In Pursuit Read online

  That’s putting it lightly. As a lieutenant for the Arlington County Police, Dad was more absent than present in our relationship.

  “Long story short, I’m really excited to be living here with you.” I finish the speech without mentioning my strained relationship with dad.

  “Ooh, little girl in the big city, huh?” Her eyes flash with delight. “I’m going to try my hardest to corrupt you. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No.” I let out a soft burst of laughter. “That’s what I’m here for partially. And to succeed professionally, of course.” I sound slightly sarcastic in my response, but I truly do mean it. If I can expand my client base to a decent size, I would like nothing more than to feel at home in this large, so far friendly, city. Other than Sarah and maybe my dad, there isn’t much calling me back to my old home. “Tell me more about you. Sarah mentioned that you’re a lawyer?”

  “Ugh,” she groans. “I am, and it’s the biggest bore. It’s all mergers and acquisitions at Franklin & Smith. The only perk is working with my brother at a firm that my dad practically built. As you can probably imagine, it’s a snooze. The best part is the commute; it's only a ten minute walk when it’s nice out. Otherwise, my brother sends a car.”

  “Why do you do it, then?” I blurt out. She looks at me sharply and I’m immediately confused. I thought we were sharing back and forth, but Claire’s features take on a furious glare.

  “I just mean, why not go after something you love? But it’s none of my business, so I’ll just shut up now.”

  Just as quickly as it came, the angry expression melts away, and once again she gives me a lighthearted smile.

  “No worries. It’s just a tradition thing, and my family is big on that.”

  I nod. “To be honest, I wish my family had more traditions. Or at least ones I knew about.”

  We both fall silent, so I busy myself with refolding t-shirts and sports bras that became displaced in my journey.

  “This conversation is getting too depressing,” Claire says. “Let’s move on to a new topic.” She ponders what else we can discuss, and then she finds it: herself. “I’m from a town called Kenilworth, north of the city.”

  Claire’s words tumble together as she continues her soliloquy. “I’m looking for love in all the wrong places, and I’m amazing in bed, according to all the guys I sleep with. How do you feel about going out tonight? Some of the guys got a table at a club. It’s going to be epic.”

  I look up from stacking a pile of sweaters. She talks so fast, I can barely keep up, but I think I’ve caught the gist. Is she joking about being good in bed? Based on her impish smile, probably not. While I feel ready to turn over a new leaf, and open myself up to new friendships and experiences, tonight is definitely not the night. I need to organize my life. Tomorrow, I’ll be ready to venture out.

  “Claire, I really, really want to go out with you, but -”

  “Don’t say no!” she interrupts, bopping over to me and pulling a sweater from my hands. “I want everyone to meet you. And don’t you think it would be a good way to make friends in a new city, where you know absolutely no one?”

  Ouch. I nearly wince at the words. She probably doesn’t mean to cause me a sting, but it still hurts.

  Oblivious to my discomfort, she rambles on. In her hands, she crumples my sweater and tosses it on the floor carelessly, much to my dismay, “Amanda and her hot husband will probably be there, and you will love them. Please? Please?”

  She looks almost desperate, her eyes wide and pleading. From her perfect pout, I presume this isn’t the first time she’s attempted this sort of begging. One soulful look from her gentle gray eyes probably brought her daddy to his knees when she was a girl. Not this time, though. I’m pretty good with keeping boundaries. The only person I could never say no to is my dad. Sure, he’s never asked for much, but I’d drop anything to help him.

  “Can I get a rain check? I would feel so much better about starting over in a new city if I could just get settled tonight. After I unpack and check in on my blog, I’ll be ready. I promise.”

  “Oh, alright.” She lets out a huff of frustration. “I guess I understand.” She turns away from me and walks out of the room. When she gets to the door she turns around, her eyes bright and friendly again, “I’m really glad you’re here, Eddie. This is going to work out really well.”

  She shuts the door with a light bang behind her.

  Now that the room is silent and I have some privacy, I open the front compartment of my carry-on bag. Inside is a four by six wooden frame painted white. The frame holds a photograph of my pregnant mother while my father grins down at her adoringly. My dad’s hand gently covers my mom’s expanded stomach. He looks proud and she looks content. I wish I knew these people, but I don’t. Dad’s a serious man, rarely giving me much affection, unless it was praise for a good report card.

  In my own life, I don’t think I have ever experienced the type of merriment captured in this photograph. That’s what this opportunity in Chicago reduces down to, the chance to pursue my own piece of delight.

  The gentle whirr of a ceiling fan wakes me on Sunday morning. For a moment, I stare at the white sheets in confusion. I own blue bedding – and then I smile to myself. I’m in Claire’s luxurious pad, my new home.

  I stretch out underneath the comfy sheets. I’ve only designed rooms as comfortable and lush as this one, never experienced it firsthand. Warm sunshine peeks between the sheer curtains on the oversized windows. Last night, I left the window open so I could feel the sun on my skin when I woke up. I’m rewarded with a cheerful day outside. I feel especially lucky today, with my friendly, albeit dramatic, roommate, stellar living conditions and prospective client. I’m not sure how this experience could get much better.

  Before she left for the evening, Claire gave me a brief walking tour of the neighborhood. Now, I can easily find Whole Foods and the closest coffee shop. Truth be told, I knew where those things were long before I got here. I studied a map of Chicago religiously for three straight weeks before I departed Arlington. So without her help, I already knew where I could find groceries this morning to make breakfast for my roommate. After the tour, Claire and I toasted to my arrival in Chicago with a shot of tequila. Just to get the night started, she said with her cheeky grin.

  Quickly, I get ready in a simple turquoise tank dress. Slight ruching shows off my waist, and a playful skirt swirls around my hips. I wash my face, twist my hair into a loose braid, and then quietly make my way out of the condo. I want to thank Claire for being so welcoming, and a hearty breakfast seems like a natural first step.

  In the lobby I see an attractive young man behind the desk. I push away at the call of shyness when I pause in front of him.

  “Hi, I just wanted to introduce myself.” I give him a friendly smile and extend my hand. “I’m Eddie Neff, I just moved in with Claire up in ten-oh-one.”

  He takes my hand in his own and gives a brief squeeze. “Nice to meet you, Eddie, girl. I’m Wallace, but I’m sure Claire has told you about me.”

  His eyebrows raise, and I immediately place him as the employee that allegedly got a blow-job underneath the very desk that he stands behind.

  I feel my cheeks darken and I take a step backward. I don’t want to get involved with that kind of drama on my second day here.

  “Yes, I think so. Anyway, it was great to meet you. I’ll see you around!” With a short wave over my shoulder, I depart outside in the humid summer day. The thick air feels nothing like the DC swamp, but it’s certainly sticky. Where is that wind that everyone keeps talking about?

  As I make my way toward the grocer, I feel calm, like a part deep inside of me knows that I made the right decision.

  I’m analyzing six varieties of oatmeal in the narrow grocery aisle, when a voice next to me interrupts, saying, “Who can decide when there are so many choices?”

  My gaze meets friendly, sage green eyes and a hearty smile. He’s several inches taller than m
e and has neatly organized dark chocolate hair, cropped close on the sides and longer on top. Wearing a pair of trim chinos and a tight black t-shirt, he is the poster child for summer chic.

  His friendliness makes me feel comfortable. “That’s why it’s taking me so long to buy just a few things. I don’t know what made me think I could survive this decision on my own.”

  “Welcome to the city, newbie.”

  “How could you tell?”

  He points to the reusable grocery bag on my shoulder. It says DC Proud.

  “You caught me,” I admit. “Not very stealth.”

  “It’s endearing.”

  The stranger leans past me and grabs the same bag of oatmeal I’m currently clutching. “You’ve got the best one in your hands already. Trust your instincts and stick with it.”

  Then he’s off, leisurely strolling down the aisle, as though he makes conversation like this all the time. He probably does, I tell myself, feeling that now familiar grin splitting my lips.

  Twenty minutes later, I’m relieved to see Wallace occupied with charming an older couple and their white standard poodle. In one hand, I’m holding a latte, and in the other a heavy bag of ingredients. Normally, I wouldn’t shop at such an expensive store, but today I made an exception to treat Claire.

  I juggle the bag and my coffee into our apartment without drama. I’m unloading my purchases, when I hear what sounds like a man’s voice. Maybe Claire brought her fun time fuck home last night? I really want to eavesdrop, but I focus on the task at hand and begin mixing oats, eggs and cottage cheese.

  Once I was old enough, Dad passed off the responsibility of cooking to me. It’s become a casual hobby, especially cooking healthy. Each year, I would sneak into my father’s office to read the report from a doctor in his annual physical. His cholesterol is always floating up too high, so I would find creative ways to make him his favorite foods with healthy substitutes. I don’t think Claire and her willowy figure will mind the lower fat food.

  This recipe is familiar, but I pull up the instructions on my phone as a guide to remind me the exact amount of oats.

  “You need to grow the fuck up, Claire!” A booming voice shouts suddenly, and I drop the spoon I’m using to stir, splattering myself with a tiny bit of batter. No one ever said you weren’t a klutz, I remind myself wryly, before wondering who’s fighting with Claire.

  Her voice is muffled, but I do catch one word, spat sarcastically, “Harry.”

  A door is flung open, and then, “I can’t keep cleaning up your messes, little sister. You have to stop pulling this shit.”

  “Get out! I don’t need someone like you trying to take care of me.” Like you? That doesn’t sound like a ringing endorsement for what sounds like her older brother. Odd, considering Claire only had positive things to say about him – including an open invitation to his private deck.

  Pounding footsteps stomp toward the kitchen and I keep my eyes trained on the batter I’m stirring.

  “Who the FUCK are you?” His voice roars behind me and I jump around like a scared rabbit. It’s the glorious specimen from the photo in the hallway. But the real life image easily surpasses the picture, despite his scowl. He’s angry, his dark gray eyes crackle with fury.

  The first word I think to describe him, after intense, is tall. If I felt small next to Claire, I’m your average insect next to this guy, who towers above me behind the other side of the kitchen counter. His once long dark blond hair is buzzed super short. Underneath his gray t-shirt are muscles so chiseled, he looks like he is a real life sculpture from Ancient Greece. Minus the small penis, because if his overall size is any indicator, then this guy is huge. Everywhere.

  The thought shocks me. Sex, at a time like this?

  He has a strong jawline and high cheekbones. I could not have designed a better looking man if I was granted access to the DNA. As pissed as he looks, this Harry is sizzling hot. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a guy with that kind of muscle definition up close. Normally I’m shy, but now I feel downright jittery.

  “Oh, um, hi. I’m -”

  I feel the weight in my hand redistribute and look down to see batter sliding off the spoon I’m holding on my new dress. Great.

  “Don’t scare the little mouse, Harry.” Claire appears at his side, smiling coyly. Her tone drips with insincerity.

  Little mouse?

  “Eddie. My new roommate.” Her gray eyes show disdain.

  I'm not sure if her emotions are targeted at me or her older brother, so I keep quiet.

  “Sarah Mendel sent her my way, and she is just about the sweetest little mouse I’ve ever met.”

  There’s that pet name again. It’s hard to say which way the connotation swings – positive or negative. By the smug expression on her face, I struggle to think Claire’s not being condescending to me.

  The grim, Thor-with-a-buzz-cut lookalike doesn’t respond, just passes stern glares between Claire and me. Tension vibrates between the three of us, a gnawing glacier of anxiety growing inside nearly makes me shudder.

  Claire interrupts the hostile temperament. “What are ya cooking?” She taps her brother patronizingly on the shoulder, and moves around the granite counter to join me.

  Harry – he definitely doesn’t look like a Harry – makes a sound that is reminiscent of a growl, and he stomps out of the apartment without a backward glance. The door slams so hard, I wonder if it has fallen off its hinges. I stare at Claire with a wide-open mouth and then she giggles.

  “Harry ̶ that’s Harris to you, only I’m allowed to call him Harry ̶ has a huge stick up his ass. Sorry you had to witness that. Unfortunately it happens somewhat regularly. Brothers and sisters, right?”

  “I, I wouldn’t know,” I stammer. “Only child and all.”

  She sticks a finger in my batter and then pulls it out, sucking on it playfully. “It’s mine and Harris’ normal behavior, so get used to it. Yummy! What are we eating?”

  There isn’t enough time for me to analyze her comment, but her words don’t pacify my edginess.

  “Blueberry oatmeal pancakes and turkey bacon. I was going for the healthy type of thing.” My words fall flat, my earlier good mood disappearing.

  My heart has taken on a frantic beat at the argument I just witnessed. To hide my reaction, I turn away from Claire to take a few calming breaths. She doesn’t appear to be studying me, so I busy myself with reading the recipe on my phone, even though I’ve made these at least ten times, so I don’t need the help.

  Angry people make me feel overwhelmed. My dad spent all of his time surrounded by turmoil when he was at work, so he demanded that our home be a calm and soothing place. I was never a problem child and didn’t argue with him; I enjoy the serenity of silence. Overhearing Claire and her brother fight admittedly unnerved me, because I’ve never lived in a place where people yelled. My dad and I prefer to brush things aside and avoid discussing them.

  One-one thousand, two-one thousand, three-one thousand… I count inside my head to sooth my jangled nerves. It’s a trick my grandmother taught me when I was younger and I still use it in times of distress.

  When I feel ready to think about the situation, I force myself to believe that there is no need to stress. I’ve never had a sibling, let alone a roommate, so who I am to say what is normal? I decide then and there not to judge Claire or her sexy brother.

  Later that afternoon, Claire decides to venture over to the gym, and I leave the apartment to take photos for a blog post. River North is known for some posh furniture shops, and I plan on making relationships with some of the staff for my blog and my, with a lot of hard work, new clients.

  With my camera dangling around my neck and purse looping around my shoulder, I go first to a store on Chicago and Wells called møbler, the Danish word for furniture. It’s an ultra modern store with stark white walls and decor low to the ground.

  “Can I help you?” A twig of a man in a red plaid shirt gives me a sterile smile to match the environmen
t of the store. When it comes to my livelihood, I push my shyness aside and slip into professional mode.

  “Hi, I’m Eddie Neff,” I extend my hand to his for a quick, firm shake, and launch into my spiel about Your Perfect Place and my design work.

  I explain to him that I want to use items from his store to feature in my blog and with my virtual clients. This is usually a win-win situation for me and the store clerks: me, because I already have a paying client, them because I will refer them clients. Once I’ve established a relationship with the clerk, they oftentimes will send some clients to me and allow me to take snaps in their store for my blog. Soren, the salesman at this store, is no different from the others I’ve made friends with in the past, despite his cool exterior.

  Once I get Soren’s contact information, I bop out of møbler and visit several other stores. An hour later, my cell phone has several new contacts and I’m ready to write a new blog post with some of the items I found on my trip. I decide to prolong my walk until blisters start to threaten my sandaled feet. Then I turn back for home.

  Leading with my shoulder, I nudge my way back into the condo. Again, I hear noise, but this time it seems like the muted murmur of voices on a television. I’m surprised to see both Grants in front of the TV. In an attempt not to disturb them, I walk as soundlessly as possible into the living space. Neither one turns to acknowledge me, and at closer glance it looks like Claire is asleep. She’s wrapped in a plush ivory blanket, head tucked against a pillow in the corner of the couch. At her feet, on the other end of the couch, is Harris. He also appears sleeping, now that I can study him. His arms are crossed and his hands are tucked into his sides. Long, thick lashes make shadows against his cheeks and hide his stormy gray eyes.

  They look like blonde angels, resting before their next task from the heavens. I grin at the thought and walk past them into my bedroom. Looks like they made up. Good.

  I shut the door gently behind me, pull my computer off my dresser, and flop down on my bed. I connect my camera to the device and begin uploading the photos. The next few blog posts are already scheduled, because I worried that I might need more time to adjust and would be unable to blog. So I start drafting new content.