructing a one-sided conversation to handle any and all conflict.
At the beginning of our relationship, I wished for a mute button in our conversations just to have a moment of silence to myself. Then it became a battle between us . . . who could psychoanalyze the most? It wasn’t until Liam moved out that I started noticing the quiet again.
It was scary how quiet my mind became.
I was quiet and alone in my own thoughts.
But right now, in this moment, walking on the sidewalk next to Benny, the quiet is different.
The quiet isn’t scary.
“So, how are you?” Benny asks as we approach an intersection.
“Good.” Ugh, I am terrible at small talk.
“You don’t feel overwhelmed with the students, yet?” He kicks a stick out of our path as we cross the road.
“Definitely not. It’s actually been refreshing to not have to sit and analyze a person’s emotional or mental issues for an hour. The majority of my sessions have been discussing grades, college, or summer plans.” I look both ways as we cross. “Not that these kids don’t have real issues—just not what I’m used to. Life's disappointments haven’t tarnished their dreams . . .” I feel his eyes on me as I trail off. I let out a sigh, thinking about the burden of my own life’s disappointments weighing me down.
Without intending to, I stop walking and take in the sight.
It’s the end of September—still warm but the leaves are slowly starting to change. A mixture of green and orange hang like a tapestry above the power lines on one side of the street.
Down the street I can see different colored brick buildings attached to each other, different establishments in each one, all busy with people. Wafflin’ is nestled on the end of the street, with a large window. Inside is filled with a handful of people, a calm environment for an early dinner. It looks so different from the picture I saw Kate post the other night. The excessive luau decorations and strobing lights are gone. And there definitely aren’t any red-eyed teachers dancing in the middle of the floor. My gaze follows the sidewalk and lands on a pet daycare. A quaint little place, with a gray cat lying in the window.
On the block across the street are tall city buildings. A combination of concrete and steel stretching down the block. The people coming and going were dressed to impress in their business suits. It was giving New York vibes without even trying, which was a slight contrast to the laidback side of the street we were standing on.
Something inside me was telling me I belonged on the other side of the street. It felt familiar to watch them rush in and out of their respective buildings, so completely consumed with their work that they’re missing the sky directly above them.
I look up and let the sun bake on my face through the trees.
It’s invigorating and peaceful. And I wonder to myself how many times I was so preoccupied with life that I missed a view like this.
Without realizing, Benny shuts my over-analytical brain down and asks, “Is that something you needed?”
“Hmm?” I look at him.
“Do you think you needed something refreshing?” Benny stops walking and stands by my side. He’s watching me intently, his eyes flickering a shade darker as they move across my face.
“Not at first. But now that I have it, yes.” I turn to face back down the street. “It’s a good break to have for a short while.”
“Good, I’m glad you can have that while you’re here. These students might not have experienced life yet, but they can be life-giving if you let them.” There was a smile in his voice anytime he talked about the students and it warmed my heart to know these kids had this guy in their corner.
We continued walking down the street. “What about you?” I ask him.
“What about me?”
“Do you need something new? Refreshing? Life-giving?” I motion theatrically for emphasis.
He puts a finger to his chin in contemplation. “Maybe. I just don’t know what.”
“Or who?” Drawing out the “oooo” sound.
“What do you mean?” His eyes widen so much they might pop out.
Laughing I say, “You said the students could be my life-givers. Who is yours?”
“Oh.” I feel his eyes on me, I take a deep breath preparing to hear about some lady friend of his that fills his life with all these good things. About how they are perfect for each other and how she is so different from me. Making it painfully obvious I would never stand a chance.
Not that it matters, Eleanor. He is your boss.
“Frankie,” he responds with a huge smile.
“Oh? Frankie, huh?” I say through my teeth.
“Yes! She is my life-giver.”
“What’s she like?” Please don’t tell me.
“She’s a homebody. Not big on people. Has some health issues, but we manage. And she’s hilarious!” he says in one breath, like he couldn’t tell me about her quick enough.
“She sounds . . . lovely . . .”
I hate her.
Why did I care? Benny Divata is my boss. He’s off limits—thanks to some school policy or something absurd last I heard. And I won’t be here long anyway.
There are so many clear reasons why he and I won’t be a thing, so why let myself feel even an inkling of intrigue for someone who is a “no” from the start? I know the rules and am an avid rule follower. But there was something about this guy that was drawing me in little by little.
Spend time around someone as attractive as Benny, and you’re bound to feel something. Hot people have that effect, even when they don’t intend to. Now when they know they’re hot and use it for evil, those feelings are bound for destruction.
But Benny doesn’t use his looks for evil. I mean, there is no way he doesn’t know how handsome he is, but you can tell he doesn’t play into it for his own personal gain. He's a babe magnet in all aspects.
Even right now, as he laughs uncontrollably about the hilarity of this "Frankie" girl. His mouth is open as wide as possible, shoulders shaking, his hands on his hips to steady himself. It’s a charming sight that I could watch for hours.
But why was he laughing so hard? Was Frankie that funny?
He kept laughing as he crossed the street. I watched as he jogged the last few steps, his back muscles flexing through his shirt as he runs his fingers through his hair and reaches for the door. He waves at me to follow him as he walks into the pet daycare.
I cross the street and get to the door, seeing, through the window, complete and utter chaos.
From afar, I expected this charming little shop would house a quiet group of sleeping cats like the one I saw in the window. Unfortunately that cat isn’t even real, it’s a statue, in memorandum to Mr. Lebron Fluffy James. And he is nowhere near a clear representation of what I see happening inside right now.
Pulling open the door and stepping inside, I see no less than a dozen cats chasing after each other, running across the floor, climbing up the registration counter, and jumping on top of the kid hiding behind said counter. He was crying and yelling on his cell phone, “Come get me! This isn’t worth it!” I close the door behind me and stay pressed up against it, keeping as much distance between me and the mayhem as possible.
Benny runs over to him. “What happened? Where’s Frankie?” He's looking around frantically. Does Frankie work here?
The cats finally notice me and all come running after me—meowing and pawing at my legs. I try to gently shoo them away with my foot but it’s no use. I’m cornered. Even after gently tossing a gangly brown one to the side, he comes scurrying back. One is weaving in and out of my legs, brushing up against me. Another is rolling around in front of me as if to show me how agile it is. They start to lick my legs, literal sandpaper tongues all over my shins. No amount of shooing and hissing I do gets them to stop—it just spurs them on.
They have me trapped against the door. I could make a run for it, but then I’d be the numbskull who let a herd of cats out into the street.
A rather large reddish orange one, who seemed to be the leader of the pack based on how it was perched on the counter, was staring at me. Not blinking, just . . . staring. Watching as I squirmed and his little minions kept me surrounded. Any movement and they swarmed me even more, brushing, pawing, licking me—Big Red watching the entire time.
This is my nightmare.
“What is going on?” I yell over the feline orchestra at my feet.
“They got out, I don’t know how! And I’m allergic! I can’t touch them!” The kid behind the counter was sobbing as he cowered as far from the cats as he could manage.
Why would he work here? I resist the urge to psychoanalyze and table the thought.
“Where is Frankie?” Benny was scooping up cat after cat and carrying them through a door behind the counter. He seemed nervous and a little agitated, but was roping the cats up with ease.
“She’s supposed to be in the back!” The kid screamed through his tears.
Benny scooped up the rest of the cats at my feet and looked at me. “Are you alright?”
“Fine, just . . . you know . . . didn’t expect to be a feline’s snack today.” The cats in his arms look at me with beady eyes.
He belts out a laugh. “I think they like you!” He laughs again at my eye roll. “Come on, let’s meet Frankie.”
He leads me through the door, cats in hand as we enter an oasis. Elegant cat trees sit in every corner of the room, with plush pillows spread out across the floor, and boxes of cat toys lining the walls. I also note the glass treat jar placed by the door. The lights were dimmed and a white plush sofa was in the center of the room, a black cat with white paws laying across it. She didn’t budge when we walked in, and seemed to care less that I was around. Why can't the others be like her?
Benny places the cats in little pods on the back wall. Each one was filled with a variety of toys, pillows, bowls—all the things a cat may need to entertain itself I presume. Each one was labeled with a name tag indicating that was their spot. There was Smudge (the brown one), Oscar (the one with tricks), Nana (her kennel was empty, probably the one on the couch), and Roger (Big Red). I scanned over the names giggling at the absurdity of some before finally landing on the final pod to the far right . . . Frankie.
“Frankie . . . is a cat?” I feel sheepish when I see Benny smirking at me as if he had pulled the best prank possible. Real cute. “Wow, you had me thinking it was your girlfriend or something!”
“Don’t be jealous, what Frankie and I have is totally platonic.” He chuckles again.
“Ha. Ha.” I smile at him, then looking in Frankie’s kennel I realize she isn’t there. “Where is she?”
Benny starts scanning the room, growing more nervous by the second. Picking up pillows, looking in each kennel, looking under the couch, behind it, then under it again.
“Where is Frankie?” he asks me frantically then yells, “Carl! Where is Frankie?”
Carl runs in sweating and gasping for air, inhaler in hand. “I don’t know! I looked everywhere for her but she’s not here. I think she may have ran through the front door when I went to put the sign out.”
“Carl, come on! You know she’s a runner! Did you give her her medicine?”
Carl looks down at his feet, a thin line forming on his face. His response is enough of an answer for Benny, who spins on his heels, frustration pinching at the center of his forehead.
“Come on, we have to find her!” Benny grabs me by the hand and pulls me out of the pet oasis and into the street. “She couldn’t have gone too far, let’s hurry!”
We spend the better part of an hour searching high and low for Frankie. Benny took me to her favorite spots: the park, the bench by the donut shop, back to the school, even to Kate’s house. Kate hadn’t seen her and decided to help us look. “If we split up we can find her faster!”
“Ellie can stay with me,” Benny said, tugging me along by the tips of my fingers. I tried to stay focused on our search and rescue mission, but something about feeling his thick, strong grip move along my fingers and settle around my hand so tenderly was enough to discombobulate my brain.
We kept looking all the way to sunset. I found myself calling out for Frankie, even whistling for her. This was so out of character for me—I have never been a pet person. Or a kid person. Hell, my shriveled up succulent farm would indicate I’m not even a plant person.
Why does anyone get a pet anyway? To have something listen to you and cost you money? I listen to people for a living, that’s enough for me.
But here I was, so guilt-ridden that something could have happened to Frankie and Benny lost her for good. He seemed a lot calmer than I expected him to be, but I kept the conversation light just in case. We talked about our favorites and our least favorites.
