New York, Actually (From Manhattan with Love 4)

“I hate hormones. And I hate the way society puts pressure on us to behave in certain ways and conform to certain stereotypes. If you’re single, people always pat you on the head sympathetically and say that they’re sure you’ll meet someone soon. Then you get married, and they ask when you’re going to have a baby. There’s an order to things. It’s assumed that not being part of a pair makes you someone to be pitied. As if single is an abnormal state that needs to be rectified.”

Mark added the last of the stock to the risotto. “If you want to explore the pressure society puts on an individual to conform, try being gay. Try being the one weird kid in high school.”

“I was the one weird kid in high school until they discovered I was great at matching people up. Then I had a purpose. And I love it. I think it’s my vocation. Helping other people find the right person. Why does it matter that I can’t do it for myself? Orthopedic surgeons don’t have to break a leg to know how to fix a fracture.”

“That’s all true, but don’t you find it exhausting leading this whole double life?”

“It’s not really a double life.”

“You have a pseudonym and a whole persona you don’t tell people about.”

“That’s not exhausting, it’s fun. I happen to love that part. It’s my invisibility cloak. My disguise.”

Mark put the ladle down. “I know all about wearing a disguise. For years I walked around with this huge secret inside me. It was like wearing a fancy dress costume. No one knew who I was underneath.”

“And didn’t that make you feel safe?”

Mark paused. “Honestly? No. It made me feel alone and isolated. That’s the downside of keeping secrets.” He turned back to the stove. “I hope Gabe is back soon or this will ruin.”

There was nothing better, Molly thought, than having neighbors who turned into great friends.

Their apartment was on the floor above hers, and it was filled with charm. Sunshine flowed through the big bay window, flooding the room with light. Books filled every inch of available space, crowding two deep on shelves and stacked high on the floors. Mark’s art covered the walls, large canvases covered in bold strokes of color. On hot summer nights they opened the doors and sat on the fire escape sipping mojitos and pretending they were on a beach somewhere instead of trapped in an airless city, sweltering in the New York heat.

“I’m not having dinner with a stranger.” Molly returned to the subject. She slid off her shoes and curled her legs underneath her while Valentine settled himself on the rug by the sofa. “At the end of the day Daniel is a random guy I met in the park. That’s crazy, right?”

“Depends on how hot he is.” Gabe walked into the apartment carrying a crate of champagne.

Molly raised her eyebrows. “Wow. When you said ‘drop in for a drink’ soon, I didn’t realize you were taking it so seriously.”

Gabe flashed her a smile.

He was classically handsome, with sculptured cheekbones and blue eyes. Mark had told Molly once that on Gabe’s first day at the advertising agency where he worked as creative director, he’d spread the word that he was gay. Apparently that approach had saved him a whole lot of embarrassment and awkward moments in previous jobs, but it didn’t seem to have stopped the women he worked with from falling in love with him.

“Mark texted that you want to talk about a guy. Tell me all.” Gabe shrugged off his jacket. “Is he hot?”

“He’s hot. I mean, if you think looks are important.”

“Charming? Charismatic?”

Molly thought of the conversations they’d had. “I guess. He’s comfortable with himself. That’s always attractive.” Oh, who was she kidding? He was more than attractive. And that was what scared her.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“I don’t want a relationship.”

“How about fun?” Gabe cut a thin slice off a slab of Parmesan cheese and ate it. “Don’t you want some of that?”

“I don’t find relationships fun when they’re mine.”

“You know more about relationships than anyone I’ve met. You have a sixth sense when it comes to people. I don’t understand why you can’t apply that common sense and experience to your own relationships.”

“I don’t understand it either.” Except that she did. Molly stroked Valentine’s head. It was one thing holding back when you were talking to a stranger in the park, quite another to keep secrets from dear friends who kept none from you. “Okay, I’m lying. I do understand it. But understanding something doesn’t mean you can fix it. Which is annoying, because as a psychologist I should know how to put my baggage in long-term storage.”

“Baggage is baggage, sweetheart. You can try dumping it in the lost and found for a while, but somehow it always finds its way back.” Gabe removed a bottle of champagne from the box and put it in the fridge.

Mark raised his eyebrows. “Are we celebrating something I should know about?”

“We’re pitching for a champagne account. It’s going to be wall-to-wall bubbles for the next month.”