Live and Let Grow Read online

  It’s not like I wanted to be dishonest about how I felt, how I’d always felt, from almost the very first moment she’d introduced herself in the tutoring lab going on fifteen years ago. Yes, she’d been beautiful. But more than that, she’d been friendly, open, kind, and patient. Being with her had been like being back in Iowa, and for a midwestern Italian boy living in New York, I couldn’t get enough of her genuineness, her gorgeousness, or her company.

  And did I mention she was brilliant? So fucking brilliant. I was convinced she thought in code, in equations and if-then statements. Her thought process was its own kind of artistry.

  But I knew she hadn’t felt the same about me. Even if she hadn’t been engaged to that asshole—and then married that asshole, a moment I’d never quite recovered from—Alice didn’t see me as anything but a friend.

  That was fine. I would be her friend. I would always be her friend. If that’s all she wanted from me, fine. It didn’t change how much I adored her. I wanted—I’d always wanted—just to be in her orbit.

  Tired of staring at the screen of my phone, rereading her last text and waiting for her to return mine, I shoved my cell in my back pocket and left my office in search of something to drink, maybe coffee, maybe tea. I wanted the walk more than I wanted the drink, which was why I skipped the stall at the bottom of the physics building and left campus.

  On special occasions, Alice and I would walk to Tea and Sympathy in Greenwich Village. The owner was a real character, and all the dishes were mismatched, but I liked that the space was small, necessitating that we squeeze together no matter where we sat.

  Deciding on tea, I turned in the direction of the tea shop, unable to cease ruminating on her last message. I can’t this week or weekend. Grant deadlines and dinner dates. But how about breakfast one day next week?

  One day next week?

  It was the one in the message that I kept stumbling over. When I returned from my trips, even when she was still married to Will, we had breakfast every morning. I’d bring it to her office, or she’d bring it to mine; I’d make her crostata or panettone, my mother’s recipes; she’d bake scones, cinnamon rolls, or coffee cake.

  Opening the door to Tea and Sympathy, I lamented the lack of cinnamon rolls since my return. Did I mention she could bake? She could and did, often. For my birthday every year, she’d—

  What. The. Fuck.

  I halted just inside the door, my brain tripping on the sight of Alice sitting at a table next to a man, his arm along the back of her chair, his body angled toward hers, his eyes moving over her face and neck with unveiled appreciation.

  I also halted because the tables were so crammed together it was difficult to navigate the space, even when it was empty. But even if it had been empty of everything except Alice and this dude, I suspected I wouldn’t have been able to move.

  Blood rushing between my ears, drowning out the crowd of patrons and their conversations, I watched Alice with the man, merciless to the warnings of my heart.

  Look away.

  Leave. Leave. Leave.

  I couldn’t.

  He nuzzled her neck, and she allowed it. She allowed it. She didn’t flinch away. She didn’t tell him to get his damn hands off her. She faced him and smiled, and if an employee hadn’t stepped in my field of vision, giving me a moment to process what I’d just seen, I might’ve broken the arm along the back of her chair.

  “Dr. Magi,” the girl said. She’d never been able to pronounce my last name, so I’d told her to call me Magi. “Hey. Are you here to meet Dr. Hooper?”

  Struggling to swallow, I nodded dumbly. But then I shook my head. “I’m here for, uh—”

  The man’s laugh, loud and irritating, interrupted, making it hard to think or speak. Gritting my teeth and acting on pure instinct, I lifted my glare to Alice and her companion. At just that moment, she looked up, her eyes coming to mine, recognition and welcome lighting behind them, and I flinched at the impact. My heart spasmed like someone had wrapped their hands around the organ and squeezed.

  “Milo!” She stood, waving me over, a big, gorgeous grin on her face.

  Automatically, my feet carried me to her even as my brain told me to flee. Leave. Leave. Leave.

  “Hey! Come sit with us.” She gestured to the vacant seat across from hers. “Milo, this is Pete. He’s getting his PhD in Fine Arts—”

  “We’re dating. I’m her boyfriend, she just hasn’t gotten used to it yet,” Pete said, his tone teasing as he interjected. He didn’t stand, but instead lifted his hand for me to shake from where he sat.

  I wanted to cut it off.

  Alice huffed a laugh and continued, “Pete, this is Milo. He . . .” her voice trailed off, like she didn’t know what label to assign or how to describe me.

  “Ah, Milo.” He smiled, small and wholly insincere, his hand still outstretched. “Alice talks about you all the time. Nice to meet you.”

  With an equally insincere grin pasted on my features and bitterness on my tongue, I took his offered hand and gave it a quick shake, determined not to squeeze too hard. I did not succeed. His smile fell, and he winced just before I released his fingers. Good.

  Alice, looking a little flustered, tucked her hair behind her ears as she reclaimed her seat slowly, frowning. In the many moments that followed, she sipped her tea, opening and closing her mouth at intervals, as though trying to think of an appropriate topic of conversation given the animosity of our handshake and the fact that I hadn’t taken the offered chair.

  The stretching silence was tense, which, I admit, was completely my fault because I glared at her, refusing to help make this easy, refusing to pretend I was anything but insanely jealous.

  I’d been good at hiding jealousy over the course of her marriage to Will the Asshole. It helped that I’d dated a lot. Or I’d tried to. When my inability to move past Alice became clear, I’d stopped dating, opting for women who wanted no-strings-attached hookups instead. I’d put an end to all that when Alice and Will split, and I hadn’t been with anyone since.

  It never settled well to think of myself in these terms, but I’d been biding my time. Waiting. Checking in at intervals to see if she was ready to date. When she is, I’d told myself, I’ll been ready. I’ll make her love me.

  How fucking pathetic was I?

  And now? Now that she was divorced from her cheating husband and had asserted for the last three years that she wasn’t ready to date anyone? Now that she’d been unavailable or avoiding me for days? Now that I happen to stumble across her laughing and sharing a scone at our tea shop with Pete from the Fine Arts Department?

  Yeah. Fuck pretending.

  “Uh, so . . . how’d you two meet?” Pete’s lips curled in a smile that resembled a sneer, clearing his throat, and returned his arm to the back of Alice’s chair. I glared at his hand on her shoulder, the one I’d just squeezed too hard.

  And fuck this guy.

  “We go way back.” My voice gruff, I volunteered this info before Alice could assemble her thoughts. “She tutored me in C++ when I was a grad student.”

  “He’s my best friend,” she said softly, her eyes coming to me but not quite making it past my neck. She could tell I was angry; she always had trouble meeting my eyes when I was angry. Suddenly assaulted by a stab of guilt, I glanced away, working to rein in my anger.

  She doesn’t owe you one goddamn thing, Milo.

  I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. I didn’t want to make her upset. And I didn’t want to feel like a piece of garbage. Unfortunately, in this moment, I’d failed at all three.

  I needed to leave.

  “Well”—I backed away, shoving my hands in my pockets—“I’ll see you around.”

  Always a glutton for punishment, I looked at her just as her eyes flickered to mine and then away.

  “Yes. I’ll—I’ll message you about getting together for breakfast next week,” she said with forced cheerfulness, and I wondered if it was for my benefit or for Pete’s.


  Does it matter?

  Fighting a bitter smile, I dropped my chin to my chest so she wouldn’t see my face and nodded. “Sure. Whenever. No rush,” I said, then I turned away.

  Pushing out of the café on autopilot, I walked toward my office but decided halfway there that I would leave for the day. I would walk over to Central Park. Maybe I’d go to the Met, lose myself in the samurai rooms.

  I thought back to her last message when three blocks became ten blocks, the one I’d read at least twenty times, looking for a hidden meaning. I can’t, she’d said. Grant deadlines and dinner dates.

  Dinner dates.

  I laughed, a sound devoid of all humor. Dinner dates had been precisely what she meant. Dinner dates. Dinner dates with Pete. How long have they been together? Are they—

  The thought choked me, and I removed myself from pedestrian traffic, leaning against the cool concrete of a skyscraper, and closed my eyes. It didn’t really matter where I went. I was a fool. A complete and total idiot.

  And there was no escaping that.

  Part Four

  *Alice*

  I wasn’t sure what to do.

  Milo wasn’t returning my text messages, emails, or calls. I wasn’t pressuring him, just messaging once a week, trying to check in. After the first month, I’d cut down to once every two weeks. After three months, I asked my sister Jackie what to do, showing her our last exchanges and explaining that he’d been in a foul mood in the tea shop the last time I’d seen him.

  “And you were there with someone else? With that Pete guy?”

  I nodded, frowning at my phone and scrolling through the messages again for approximately the one thousandth time. “I wasn’t avoiding him when he got back from Nepal. I just—” I huffed, tossing my phone to her couch. “I needed a minute to recalibrate things, you know? And to make plans with Pete, see where that went.”

  “Ugh, that guy.” Jackie flopped down next to my phone on the couch, scooping it back up and typing in my passcode. “Has he finally taken the hint?”

  “Yes. Thankfully.” I flopped down next to her, peering over my shoulder as she pulled up Milo’s last message to me. My heart gave a sad little twist. “I just wish I knew what I did wrong.”

  “Hmm.” She twisted her lips to the side. “I don’t know. I mean, he said he missed you and then didn’t call you back? You don’t need those kinds of mind games.”

  Crossing my arms, I tore my eyes away from the screen. I wasn’t convinced Milo was playing mind games. We’d known each other for so many years, so many, and he’d never done this before. “I’m worried about him.”

  “What can you do? He won’t return any of your calls.” She passed the phone back to me, depositing it on my lap.

  “I could go to his office.”

  “Don’t do that. Don’t show up where he works. If you’re determined to see him, go to his apartment. Less chance of causing a scene if something really is wrong. But I think it’s mind games, and you should ignore it. Ignore him.”

  I considered this advice, biting my thumbnail. "I've decided relationships aren't for me."

  Jackie twisted toward me, angling her body. "Oh, really? Because of Milo’s mind games?"

  “No.” I shook my head. "Dates. Several dates. Actually, fifty dates in the last two months."

  She reared back. "Wait, what?”

  I slid my eyes to hers. “You helped me set up that dating profile, remember? I told you I was going on dates.”

  “Jeez, Alice! I knew you'd been going on a lot of dates, but has it been fifty?" Her mouth hung open.

  "It has. This morning was my fiftieth. And I think I'm done."

  "What? No. You just need to—"

  "Nope. I'm done."

  "Okay, I'll bite.” She huffed, rolling her eyes. “Why are you done?"

  "Because I feel worse about myself after each date. I feel ugly and insufficient; I feel more awkward and oblivious. These dates, every single one of them, has made me feel like I'm an inferior human, and I don't want to do it anymore. Nothing can be worth the torment of that." And Milo never made me feel that way and I miss him and, dammit, everything sucks.

  "Oh, honey." She pried one of my arms away from where I’d wrapped it over my stomach and cradled my hand. “It’s hard out there, I know. But you have to just—"

  “No.” Withdrawing my hand from hers, I grabbed my phone and stood. “I'm done with romantic relationships, and I’m tired of waiting for Milo to text me back. You’re right.”

  "Wait, how am I right?”

  “I should go over to his apartment. Now.”

  “What about movie night? I was going to order Ethiopian food.” She trailed after me to the door.

  “I’ll pick up dinner and take it to his place, then he can’t turn me away. You can’t turn away someone if they’ve bought you dinner. At least that’s what all my dates have said.”

  “Oh my God, Alice. No. Your dates were wrong. You can most definitely turn someone away if they’ve bought you dinner. You haven’t been letting these guys treat you badly, have you?”

  “No. I’ve been splitting the cost of dinner so I can turn them away. Do you think Milo would want Ethiopian? Or tacos?”

  She caught my hand just as I pulled my purse strap to my shoulder. “Stop for a moment. This is a bad idea.”

  "No. It’s a good idea.” I peeled her hand away after giving it a squeeze. “I'm not going to profess my love or anything. No, that business is all behind me."

  "But you’re letting him manipulate you.”

  “What? No. I’m worried about a friend. My best friend. I’m checking on him because I love him, as a friend.” Maybe if I said it enough I’d believe it.

  “You're going to fall back into bad habits."

  "Nope. None of our habits were bad. I'm reclaiming a friendship that made me feel valued and good about myself. I've accepted he and I will always be friends and just friends, and I am honestly okay with that because I'd rather have a friendship with Milo than a romantic shit show with anyone else. And that’s all that’s out there. Shit shows."

  Jackie winced, like my words pained her. "Alice, I’m so sorry. I feel like I need to apologize. When I told you to see people, to put yourself out there, I didn’t mean for you to get hurt."

  "Nah. I’m not hurt.” I gave my sister a reassuring smile as I opened the door to her apartment. “It was a good lesson to learn. I'm glad I did it. Truly.”

  So I’d never have to do it again.

  I picked up tacos.

  First, they were faster. Second, serendipity put a taco food truck in my path, just two blocks from Jackie’s apartment. Clearly, it was a sign. A taco sign.

  Carrying my paper bag, I speed-walked to Milo’s place, praying he’d be there and making a plan for the likely scenario that he was gone on a trip. Or on a date. Or has a woman over.

  Ugh. The thought hurt, but I would get over it. He’d never introduced me to anyone, and I’d never seen him with a woman, not even at my wedding. Which was why it was so easy for me to believe he never dated. But Jackie was right all those months ago. Milo must’ve dated over the last fifteen years, or at least had hookups. I would be naïve to think otherwise.

  And, honestly, it was none of my business. His love life was not my concern. If he didn’t want to share details with me, fine. Part of me was grateful he’d kept our friendship separate from his hookups, especially after the divorce as my feelings had grown and swelled and matured.

  Marching up the stairs to his building, I smiled at the doorman—who I recognized—and lifted up the bag. “Taco night.”

  “Oh, lucky guy.” Frank winked, opening the door. “Great timing, he just got back.”

  I stopped just before the doorway. “He just got back?”

  “You know, from his run?” Frank’s eyes widened.

  “Oh! Yes. From his run.” I grinned, nodding. “Right. Sorry. Thanks, Frank!” Continuing into the building, I made a beeline for the stairs and ended
up taking them two at a time, working off a bit of my nervous energy.

  By the time I made it to his door, I was out of breath, but I banged on it anyway. I’d been playing it safe with Milo. I’d been hiding my feelings, worried I would lose him. It had never occurred to me that I might lose him anyway. Perhaps a little recklessness is in order.

  I heard the faint sound of approaching footsteps and then a pause. I knew he was looking through the peephole, so I lifted up the bag of tacos, giving his door a stern glare. “I know you’re in there. I have tacos,” I said, but didn’t add, And I’m not afraid to use them.

  I felt his hesitation. Seconds stretched. I swallowed, glaring at the door, tempted to knock again. But thankfully, I didn’t have to.

  Milo opened the door—not wide but not a crack either—and leveled me with a look that felt reluctant. “Alice.”

  “Is this a bad time?”

  “Uh—”

  “If this is a bad time, I can leave. I brought tacos, but I will leave them here if you want them. Basically, they’re no-pressure tacos. They are yours regardless of whether you want me to stay.”

  He exhaled something that sounded a little like a laugh and blinked several times, taking a step back. Milo’s green eyes moved between me and the bag of tacos and I could see I’d truly surprised him. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

  Rather than continue to stand silently outside his apartment waiting for him to gather his wits, I pressed on, “I’m serious. No pressure if you just want the tacos. It’s just, I’m worried about you.”

  His gaze darted back to mine and narrowed. “Why are you worried about me?”

  “Because you’re ignoring me.”

  He grimaced, his attention dropping to the floor. “I’m not—I haven’t been ignoring you.”

  That statement was patently false and sounded like code, so I said, “No, you have definitely been ignoring me. But it’s okay. I can live with you ignoring me if I know you’re okay. Are you okay?”

  His mouth was flat as he brought his eyes back to mine and gave me a short, stiff nod. “I’m okay.”