The One I Want

“I’d rather listen to you.”

“Pfft. I’m not as interesting as you seem to think I am.” Her gaze extends through the window, but then she closes her eyes and sways her head to the soundtrack of our conversation that plays in the background. “I love La bohéme.”

“Me too. Before we get sidetracked, what do you want to talk about?”

The dread she wore in her expression when she arrived is gone, and she asks, “What are you doing this weekend?”

18

Andrew

Another late night leads to another missed workout this morning. Though I can’t blame Juni. Juniper, for it. She left just after eleven, insisting I stay put instead of walking her home.

The night was low-key, but there weren’t any lulls in the conversation. It’s been a while since I’ve hung out with anyone other than family. It was fun, relaxing. Unexpectedly so. That’s not a bad thing. Quite the opposite. It felt . . . natural, like we’ve known each other so much longer than we have.

My mom once mentioned how souls find each other through the chaos of the universe. Drawn together. That we don’t just have soul mates in this life, but souls we connect with on a different level.

Tonight was the first time I felt the truth in that. For a few hours, I was my old self. The surfer, the rowdy kid cruising Sunset on a Saturday night, the guy who used to know how to have a good time before the responsibility kicked in. It was good to get a glimpse of me again.

I also found out, after losing fifty bucks, that Juni’s as serious about blackjack as she is about ice cream. She’s a card shark, and I learned not to bet against her.

Pretty sure that’s accurate in life as well. Even though she’s not had it easy. She is still an enigma, yet I don’t feel threatened by that.

Last night was good, but every night is good with her.

The problem is that I spent hours unable to fall asleep after she left. With a million tasks on my mind and falling behind with work, I lay in bed and strategize my plan of attack for today. I need this meeting to go well.

I only get one shot at landing the account, which is why I missed my workout. I spent the time researching everything I could online and adding to the file my team created.

Dressed in my favorite suit, the one I was wearing when my dad promoted me to CEO, I step off the elevator, ready to tackle the day. Wait . . . I got off too soon and move backward onto the elevator again. But a quick glance to double-check the number has me realizing I’m on the correct floor already. “Sorry,” I tell the other passengers as I walk off again, embarrassed I don’t recognize my reception area.

Looking around, I finally look toward the desk at the other end for clarification. Christiansen Wealth Management in brushed brass letters hangs on the wall. Just beneath sits Juni, whose eyes are locked on mine. She waves to me, and says, “Please hold, and I’ll transfer you.”

As soon as she transfers the call, she covers the microphone with her hand and smiles. She says, “You said anything I want.” There’s a hint of smugness in her words.

“I meant a few plants, not the Amazon jungle.”

“You think it’s too much?” she asks, gesturing to the rainforest she’s created in a corner of the reception area.

“It’s a lot of . . .” When I see her smile fall, I add, “of goodness,” turning it around. I am learning not to underestimate this spitfire in front of me. This can be handled on another day.

Her smile returns, brightening my day but not successfully distracting me from that mess of leaves behind me. She says, “I’m so glad you like it. I was worried.”

“No need,” I say, freaking out on the inside. “It’s like a casino in here pumping in the fresh oxygen.”

“More oxygen increases productivity,” she sings the last word.

I scan the room once more. “I’m sure it will.” Trying not to lose my composure, I decide it’s best if I leave while I’m ahead. “Have a good day.”

“You too, Mr. Christiansen.”

Stopping in the doorway, I see a plant on every desk in the office—little flowering plants, succulents, miniature versions of the ones in the lobby of my apartment building, and other familiar varieties. Taking a deep breath, I slowly exhale, and then reply, “Ms. Jacobs,” without turning back and continuing on my way.

When I reach Mary’s desk, I say, “What are we going to do?”

She starts laughing. “Well, you did give her free rein.” I value that I don’t have to explain to Mary what I’m upset about. She just comes along for the ride, taking my brain’s detours in stride.