The One I Want

The car is at the curb waiting, the door open when I approach. “Good evening.” I slip into the back with a quick nod of my head.

“Good evening, Mr. Christiansen.”

When the door closes, the weight of the day drains from my body. I never needed someone to drive me around in LA, but I appreciate the luxury here in Manhattan. Usually I bide my time, checking emails, text messages, and listening to voicemails. Tonight, I take a deep breath and just relax.

At my apartment building, Gil opens the door for me. “Seems we’re working the same schedule today, Mr. Christiansen.”

“Seems that way. Good day?”

“Great.” His answer makes me realize it’s been a while since I’ve felt the same. He asks, “You?”

“Not too bad,” I reply, trying to keep my mood from souring as I head upstairs.

My state-of-the-art apartment has a programmed ambience set to begin prior to me walking in the door—soft music not overpowering the view—to welcome me home.

Home.

I don’t let that sink in. It’s a rung on the ladder, two years at worst, sooner if I have my way.

A quick push of a button on my phone has the bathroom filled with steam by the time my suit hits the bed, and everything else lays at the foot of it. The heat envelops me, and when the hot water hits my shoulders, my tension begins to melt away.

Closing my eyes, I step under the spray. Usually, I’d recount my day, but tonight, Juni outweighs that habit. I have time for this . . . or her.

Not sure why I’m trying to convince myself. Nick is right. I’m married to my job, and I don’t see a change in that commitment anytime soon. So why get involved with someone in New York when I plan to move back to LA?

Nick is a prime example. He came here for work and stayed when he met someone. That’s not my plan. I’m not even open to it. Though I imagine my mom would have a field day if she knew my focus even slipped for a minute.

The bottom line is I’m not interested in strings or complications. I’m not sure if that’s what Juni is, but by how our lives have already tangled together, there’s a strong possibility.

I take several deep breaths to calm my mind, letting it fog over like the glass of the shower, my muscles easing under the pounding of hot water. Resting a hand on the marble wall, I lower my head and close my eyes. I can’t stop my stomach from growling, reminding me that a small bag of Fritos and an apple at four won’t tide me over for long.

After pulling on a pair of sweatpants, I try to figure out something quick to make for dinner. Loud music begins as soon as I set the mustard on the counter.

Surely, playing music that loud is against the rules, especially after eleven. This wouldn’t fly in the building where I lived in LA. It was filled with lawyers, doctors, agents, and even a few celebrities, looking for peace from the outside world, not to have it shattered. That’s why I lived there. If I wanted to party, I would have lived on Sunset or in The Hills.

I finish making my sandwich and eat while I move from vent to vent, listening with the rapt attention I usually reserve for my work. I’m quick to narrow it down to three vents in the living room as I eat. Tomorrow, I intend to find out who’s at the other end. I don’t need another stress. Not. Here.

The kitchen only takes a minute to clean, and then I make my way to the bedroom. In the bathroom, I stare into the mirror, not recognizing myself as easily these days. I’ve aged beyond my years, the stress of building a family empire wearing into my skin. I run my hands over my jaw, feeling how the long hours add to the growth. I didn’t shave every day in California because I didn’t have to. But from what I’ve seen of this city, even from my brother, the professional community takes a more formal approach.

I pull out my razor blade and set up for the morning. Organizing things now feeds my need to control things. I brush my teeth, floss, and then climb into bed. After a day of being surrounded by TV screens blaring while watching the stock market, this is much-needed peace.

I’m not that lucky, though.

The upbeat melody from the offending neighboring apartment sneaks in. I bury my head under a pillow. Shit. Seems to be a running theme today.

4

Juni

What if I get there early? Do I stay and wait to order? Or do I order and then take the coffee, telling Barry the bill will be paid as soon as a certain man who lost a jinx shows up with the money?