Recoiling from his touch, she suddenly knew that all of this – the Monday cold shoulder, the dressing-down on Thursday, and now this you and me against the world show – was simply part of his latest plan to get her in bed, and she wondered why she hadn’t been able to see it coming.
“We should go to lunch tomorrow,” he said, his fingertips still brushing the exposed skin above her scoop-necked shirt. “We can talk about other ways that I can help you navigate the ins and outs of the office, especially if you hope to become a partner one day. I think you and I will be able to work together really well. Don’t you think so, Maria?”
It was the sound of her name that brought her back, his words finally registering. Not in this lifetime, she suddenly thought. “I can’t go to lunch tomorrow,” she said, trying to hold her voice steady. “I already have plans.”
A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “With Jill?”
That was usually the case, and Ken of course knew that. No doubt he’d suggest that she change the plan. For her own good.
“Actually, I’m going to lunch with my boyfriend.”
She felt his hand slowly slip off her shoulder. “You have a boyfriend?”
“I told you about Colin, didn’t I? When we were at the conference?”
“No,” he answered. “You didn’t mention him.”
Sensing her chance, Maria rose from her seat and stepped away, continuing to collect documents, stuffing them into files, not caring where they ended up. She could sort them out later. “That’s strange,” she remarked. “I thought I did.”
She could tell by his plastic smile that he was trying to decide whether or not to believe her. “Tell me about him,” he said.
“He’s an MMA fighter,” she answered. “You know those guys in the cage? I think it’s crazy, but he’s really into it. He works out and trains for hours every day and he loves to fight, so I kind of feel like I have to support him.”
She could imagine the wheels in his mind continuing to turn as she hoisted her bag over her shoulder. “While I can’t meet for lunch, do you want to talk in your office tomorrow? I’m sure I can clear part of my morning or afternoon.” When there are others around, she didn’t bother adding.
“I’m not sure that’s necessary.”
“Maybe I should talk to Barney?”
He shook his head, the movement almost imperceptible. “It’s probably best to let it go for now.”
Of course you’d say that. Because this whole thing was a ruse and you never talked to Barney at all. “All right. I guess I’ll say good night, then.”
She reached the door, breathing a sigh of relief as she made her escape. The whole boyfriend thing had been inspired, but that card had now been played. It wouldn’t surprise him again; he’d be ready for it. In the long run – or maybe even in the short run – she doubted it would stop Ken’s advances, even if it had been true.
Or became true?
Still reeling from her encounter, she wondered if she wanted it to be true. All she knew for certain was that when Colin had kissed her, she’d felt something electric, and the realization was both exhilarating and frightening – at exactly the same time.
Though she’d been lying when she told Ken that she was having dinner with her parents, she wasn’t in the mood to be alone and found herself driving the familiar roads to the place she’d grown up.
The neighborhood was more blue collar than white, with homes showing signs of deferred maintenance and a few sporting FOR SALE signs. Older-model cars and trucks were parked in virtually every driveway. Their neighbors had always been plumbers and carpenters, clerical workers and secretaries. It was the kind of community where kids played in the front yards and young couples pushed strollers, where people would collect the mail for each other when they were out of town. Though her parents never talked about it, Maria had heard rumors growing up that when her dad had first bought the house, more than a few neighbors living at this end of the block had been upset. The Sanchezes were the first nonwhite family on the street, and people had quietly speculated about declining property values and rising crime, as though everyone who’d been born in Mexico was somehow connected to the drug cartels.
She supposed it was one of the reasons that her dad had always kept the yard immaculate and the bushes trimmed; he repainted the exterior in the same color every fifth year, always parked his cars in the garage instead of the driveway, and kept an American flag mounted on a pole on the front porch. He decorated the house for both Halloween and Christmas and in their first years would hand out restaurant coupons to any neighbor who happened to be outside, allowing them to eat at half price. Her mom regularly made trays of food on the weekend afternoons when she wasn’t at the restaurant – burritos and enchiladas, tacos or carnitas – which she would serve to any of the kids who were out playing kickball or soccer. Little by little, they’d been accepted in the neighborhood. Since then, most of the surrounding homes had been sold more than once, and in every instance, her parents showed up to welcome the new owners with a housewarming gift in the hopes of preventing future whispers.
Maria sometimes had trouble imagining how hard it had been, though in school, there’d been more than a couple of years when she’d been the only Mexican in her classroom. Because she’d been a good student, albeit a quiet one, she couldn’t remember feeling the sting of discrimination in the same way her parents had experienced it, but even if she had, her parents would have told her to do what they had done. They would have told her to be herself, to be kind and welcoming to everyone, and they would have warned her that she should never sink to others’ level. And then, she thought with a smile, they would have told her to study.