What Love Looks Like Read online

  “Wait. You think Ryan’s hot?”

  “Totally,” she said emphatically. “I mean, in, like, a hot boss kind of way. I like that authoritative vibe he gives off.”

  “Hmm, I never thought of him in that way.”

  “Oh yeah, all the girls in the restaurant love him, including One Cent.” I couldn’t help but chuckle; Maureen’s nickname for Penny had gone viral.

  “Maybe something happened in her life that caused her to be such a mean person.”

  “Maybe she’s just miserable because she has the worst clothes I’ve ever seen.” Jenna said.

  “That’s not the point. She could be Anna Wintour, but would it change the way you felt about her?”

  “No, but I’m not really an American Vogue fan. And I really don’t understand why you’re defending her. She’s meaner to you than she is to anyone else.”

  “I try not to let people like that get under my skin anymore. When someone is as ruthless as Penny, it’s more often than not because they’ve got some fucked-up mental baggage. She’s probably harder on herself than she is on any of us.”

  “Well she’s obviously jealous of you. Everyone thinks you’re the pretty girl, and she knows that,” Jenna said.

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It is not. It’s the truth.”

  “Well I don’t buy it.” I replied.

  “Why not?”

  “Um . . .” I was reluctant to tell anyone about my unfortunate past as a bullied teenager. I feared that they’d judge me for the loser I once was instead of seeing the person that I’d become. “I was different when I was younger. Really different. I was so shy in high school. And definitely not the pretty girl.”

  At seventeen years of age, I couldn’t wait to graduate and break free from the lonesome identity I had somehow acquired; and I vowed never to attend a high school reunion. More recently, I used Facebook to spy on the girls who had once made me hate my life; I took a very guilty and silent pleasure in noting that many had gotten less attractive while I’d finally come in to my own. They’d worsened with age, while I’d improved.

  The one perk of being an outcast in high school was that you had nowhere to go but up. I wasn’t the girl who peaked in adolescence—quite the opposite. And as a teenager, I’d assumed that I would always be a loser and never imagined that anyone would ever consider me “pretty,” as Jenna suggested. The self-loathing I’d once possessed kept me from bad-mouthing people like Penny, even though I sometimes had to bite my tongue.

  It took my entire twenties to learn what some people were born knowing: it didn’t matter what anyone thought of me and that I, like all people, was worthy of happiness and could succeed in spite of my past. I finally felt I'd been given something of a reprieve when I arrived as a freshman at Ohio State. It was my second chance. But I still had deep-rooted social anxiety, and I couldn’t completely accept that I deserved joy simply because I was born into the world. I’d been programmed in high school to believe that it was my lot in life to be an undesirable outsider. But with each passing year of my twenties, I felt more of a shift. And I knew that anyone else’s opinion of me was their problem, not mine. But the moment my back was pushed against a wall, my inner teenager crept up and said, “Remember me?”

  Every time I felt insecure about anything, I reverted to that girl. I had empathy for her, even if I wasn’t her any longer. Deep down, I was still reclusive and introverted by nature; I just worked my ass off pretending that I wasn’t. And I was still insecure; I just didn’t let it show anymore. I'd dreaded every day at school because I feared what someone might say to me about my clothes, my hair, or my overwhelming shyness. I was bullied unremittingly for five years, and while it was over a decade ago, the pain hadn’t fully dissipated. I doubted that it ever would, but I'd found a way to make peace with it and was convinced that the experience had made me a more tolerant and accepting person. But my remnants of self-doubt had historically led to poor decision-making from time to time.

  Thinking of all this, I watched Jenna pay for her vintage cocktail ring, and I shelled out two hundred dollars for a pair of J Brand jeans. We headed to Union for mimosas. Union was our weekly brunch locale, specifically chosen so that that Jenna could half-heartedly watch the basketball game among her favorite group, the gay crowd. I’d never been a sports fan, but living in Columbus made it impossible to completely avoid the Buckeyes. To compromise I included shopping and girl time into game days. Union was only two blocks from the boutiques, another reason we chose it week after week.

  It was another frigid day outside, but I didn’t mind; I was one of the few people I knew who liked the cold. My grandmother had always said that I should be happy no matter the climate I found myself in. She said that who I was with was more important than where I lived. In retrospect, she was probably attempting to prevent any of her grandchildren from trying to move away to somewhere warmer. Her words stayed with me, though, because when the leaves changed color and snow began to fall, my energy was renewed. Christmas was the happiest time in my house when I was growing up, and it meant two weeks away from the mean girls at school. Now as an adult, I still loved the holidays and went right on enjoying the chilly weather long after they ended.

  Nearly a week after our shopping trip, I found myself chained to my desk for hours on end clawing my way through a pile of e-mails. Maureen and I were buried from the busy event schedule, but the paychecks helped soften the blow of being stuck at the office. As I hit send on an e-mail confirming the entrées for an insurance company’s dinner for twenty-five people, I heard my cell phone buzz in my desk drawer. Robotically, I reached for it without looking away from my desktop.

  When I finally glanced at the screen, I read, Elle, I’m so sorry I didn’t call you that night. I misplaced your card. Instantly, my mind went to Jay Conrad. I didn’t have any other clients that I’d given my cell number to recently, or any who had so deliberately blown me off. It had to have been him.

  Who is this? I typed back, trying to seem as if I hadn’t been waiting to hear from him.

  It’s Jay. We met a couple weeks ago, he wrote, confirming what I’d hoped was true.

  Oh, right. How was the rest of your trip?

  It was okay. Would have been better if I had been able to have a drink with you, though.

  I blushed in complete astonishment that he’d reached out to me at all, let alone suggested that we should have had drinks together.

  Well, you live and you learn.

  That’s the truth. So, you ever make it out to New York?

  I’ve been a few times before, but not recently. I felt very uncool.

  Well, maybe we can change that. I should have asked you out when we met. I guess I choked. I really feel bad about it. I want to make it up to you.

  He choked? Jay Conrad, the golden boy, the man that I’d likened to a fictitious irresistible vampire/billionaire sadist had choked? I found it impossible to believe that he ever choked, especially with women; and certainly not with me. Not that I was unattractive, but I wasn’t a perpetually tanned, girl-next-door blonde bombshell either, and that seemed like exactly the type of girl that Jay Conrad would’ve gone for.

  I, on the other hand was pale, and apart from a daily application of bronzer, made little attempt not to be. My Mediterranean-looking parents had passed along potent genes from Northern Italy. As a result, my skin was a light milky-olive tone, and my hair was thick and espresso colored, and it hung in no particular fashion down to the middle of my back. And while I was thin, I didn’t have the giant boobs or bubble butt that I imagined Jay Conrad probably lusted after. If anything, my butt was kind of wide and flat.

  No worries, I wrote. Shit happens.

  “Maureen!” I yelled.

  She charged into my office. “What’s going on? You startled me.”

  “Jay Conrad texted me!” I held up my phone to show her.

  “Get the hell out of here!” She was just as excited as I was. “What did he say?�
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  “That he was sorry he didn’t text me sooner, and that we should find a reason for me to visit New York. Does that sound like an invitation to you? Because I think it does.”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  Jay and I texted back and forth, on average every ten minutes or so, for the remainder of that workday and into the evening. The texts took on the form of a full conversation, revealing details about both of our lives, the kinds of things that people normally learn about one another on first dates. He was born in Pennsylvania, ran track and played golf in high school, moved to New York after college and did some modeling (including an Abercrombie & Fitch catalog), but then got into software sales. He had three brothers and traveled a lot for work and pleasure. I found him quite down to earth, in spite of his exceptional hotness.

  Come to New York, he said later in the evening when I was getting ready for bed.

  I barely know you, I replied with one hand, brushing my teeth with the other.

  Well, that’s why you’d come, to get to know me.

  We’ll see.

  Just as friends, he said. Nothing crazy. We’d have fun, I promise.

  I’ll think about it. And think about it I did. I thought about it in bed, as I drifted to sleep, and then again when I woke the next morning. Shortly after I got up I received yet another text from Jay, wishing me a pleasant day. I brewed coffee in a state of bliss more typical of holiday mornings spent with my family, my third glass of wine, or the sight of Luna romping with another dog in Goodale Park.

  I heard from Jay every day that week. Strangely, as his messages steadily came through, I didn’t eat or drink excessively the way I normally did. I didn’t even feel the need to shop for that fleeting sense of satisfaction that I’d come to rely on. My inner (and once insatiable) appetite was satisfied by the regular messaging with Jay. He was a substitute for my addictions, and I hoped he might even be a permanent replacement. In one text he told me that he had never ever done anything like this before, which presumably meant he’d never carried on a pseudo-relationship via text messages with a near-stranger he’d met for all of thirty minutes. I definitely hadn’t either, which made our digital liaison all the more energizing.

  When I didn’t order a mimosa at brunch that Sunday, Jenna declared it bullshit and demanded to know why.

  “I’m trying to lose a few pounds.”

  “What for? You’re so thin already.”

  “I met a guy. Well, kind of.”

  “Kind of?” she asked, perplexed, “Who is he?”

  “I met him at the restaurant. It was a few weeks ago on your day off. He had a lunch event, and we immediately clicked. We’ve been texting ever since.”

  “All you’re doing is texting the guy and already you’re watching your figure? What’s his deal? Where does he live?”

  “He lives in New York, and he’s thirty-one. Oh, and did I mention he’s gorgeous? He’s in sales for a software company. And he comes to Columbus sometimes. I’ll pull up his Facebook picture for you.”

  “What’s the point of a long-distance relationship?” Jenna asked as I navigated my iPhone. “It’s not like you have much time off to travel.”

  “Well, it’s better than no relationship. Plus, that’s easy for you to say—you’re married.” I enlarged Jay’s Facebook picture on the screen.

  Jenna’s eyes widened, and she nodded at his obvious hotness. “Don’t remind me.”

  I found Jenna’s frustration with her husband honest, refreshing, and at times humorous, especially compared to the way my other friends spoke of their men, with rainbows and butterflies dancing in their eyes.

  “He’s asked me to visit a couple of times now, but I want to take it slow,” I said.

  “That’s smart. Being that good-looking means he can’t be a good guy. It’s a universal law.”

  “That’s not true. He is a good guy. He’s handsome and sweet and texts me all day, every day.”

  “Well, good for you, Elle. Cheers! Oh wait, I’m drinking alone,” Jenna said despondently. “Well, I won’t be for long. Adler’s on his way here.”

  “Ryan?”

  “Yep.”

  “Great—thanks, Jen.” I said, sarcastically.

  “What did I do?”

  “You know he makes me uncomfortable. He’s just so . . . so unapproachable.”

  “Well, today you two can finally get to know each other outside of work. Plus, Nick and Gwen are coming too, so there are other people you can talk to.” Nick was another assistant manager like Jenna, and Gwen was an assistant from the Dublin location, and I was friendly with both of them. But Ryan was another story.

  “Maybe I’ll have that mimosa after all.” I flagged down the flamboyantly gay waiter.

  Just then, a text from Jay appeared. He was writing to let me know that he’d be back in Columbus in two weeks for a one-day trip to follow up with a customer from the luncehon. I wanted to scream ‘hurrah’ in the middle of the bar. Jay was coming back! I was over the moon.

  I wrote back that I was free for dinner, to which he replied, Perfect. Can’t wait to see you again. My stomach fluttered and my cheeks flushed. Jay’s text messages had the same inexplicable effect on me that I'd experienced when we met, even though our relationship had consisted of almost no face time at all.

  Nick and Gwen arrived at Union. I’d had drinks with them once or twice before whenever Jenna arranged a work outing. Moments later, Ryan strode in. It was the first time I'd seen him outside of work. I took note of his appearance, which incidentally was a lot more laid-back than his suited-up, coiffed professional look. His hair was more disheveled, and he wore jeans with a dark blue wash and a black cotton track jacket and white Puma sneakers. It was a sporty, stylish look, and I almost did a double take when he first approached the table. His body looked a lot more impressive than I’d realized it was, and I could actually see shoulder and chest muscles bulging through his top, though not in a tacky, Jersey sort of way.

  Ryan was smiling when he arrived and seemed more at ease than I’d ever known him to be. He was seated across from me and next to Jenna. Gwen and Nick were both to my right. Each of them ordered a Bloody Mary, and Ryan asked for a light beer. The four of them mingled and discussed the previous weekend at the restaurant, a conversation that I couldn’t really take part in, as my position within the company was a little different. Some of the wait staff saw me as a corporate drone, which I suppose was technically true, but the reality was that I couldn’t have cared less if their shirts were bleached and starched or if their earrings were larger than the size of a quarter like the big bosses did.

  “So how was your weekend, Elle?” Ryan asked me with a straight face, as the other three carried on talking shop. He was clearly trying to involve me in conversation, which I thought was considerate.

  “Relatively uneventful.”

  “Bummer.”

  “Yeah, I don’t have the most exciting social life. Almost all of my friends are married now. I took my dog to the park a few times, got some things done around the apartment, and that’s about it.” I was well aware how uninteresting I sounded.

  “A homebody,” he said. “I like that.”

  “How about you?”

  “Worked twenty-seven hours in two days—nothing out of the ordinary.” He took a sip of the beer from his frosty mug. “I don’t have much of a social life either,” he said with a wink.

  “Are all of your friends married too?”

  “Well yes, but my lack of a social life is because I work all the time. But yeah, most of my friends are married and have kids now. Once you get to my age, they drop like freaking flies.”

  “And what age is that?”

  “I’m thirty-six.”

  “I would have guessed thirty-two,” I said.

  He smiled. We’d never had such an easy rapport before. I wondered if maybe we had a shot at being friends after all.

  “You’re too kind. You must be what, twenty-six, twenty-seven?” He was
probably rounding down so he wouldn’t offend me.

  “Twenty-eight,” I was trying not to think about my twenty-ninth birthday in August. “So can’t one of your married friends set you up?” I changed the subject back to Ryan, knowing that he had the reputation in the restaurant of being a terminally single guy. I was being nosy, but it was the first time we’d ever talked about our personal lives, and I wanted to milk it as much as I could. The better I got to know Ryan, the better our working relationship would become.

  “I guess they could,” he said, “but I’m not really looking to date right now. I work too much.”

  “You won’t be able to use that excuse when the right person comes along.”

  “I guess not. But I was engaged three years ago, and when that broke off I just really didn’t have it in me to start dating again. And now I’ve just gotten used to my own routine.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Can I ask why it ended?”

  “Well, technically she broke it off,” he said, “When she decided to sleep with someone else.”

  “Ouch! I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I should have seen it coming. My seventy-hour-a-week schedule drove her into the arms of someone else. At least that’s what she told the therapist she forced me to see with her.”

  “What a lame excuse.” I felt sympathy toward Ryan for the first time since I'd met him.

  “What about you, ever come close to getting married?”

  “No, not really. I lived with someone a few years back, but he had a drinking problem that I couldn’t deal with, so I broke it off.”

  “Yeah, that’s definitely not something you should put up with. So,” he said, “you’re on the market now?”

  “Well, technically yes.”

  “Funny—I always just assumed you were taken.”

  “Well I am kind of, uh, talking to someone.” I was excited to bring Jay back to the forefront of my mind and to make him the subject of conversation with someone other than Maureen and Jenna.