While She Was Sleeping.... Isabel Sharpe
didn’t eat breakfast. Whatever. Mommy Alana wouldn’t listen anyway. She’d lecture on the importance of a good nutritious start to the day and whip up oatmeal with prunes. Melanie hated oatmeal. And she hated prunes.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in beige pants and an olive-patterned top she’d bought on sale and never worn because it made her look sallow, teeth brushed, makeup on, stairs leaped down two at a time, she managed not to roll her eyes at the spread on the table. Toast, cereal, power bars, peanut butter, cheese…
“You eat like this every morning?” She grabbed a power bar to keep the peace.
“That color looks horrible on you.”
“Thank you.” She relented when her sister looked contrite. “I know, but it’s the only thing I found that didn’t need ironing, and don’t say that if I kept my clothes hanging in the closet they wouldn’t get wrinkled.”
Alana looked startled, then drew her fingers across her lips, zzzip. “Have a good day at work, dear.”
Melanie giggled. “Thank you. Have fun with Sawyer. Try to stay out of bed with him, okay?”
Alana scowled. “He’s gone already. Never to return, if he knows what’s good for him.”
He’d be back. But Melanie wasn’t going to say that or risk starting another fight. She rushed to the door, rushed back and grabbed her purse. “I’ll be home for dinner. We can go to Gilles for burgers and custard. I know you didn’t get enough fat down there in Chicago-town. Bye!”
She didn’t wait for her sister to tell her the exact calorie and cholesterol count of her planned dinner. Outside she hauled out her cell, dialed Edgar at Triangle Graphics where she worked downtown in the Third Ward. “Edgar, I’m late.”
“That was noticed.”
“I know, I know, fifth time this week and it’s Friday. I’m on my way, can you charm everyone for me?”
“What’s wrong?”
Melanie blinked. He was psychic. He had to be. She couldn’t imagine she’d shown any of her confusion and upset, but he always knew. “Nothing! All is good. Be there soon, bye!”
She shut her phone, climbed into her ten-year-old blue Civic and started it up. Good old dependable Honey the Honda. Fifteen minutes later, only breaking a few speed limits, she pulled into the company parking lot, slammed Honey’s door and ran inside the renovated warehouse, bumping into—of course—the president of Triangle Graphics, Mr. We-Must-Be-Punctual, Todd Maniscotto.
“Hey, Todd, sorry I’m late. Sister visited unexpectedly, fouled up my whole morning…” By sleeping with the guy I plan to marry.
“Good morning.” Todd gave her a look over his bifocals and went back to studying whatever design brownnose Bob Stevens was hoping to be praised for.
Melanie scooted into the back room and into her cubicle, grinning hello to Edgar who sat next to her. He looked particularly horrible in a mustard-yellow shirt with brown pants. She’d love to hire herself out as his personal shopper. Obviously his girlfriend didn’t know or didn’t care about fashion faux pas for guys with his dark hair and pale face.
“Hi, Mel. The staff meeting was postponed until ten-thirty today. You got lucky.”
She went limp with relief, then stared at the Starbucks cup on her desk. “What’s this?”
“Thought you’d need it.”
“Edgar.” She picked up the cup, sipped experimentally. Mmm, mocha frappucino with extra whipped cream, her very favorite. “You are the absolute sweetest.”
“Yeah, I know.” He smiled at her. He had a nose the size of a potato, bushy eyebrows, a weak chin, helmet-hair that looked coarse and greasy even when he’d just washed it, the bluest most surprisingly beautiful eyes and a dazzling white-toothed smile. Like matinee-idol mistakes in a nerd movie-designed face. “So tell me what’s going on, Melly. You sounded like a wreck on the phone.”
“Oh, Ed.” She collapsed into her chair, scooted it toward him and told the whole bizarre adventure of the previous evening. “So now my sister spent last night with my intended true love.”
“You really like this guy, huh.” He stopped moving the mouse, tapped his finger on it without clicking. “More than the others.”
“Oh. Well, yes. I mean, I hope to. What’s not to like?”
“Uh.” He folded his arms across his chest. “That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Edgar, I’m trying. I’m really trying here. I can’t screw up again. I can’t keep falling for these toxic guys and then needing to be rescued, either by you or Gran and Grandad or even, bless her to hell, my overlord and sister, Alana. This guy is fabulous. He’s handsome, upstanding, no illegal or self-destructive habits, he’s sweet as hell…” She sighed. “And he does nothing for you.”
“I’m going to fall for him. He’s moving in, something is bound to happen, you know me.”
“Um…” He broke out his killer smile. “No comment.”
“And after it does, well, I always fall for guys I sleep with. And then I’ll be fine. And safe. And set.” She eyed her coffee sadly. “Or that’s the plan anyway. Pretty stupid, huh.”
“It’s…better than some of them.”
“Eddie,” she ducked her head, whispering. “You want to know something?”
“Of course I do.”
“I’m scared.”
“What do you mean?” He pushed back his chair, put his hand over hers, searched her face. “What is it?”
“What am I going to do if I don’t fall for him?” She gazed at him mournfully. “What if I’m doomed to love only dangerous, emotionally unavailable messes? What if I’m like my mother?”
“You’re not like your mother.”
“How do you know? You’ve never met my mother.”
“I’ve heard about her. You’re never going to hurt people you love the way she did.”
“Thank you, Edgar.” She sighed. He was amazing, like he had a guidebook: Best Things to Say to Melanie. “Am I ever this nice to you?”
“Always. Emma is jealous of how much I talk about you.”
She laughed. “Emma is a lucky woman. Tell her I said so.”
“I don’t know, she might scratch my eyes out.”
“Very doubtful.” She squeezed his hand and rolled back to her cubicle. “Was she home when you got back after we had drinks?”
“Yeah, she was there.”
“She wasn’t angry you’d been out after work?”
“A little, but only because she missed me.” He clicked the mouse a few times to change the size of a graphic on his screen. “We hung out on the couch and watched TV together.”
Melanie sighed wistfully. That was the kind of evening she should be having instead of partying her brains out. But being still and quiet was an open invitation to demons of self-doubt to start torturing her, so she kept moving. Maybe with Sawyer… “Oh, but when it’s the right person, anything is exciting.”
“True.” He laughed as if he’d thought of something funny. “What?”
“Nothing. Stop worrying. If your instincts are right about this Sawyer guy…”
“I hope they are. Or will be. I’m just not feeling it, you know? One look at a man who’s bad for me and I light up like a winning slot machine. This man is perfect and all I feel for him is determination. I