Chapter Seventeen: We Went for Punny Bagels, Too

When I get into work on Monday, I find Jameela crying quietly at her desk. Her dark braids are twisted around her head, and I'm not sure if it's an ode to Leia Organa or Kate Bridgerton.

"What's going on?"

She doesn't look up from her screens, one open to her Twitter feed and the other to Instagram. Twitter is on her curated feed of Bridgerton fans, which is a long list of WHERE ARE THEY? posts, and people using crying-on-desk emojis. "They didn't go together."

"Who?" I ask though I know the answer.

"Jonny and Simone. They didn't go to Wimbledon together."

"So?"

"I thought they would. We all thought they would." She wipes at her eyes, which are red, and rimmed with tears.

"He's gay, isn't he?"

"So?"

"And isn't she dating someone?"

"What's your point?"

"Why would they go together?"

Her shoulders slump. "To promote the show."

"But their season was over a long time ago."

"They're still Lord and Lady Bridgerton."

I sigh as I sit down at my desk, pushing the day's accumulation of new titles off to the left. I've often wondered if I should start pitching book titles with Kit to the editors I know. All the romance, but with a porny title. Like Back-dooring Mr. Bridgerton. Or the Viscount who Went Down on Me. I've never tried these titles out on Jameela, and now certainly isn't the right time.

"I think it's time you let them go," I say as gently as I can.

She finally turns away from her screens. "What do you mean?"

"I mean they're going to do other projects. They are doing other projects. And they don't have to hang out all the time."

Her mouth opens in shock. "But they're best friends."

"Are they?"

"They said so during promotion for the show. I mean, what little promotion they were given, but still."

"Well, then, it must be true."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Jameela says.

"I'm just saying, if you build up all this stuff in your mind—"

"It's not in my mind. It's a fact."

"Okay, Jameela, whatever you say. But you're crying over two people you don't know not going to a tennis match together, so..."

She crosses her arms over her chest. "And you constructed some whole fantasy in your mind that you'd end up with the creeper that pretended to be some other guy."

Ouch. "At least I'd met him."

"That makes it worse, actually. Besides, everyone says Jonny's the nicest guy they ever met. Like everyone. A ray of actual light. Pure sunshine."

"Okay."

"That Jack or Ben or whatever his name is, is a jerk."

My stomach turns. Maybe because I know on some level she's right.

"You don't know him."

"I know he blew you off, didn't he?"

I clench my fists under the desk. "His mom is dying, and I spent the day with him and his nephew yesterday..."

"Oh my God. He's using his nephew as a beard?"

"What? No. It wasn't like that. We ran into each other, and his nephew was there. It wasn't anything bad."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't know him."

"You said."

"Forget it."

Jameela huffs her shoulders. "I will."

She turns her back to me. My thoughts are racing with regret that I engaged with her at all. At the same time, I can't believe she's judging Ben while she lives in this complete fantasyland of fan art and screencaps and 'ships that are never going to sail because, hello, your main character is a gay man no matter how well he plays it straight for the show.

And okay, okay, I'm halfway to being in love with a guy who isn't available. But at least I know him. I've met him. I don't have unreasonable expectations about who he should hang out with. Well, not Rachel, obviously. Maybe Tyler wasn't trying to play matchmaker, but everyone knows continuing to hang out with your ex is not the way to get over her. If she needs getting over. I don't know. I should stop thinking about this.

I should stop.

I must stop.

Crap, no, that's a line from Bridgerton. Okay, okay, something else.

I will conquer this.

Ah shit, that's Mr. Darcy's line.

I'm thinking in romance hero even when I'm trying to leave them behind.

I need help. Or at the very least, a new leading man.

I look at Jameela again, typing furiously into her chat group with her Bridgerton stans. I don't have to see what she's writing to know that she's transcribing our conversation, full of exclamation marks and jsfskfsdks and worse. I'm cancelled in that group, for sure, not that I ever belonged to it.

But that's okay. I don't need them. I'll apologize to Jameela later, because I didn't need to be so harsh with her, even if it was for her own good.

In the meantime, I have someone waiting to be the leading man in my life. Someone who actually wants to be with me, who's never mentioned an ex-girlfriend to me, not one time.

I pick up my phone and go through my texts. Jack ("real Jack" in my phone, even though I still don't have Ben's number) wrote to me last night, asking me how my weekend had gone. Like a nice guy. Like a good guy. I'd written something vague that I now regretted.

Hey Jack, sorry about yesterday, it was a weird day. Anyway, I'd love to go out with you again. How about this weekend?

...

How do you feel about bagels?

###

I meet Jack on Saturday at Scream Cheese, a new Bagel shop in the Upper West Side that's as punny as our original breakfast place.

"Tell me," I say, as we wait in line for our order. The inside of the shop has cartoon bagels all over the walls, with jokes like A bagel calls its Grandfather what? Poppy! written in a loopy script. "Do you only know punny breakfast places or what?"

Jack puts up his hands. He's got a haircut since the last time I saw him, and the shorter hair suits him. It also makes him look more like Ben. "I know, I know. The bagels are good here, though."

"Why are breakfast foods considered funny?"

"I'm not sure. Maybe it's the ..." Jack scrunches up his face in concentration. "Ugh, sorry, I can't come up with anything."

"The bacon me crazy? I like you a waffle lot? Don't go bacon my heart?"

He laughs. "Yeah, exactly. How did you do that?"

I think about telling him about the porny movie titles but quash it. I don't need to be talking about porn at ten in the morning on the Upper West Side. "I've had a lot of practice. Kit and I like to make up funny titles for things."

"Oh, yeah? Like what?"

"Just silly movie titles."

The couple in front of us places their order and we step to the cash. I order an everything bagel with lox and cream cheese, and he does the same. He pays and we take our number to stand to the side to wait for it to be made. There are a few tables in the shop, but we're going to take ours to the park and eat there. I'll steer us free and clear of any place that has Ben memories attached.

"I like Kit," Jack says. "Only at work, we call her Katherine."

"Hmm. Only her mother calls her that."

He shrugs. "It happens."

"It's funny thinking of her as Katherine. Like maybe she has a whole different work personality that I know nothing about."

"How did you two meet?"

"Kindergarten. She came to my defence on the first day and the rest is history."

"Who was she defending you from?"

"I believe the bully's name was Jack."

"What? No, no, that can't be."

"It's a common name."

"Yours is less common."

"True. Not sure how my parents picked it, honestly. They were never those parents who were big on sharing that kind of detail ... I mean, maybe they were, and then ..."

"What?" Jack asks.

"Oh, my sister died when I was eight. Things were ... Well, different after that."

"I'm so sorry, Chloe."

"Thank you. And don't worry, it happened a long time ago. I'm not sad about it."

"You must be."

I feel a moment of resistance. Do I have to be sad about it? Am I really not sad anymore?

"It's hard to separate my feelings about it from how it affected my parents, to be honest."

"I get that. But if you want to talk about it, I'm here." Jack puts his hand on my shoulder and looks into my eyes.

They're a nice shade of hazel, clear and direct. I'm not sure what he wants to convey with this look, but it's so solemn it almost makes me laugh. Thankfully, I'm spared that embarrassing reaction by our number being called out. Jack goes to the counter to pick our order up and walks it back to me.

"That smells delicious."

He holds the bag to his nose. "Agree. Where should we go to eat it?"

"How about around the Jackie O reservoir? There are some picnic tables along there, right?"

"Think so. Let's go."

I follow him outside. I get in front of him to hold open the door because his hands are full. He smiles at me as he passes, and I follow him through, then let the door go.

And then it happens. I'm not looking where I'm going and I smack into someone trying to get inside the restaurant.

"Chloe?"

Oh, no, oh shit. I knew it was a bad idea to come to the Upper West Side.

"Hi, Ben."

We step in unison out of the way of the door while I sense Jack tensing up behind me. And it's then that I notice that Ben's not alone. He's with a woman. Rachel.

"What are you doing here?" I ask.

"Getting bagels."

"Ah." I finally look him in the eye, but I can't do it for long. Instead I look at Rachel, who's looking at me with an open, sunny expression. "Us too."

"Us?"

"Oh, me and ... Jack." I turn sideways to indicate him.

He's trying to look friendly too, but he's having a harder time of it. Because he knows who Ben is. Rachel clearly has no idea about me at all.

"Ben, this is Jack."

Ben reaches out his hand to shake, but Jack's hands are full, so they end up doing this odd, awkward finger brush.

Rachel laughs. "Ben, who is this? Your brother from another mother?"

My face burns into flame as Ben tries to sound casual. "Right? No, um, Rachel, this is Chloe and Jack."

Now it's Rachel's turn to hold out her hand and I shake it. Her shake is firm, her hand dry, her nails manicured. She smells like lemons and her hair is that perfect tennis hair, a glossy ponytail, blonde and sun-kissed.

What does she see when she looks at me? My hair is okay today because I made an effort for Jack, and I'm wearing something cute, a romper that looks good with tennies. But now I'm feeling like I look like a ten-year-old. What adult wears a romper? I've also been shaking her hand for a long time. I drop it.

"How do you know Ben?" she asks.

"Oh, um, we went on an accidental date once."

"What?"

"It's a long story. Not a real date, though, don't worry."

Ben shoots me a look, but it's too late now. Me and my big mouth. I guess he'll be explaining me to Rachel once we escape from here.

"When was this?"

"Oh, about a month ago?"

"She was supposed to be going on date with me," Jack says. "But I was late."

Rachel looks back and forth between Ben and Jack. "I don't get it."

"I'm sure Ben can explain it all."

"We're going to visit my mom in the hospital," Ben says, looking at me, and I get what he's doing. He's trying to tell me that he and Rachel are still not together, that I don't need to take this for anything other than it is. But he doesn't owe me any explanations, and I don't owe him any either. We're both free to do what we want because that's the way Ben wanted it.

"I hope she's okay," I say.

"Stable."

"That's good."

Rachel's sunny disposition has fallen away entirely now, and I don't want to be in the middle of the fight that's about to happen. Ben might be over her, but she's obviously not over Ben, and this odd exchange has gone on long enough.

"Anyway, nice to meet you Rachel. We should be going." I grab Jack's elbow and nearly drag him down the street. I want to look back, but I don't.

"Hey, hey, hold up," Jack says.

I stop a little out of breath. "Sorry, I just wanted to get away from the awkward."

"That was the Ben, I presume?"

"Yes."

"And who was the girl?"

"His girlfriend. Or ex. He says ex."

"Didn't look that ex."

"Right?"

"Chloe?"

I look at him. He's holding our bagel bags, sweat forming on his brow. "Yeah?"

"You want to cancel our lunch?"

"No, I don't want to. Forget them. Forget him."

"You sure about that?"

"Yes. Emphatically yes."

He nods slowly. "We do look an awful lot alike."

"Only on the outside."

"Okay, thanks for that. Where to?"

"Anywhere but here."