Somewhere Along The Line

8. James

“I promise, Dad, I’m working on it.”

I drag my ass to my desk chair, dropping my shoulder bag at my feet and the morning’s sausage balls on my desk. They were a pleasant surprise from Piper who tossed them my way as we split directions on the platform.

“God, that’s good,” I mutter to myself as the warm, buttery ball of biscuit starts to dissolve on my tongue.

“What are you saying?” My dad’s voice enters my ear and reminds me he’s still on the line.

What was I saying before I spaced out, high on whatever drug Piper puts in these things?

“Sorry, I, uh… I said I’m working on the house stuff. I know you want to be closer to town and you need my help getting the house ready to list. I found an organization that could use a lot of the furniture; once we have things pared down, we’ll reach out to an agent. It’s going to take time.”

The phone is tucked between my ear and shoulder since my fingers are dusted with crumbs and slick with grease. Dad rattles on about the landscaping and having one opportunity to make a strong first impression.

My phone buzzes with a text, and the vibration causes it to slip down my arm before landing with a thud on the floor.

“Damn it,” I whisper, picking up the phone to more of my dad’s questions while noting a new message from Piper.

“You there, Jamie?”

“I’m here, Dad,” I reply, though I’m not really. I’m tied up reading Piper’s message and noting the nervous anticipation that grips me against my will.

She uses the winking face emoji in place of punctuation. I wait for the rest of the sentence before I realize it’s not coming.

“James, are you listening to me?”

No, but that’s not his fault. “Sorry, I’m here. I got a text and got distracted. What were you saying?”

“I was saying we need to schedule the guys to come stretch the carpets before we meet with a realtor.”

“Yes, you’re right, I’ll add it to my list. But that isn’t the priority right now, the priority is…”

Buzz .

Another message. Again from Piper. This time it’s a gif: a cat dressed like Sherlock Holmes, its head shifting back and forth as it peers through a magnifying glass held between its paws. A chuckle escapes my lips. She couldn’t be cuter if she tried.

“James, if now’s not the right time…” Dad starts, and while his voice is measured, I can tell he’s annoyed. “If there’s something more important than this, just call me back later. It’s fine.”

It’s not fine because if I end the call now he’ll sit in the house, swimming in memories of Mom as he tries to decide on his own which things of hers to let go.

I can’t have him doing that for either of our sakes.

“Now is a fine time, Dad. Let me mute my notifications; I’ll text her back later. It’s nothing urgent.” I rock back in my chair, raking my hand through my hair as I settle in for the rest of this conversation. It’s eating into my workday.

“You’ll text who back? Her?”

The pitch of Dad’s voice ticks up and hot discomfort seeps through my chest. I’ve made an error of disastrous proportions just now.

Dad’s been goading me for years to prioritize my personal life—it kills him that Mom won’t see me get married. He feels responsible for helping me get there, as though shepherding me into a happy ending would mean he’s done right by her.

“It’s nothing, Dad. Sorry, I just mean that I can talk now. You want to talk about carpets?” I hope he’ll take the bait. I know he won’t.

“Well, I don’t anymore!” Dad chortles and my jaw sets as I steel myself for the interrogation to follow. “C’mon Jamie, throw your old man a bone. Who is this young lady who’s making you laugh on a Friday morning when you’re supposed to be paying attention to your dad?”

I roll my eyes, glad he’s not here to see it. “Listen,” I reply, “I’m only telling you this because you won’t let it go if I don’t.” I try to sound firm as though it could stop him from pressing. “Her name is Piper, and we’ve been talking. It’s nothing serious, and it’s not going anywhere, so don’t get your hopes up. We’re just getting to know each other.”

“Piper? That’s a lovely name. You’ve been seeing her for a while?”

I exhale and pick up a pen from my desk, spinning the cold metal tube between my fingers.

“We’re not seeing each other , Dad. We met on the train and we get off at the same stop. It’s been a fun distraction but that’s really all it is. Things are nuts right now with work and the house; I have no room in my life for anything else.”

I need to wrap up this call before I say more, and because my inbox is accumulating at a rapid clip.

“James, I’ve been telling you this for years…”

Here it comes. The same story I’ve heard since I turned twenty—the age my parents were when they got married.

“There’s nothing worth more than sharing your life with somebody. You think you have all the time in the world, that marriage is something you can put off until you’re settled, or more successful, or have whatever it is you’ve decided you need. But the best part of building a family is getting settled together , being successful together, and you’re willfully missing it.

“You’re thirty-two, and the good ones are mostly taken. Try not to let this one go. I don’t know about her but I do know about you, and it’s been years since you’ve let a woman catch your attention after Sydney broke your heart. That’s not nothing.”

He’s right, but I won’t tell him that.

“Geez, Dad, I don’t even know this woman’s address ( that’s a lie—I walked her home last night ), and you’re practically volunteering to officiate our wedding. I don’t need this pressure or your guilt trip about ‘wasting my best years.’

“Look, you know as well as I do these past eighteen months have been brutal. I’ve watched grief eat you alive as you try to move forward without Mom. Forgive me if I’m not eager to sign up for more hurt. I know how this will end if I get caught up with Piper, and I can’t do that right now. Not to me, not to her, and not to you.”

My forehead finds its way to my desk, my arms slack at my sides as though my will to live has drained from my body entirely. The only pieces of me left are sinew and bones.

“My life is fine, Dad. I mean it. Sorry I let this conversation go sideways. I’ll drive up this weekend, and we can make a plan for the carpets and the landscaping and whatever else we need to address. Love you. I’ll see you soon.”

I press the red END button and linger with my cheek pressed to the cool wood, taking a deep breath as I hear my office door open.

“JAMESSSS, my man, I’d ask how it’s going but I can see it’s not great.” Kyle walks over and gives me a rough slap on the back.

I lift my head slightly before deciding I’d rather melt into the desk.

“Just stopping by to chat about the term sheet but if you want to keep talking about Piper, I’m game for that too,” he says.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” I sit up and stretch, shaking out my arms and rolling my neck. “It’s still nothing, by the way—this situation between Piper and I. ‘Cause I’m dead inside and all that.”

“You’re looking dead, alright.”

I push some life back into my legs and stand from my chair, gesturing my head toward the door. Kyle leads the way back to his office where we’ll go through the document together.

I swipe my phone from the desk and type a quick note on my way out, Kyle’s back toward me keeping him oblivious.

Piper gives the message a thumbs up and I slip my phone into my pocket. The rest of the day better be nothing but spreadsheets and emails. I need to pull my head out of my ass before I see her later.

It’s 5:45 p.m. and I can’t remember the last time I left the office this early. I got enough done to head out, though I’ll need to log on this weekend to finish up a few tasks. It’s a beautiful night for a walk, not too cold and not totally dark, the sort of fall evening that makes you nostalgic for high school football games and the way you thought you had the world at your feet.

I haven’t been down to Brandt Park in years, having routinely ignored what the city has to offer in favor of my computer screen. I make a mental note to tell Dad I stopped by, and even if I leave the fake wife out of it, he’ll be glad I touched some grass.

Piper is standing at the back side of the fountain, and the sight of her checking her phone and looking around occasionally to take in her surroundings lifts a smile to my cheeks.

Is she texting Sami, the roommate who seemed very interested in our situation when I ran into the two of them the other night at the bar? I add Sami to the running list of questions I’ve been collecting for tonight. I wonder if she’s been collecting questions too.

“ Pipes! ” I bellow and watch her jump at the sound before she catches my figure heading toward her. I’m surprised she’s here early. Frankly, I’m surprised I’m here early.

She starts walking my way and I take in the sight of her, appreciating that the distance means I can let my eyes hang on her frame a bit longer than usual.

She’s wearing a skirt—this one hits her mid-shin—and she has boots underneath with fuzzy socks curled over the top. Her printed T-shirt looks vintage and comfortably worn, resting under a thick sweater that hangs loosely over her shoulders; she pulls it across her chest as she walks. Her hair is different than I’ve seen it, gathered to one side of her neck, maybe in a braid.

A figment of desire flashes behind my eyes and I watch myself grab it gently, tugging her hair to pull her close to me, to tilt her chin up to mine for a kiss.

Stop. I shake my head, attempting to cage in the image and replace it with the email that’s still open on my laptop, also begging for my attention.

“How’s it going?” I ask. I want to seem friendly but not overeager. Not like I just pictured her mouth on my mine, the thought briefly setting my skin on fire.

“It’s going!” Piper responds, and we stand there for a beat, looking at each other and waiting for someone to take the lead. It should probably be me, so I start walking.

“I figured we could walk around and get to know each other,” I say. “Share some facts about ourselves and then make a plan for our visit to the station. Officer Knowles called me today and said we can stop by whenever so I told him we’d try for Monday; we can compare schedules and decide on a time. Does that work for you?”

“Sounds great,” she agrees before stepping in front of me and turning so we’re facing each other. She keeps the pace purposely slow now that she’s walking backward. “You want to go first? Tell me, what makes Mr. James Newhouse tick?”

Piper smiles, a sneaky bend to her lips like she’s spotted something shiny after weeks of looking for gold.

“Well, I told you I’m an only child. That’s a big one. I’m pretty sure that’s why I have such stunted social skills.”

She gives me a look that says my self-deprecation isn’t landing. I won’t do it again.

“I grew up in the suburbs, about forty minutes from here if you’re driving and using the express lane, and my dad still lives there. He’s retired now.” I’m not sure if this is useful information, but Piper listens attentively as she strolls, glancing over her shoulder sometimes to make sure the path is still clear.

“That’s a good start,” she says, her brown eyes filled with curiosity and her expression encouraging. She wants me to keep talking. I’ll do whatever she wants.

“Um, I’ve been working at Trion, the investment bank, for about seven years now. Mostly mergers and acquisitions. I’m very fast with a spreadsheet.”

My stunted social skills are fully on display, and I have no idea what I’m saying, much less why. I push through my sudden queasiness to share more.

“I live near Carmack and Lafayette, so one stop ahead of you on the B Line. No roommates, which seems relevant, since I already know you have one.” I give her a grin and watch as she replays the memory of our chance meeting a few days back.

God, that feels like forever ago; so much has happened since then.

Piper’s face softens as she picks up the baton, mercifully taking the onus of being vulnerable away from me.

“I do, just Sami. We’ve been in the coach house for about a year, and it’s been an awesome spot for us.” She turns so we’re walking side-by-side, and I narrow my stride to accommodate for our height difference.

“She’s my best friend, as I told you the other night, and my partner-in-crime. We’re not the best influences for one another but we certainly have fun.” She lets out a small breath as she smiles. I wish I could catch it somehow.

“And what does fun look like for Miss Piper Paulson?”

“Ahh, yes. Well, I’m broke, so that puts a damper on things.” She laughs without a hint of embarrassment. “Lots of free stuff. I like to wander around flea markets and look at everyone’s treasures. I visit museums when admission is waived with proof of residency. Sami and I play board games and watch rom-coms and talk about the meaning of life. And I make sausage balls.”

“For that, I am grateful.” I give a small bow of my head to show my appreciation. She accepts the gesture with a nod before continuing.

“This isn’t necessarily fun , but I also started a new job recently at a non-profit downtown. We help single-parent families get back on their feet. We connect them to community resources and offer classes for both moms and kids. I teach a weekly painting class, which is the absolute best. We’re also planning to launch a scholarship program soon. I secured our first donor a few days ago actually.”

She projects nonchalance as though this isn’t an accomplishment; I can’t let that slide.

“That’s really incredible, P.” I decide to try out “P” as a nickname to see how it lands. The usual nickname-induced eye roll is absent from her face, and instead she gives me a warm, if uncertain, glance. She doesn’t acknowledge it further. “They must feel so lucky to have you.”

“I feel lucky to be there. I’d been in a rough spot for a while and it’s nice to do meaningful work again, especially for a good cause. I worked at a bank in town a few years back, though I won’t mention the name since you’ll know people there. Things went south both personally and professionally, and it’s taken a long time to put the pieces back together. I’m happy to be on a better path now.”

Piper gazes down as she’s talking, only making eye contact with the tops of her shoes. I’m desperate to learn more but decide not to push.

“Did you grow up around here?”

She looks at me fondly and her whole body relaxes, seemingly glad for the change of subject.

“No, I grew up about six hours south of here. I’ve been in the city for about five years though, off and on, so it feels like home. My mom would love to have me back in my hometown again, but she’s grateful I’m here with Kent at least. That’s my brother.”

“The banker?”

“That’s him. He lives on the northside. It makes my mom feel better that he’s local in case I need him, though we basically never see each other. I would’ve bet my life on her driving up and dragging me back home when I talked to her after the smoke bomb. She was livid I hadn’t called her to tell her I wasn’t on the train, then horrified when I told her I was.”

That’s my opening. “Speaking of the smoke bomb, let’s talk about Monday.”

I’m confident nothing we’ve discussed tonight is relevant for a trip to the station to give witness statements. If anything, this plan to meet up and talk—a hopeful scheme to create some convincing level of comfort between us—has only made me aware of how unnatural I feel when Piper’s around. My measured, predictable, analytical self goes out the window. I’m alternately tongue-tied and awkward or brazenly flirty.

We may have to further our lie and pretend to be newlyweds, if only to explain why I can’t keep my eyes off her.

I guide Piper to a nearby bench and we sit, her body twisting toward me. Her cheeks are flushed from the chill breeze or, if I’m lucky, from being here with me.

“Alright, hubby , what’cha thinking?” She waits expectantly for my answer, her brown eyes on mine and her lips barely parted.

Good God, that word coming out of her mouth again sends a thrill up my spine and blood rushing downward. I shift, trying to get comfortable on the damp, wooden bench, but it’s futile. Everything about this situation—about having Piper’s attention and her body within arm’s reach—is out of my comfort zone.

I can't name the feelings bubbling up in my chest. I don’t recognize the thoughts swirling in my head about what I would do if this was a date, about how I’d tuck my arm around her waist and pull her into my side where I already know she fits.

About how if she was truly my wife, I’d lift her legs onto my lap and tilt her chin, guiding her lips to mine to search her mouth slowly, my fingers threading through the back of her hair, tugging.

Stop.

Fucking hell.

I need to stop.

Instead of indulging another second of fantasy, I offer logistics. “It makes sense to go down to the station early and get things wrapped up. We should go together, being married and all that.”

She bites her top lip and I can tell she’s thinking.

“If you want,” I continue, “I can meet you at your place at seven and we can take the F Line to the main terminal. It should be a short walk from there.”

Piper nods and the jostling of her knee draws my attention. The discussion of giving these statements is enough to make her nervous, to set her heart pounding.

Without thinking, I let my hand find hers, and while I don’t know what I’m doing, being held eased her anxiety on the train. She wraps her fingers around mine, small and soft and cold, and scooches a bit closer on the bench. My brain tries to put up caution tape, but my heart bulldozes through it, flopping wildly in my chest as I graze my thumb over hers.

“You’re gonna do great, Pipes.” She smiles softly, joining the grin with the eye roll I was missing earlier. “We’ll go in, describe what happened, and we’ll leave. I’ll be there the whole time and I can cover for you if you get tripped up. Easy peasy.”

I can tell she does not think this will be easy peasy, but she seems to relax a bit at the idea that it could be. She makes to stand and I wait for her to withdraw her hand from my grip… but she doesn’t.

We continue our loop along the path, a heavy silence settling between us though it's not awkward. If silence could feel warm it would feel something like this.

Neither of us mentions that our hands are still intertwined and that it appears from the outside like this was the purposeful choice of two people who like each other. Our hands swing as we walk, keeping us in step, and while I try to concentrate on the path, my mind is stuck on her fingers looped between mine.

It feels so casual, walking like this, but casual meaning ease, not lack of care. Strolling around the park tonight, being with Piper—I'm lighter, more agile than I’ve been in months. Is it from being with her? Or is this lightness what happens when I veer from my usual work-sleep-rinse-repeat?

It must be the latter.

That’s what I tell myself as we stroll hand-in-hand, the sky losing the sun. What feels so pleasant about this evening is the break from my normal, stressful routine, not the woman who’s keeping herself warm tucked to my side.

This is part of the process—we’re getting comfortable with each other before Monday’s song and dance—and it’s a good thing.

It doesn’t have to be a big deal.

Piper’s phone chimes in her pocket and she pulls her hand away to reach for it. “It’s Sami,” she mutters, as though she wishes it were someone else or no one at all. “She’s waiting for me at the restaurant over there.” She points across the street to a rooftop bar lit with string lights.

“We agreed to have dinner at seven and also that she would keep an eye out in case you brought me here to murder me.” Piper looks at me sheepishly, her face an apology at the need to be cautious. I hate that she needs to be.

“Then let’s get you to Sami.” My shrug tries to hide my disappointment at having to pass her off to someone who already gets so much of her time. We make our way to the bar with a purpose we previously lacked. We stop by the door, and I wave up to Sami who is hanging conspicuously over the railing, peering down to spy on us.

“I should probably keep my hands to myself,” I say, gesturing up to the balcony before sliding my palms into my jacket pockets.

“Probably should.” Piper smirks. “See you Monday, Mr. Newhouse!” She gives me a wave, the same one she always does, tight to her side.

“See you Monday, Ms. Paulson,” I grin, warmth blooming dangerously in my chest as I think about spending the morning with her.

She turns and the door closes behind her. Sami retreats, running to greet her friend before Piper makes it up the stairs.

Meandering back to the office, I duck in to take care of the tasks I abandoned earlier for this evening’s stroll. Plus, if I don’t, I’ll do nothing but think about Piper.

I need to at least try to keep my brain intact. This whole charade will end on Monday, most likely, when we leave the station. After that, we’ll go back to our usual exchanges on the train.

I can enjoy Monday for what it will be—a few hours pretending I exist in a different life—without letting my thoughts or feelings move beyond that. It’ll be a one-time indulgence, like a cheat day on a diet, before returning to business as usual.

That’s all it will be.