. balanced beaming

[rosie de la cruz]

A dirty martini to settle the nerves. It's what she'd have done in the past, sidle up to the bar early and offer a doe-eyed blink or two, pointed smile procuring a drink she'd down in uneasy sips. But tonight her sense of calm radiated further from the reach of alcohol, catching her reflection in the polished art deco glass on the table. Eyes clear and bright, hair pulled loosely up, black sheer ruched top and scooped bralette, slouchy jeans and metallic kitten heels. Rosie had made peace with this evening, this confrontation, somewhere in the blur of days with herself on the beach. Fraught desperation replaced with a strange, unfamiliar sense of awareness, though her heart betrayed her the second she felt him near. Like an instinct a smile eases onto full lips, rising to press a kiss to Tate's cheek in tender formality before returning to the booth. "Hi,” Rosie offers, finally taking her first sip.

[tate mccarthy]

In college Tate had been known around campus as the Golden Boy. Golden hair, golden skin, golden life. Even amongst a very privileged crowd, he and Freddie had stood out in their obvious luck; rich daddies, their dreamworthy futures laid out before them, and infuriatingly, the good looks to go with it. Tanned from his regular excursions to LA, lazy with the promise of it not really mattering, he had been louche and made no apologies for it. Tate feels like the college version of himself now, freshly tanned from Cabo, skipping out of work early to meet the most beautiful girl in Manhattan. "You always beat me to places. You know you're the only person earlier than me?" The key difference was one that wasn't visible on the outside: awareness. He'd hated the moniker in school, but now he'd come to understand his luck, even be awed by it himself sometimes. This was one of those times. He kissed her cheek back, taking a seat opposite and really taking her in. She looked good even for her, refreshed. "Are they all out of martinis or something?" He takes in her lack of drink, his eyes immediately dropping to the menu like he didn't already know what he'd be drinking.

[rosie de la cruz]

It always feels like a flashback, when she sees him. No matter the location or time it's that flooding, startled curiosity that forced her double take in college years ago. The casual confidence, the languid way in which he fit into a space; Tate was impossible to ignore - flitting in even now with a sprawling tan and a gaze that never wavered as it swept over her. Forcing a smile to her lips at his observation, leaning back against the plush cushion behind her. "It's because I'd tell you 20 minutes after I could actually make it - today was just a lucky one.” In truth she'd been one foot out of her job since her return, and the lack of tension in her shoulders told her it was the right choice. Leaving on time, encouraging this conversation. Hoping that if anything they could get some answers, the hesitant stops and starts still a small weight she felt as she shrugged. "Figured I could wait for you for once. Used to down one at the bar before you arrived too, was a bit of a routine.” Her gaze falls gently to the bar top behind her before turning back to him, crossing her arms over her chest. "How was your trip? Thanks for letting me push this back, too.”

[tate mccarthy]

She thanks him for letting her push it back and he nods, as if he had any choice. What was he going to do, force her to show up to the restaurant, have it out over text? In truth he had been happy to delay, anticipating a heavy conversation that he was not ready for, and certainly not ready to carry into his vacation time. It felt like work, sometimes, with Rosie-- not that she was hard work, but that she struggled to shake off corporate etiquette. Like now, whenever someone pushed back a meeting Tate was almost always happy to kick the can down the road. "You look fresh," he says, as a waiter comes and starts to fill his water glass. "Where'd you go in the end? My trip was good thanks, you know, the usual. Sun, sea, Freddie almost getting arrested for lewd behavior." He orders a negroni, glancing towards her to see if she'd changed her mind on that drink. It's an odd vibe, a formal way of meeting and he wasn't entirely sure how to act.

[rosie de la cruz]

"Was out in Nantucket for a couple weeks…I did very little, honestly.” It felt strange to admit, always being on the move or trying to stay one step ahead. But it had been much needed, feeling less likely to snap at any moment even with a heightened conversation looming. She could feel it, the cautious look until she orders her signature martini, the soft silence that follows. He’s so familiar but this isn’t comfortable, whether it be the location or impending confessions ahead, dark eyes drifting to the menu before an errant thought escapes her. "Remember when we were here last and that woman sprayed her champagne bottle at that guy? It was everywhere.”

[tate mccarthy]

Tate tries hard to conjure up a mental picture of Rosie in Nantucket, not doing much. It doesn't work. Even if he pictures her in a picturesque summer house, his brain conjures a laptop in front of her, the ping of emails ringing incessantly. "I'm surprised work let you go for that long. Did they collapse? Lose all their clients? Show up and beg you to open your emails?" He wondered if she thought he resented her work ethic, because he really didn't, far from. Maybe once upon a time, back when they were in college and all he had wanted to do was drag her away from her books and into a frat party, but not since she'd graduated. In fact, even now he still felt a sense of pride in all she had accomplished. "Yeah, course I do. Ruined a perfectly good coat," he says with a small smile, though for some reason conjuring up the memory makes him feel sad. Like those were two different people and not them. "Are we eating, by the way? Or is this more of a liquid lunch kind of deal?"

[rosie de la cruz]

Rosie laughs at his line of questioning, put forth in a teasing tone but with a lingering serious note in its undercurrent. All could have been true possibilities at one point, so tied to her job that everything else seemed to come second. People included, eyes dipping in regret momentarily before her shoulders inched up again in nonchalance. "They survived - they’ll have to figure out how to in the long run anyway when I leave. Which is probably sooner rather than later.” It was the first conclusion she’d come to on that beach, the tally of what she’d lost almost incomprehensible when she truly thought about it. A large piece of it staring her way, half expecting him to let her down easy and slip away before she even had a chance to blink. But Tate was here, and she had a sliver of his time, and he’d fought for hers enough in the past. She’d be damned if she didn’t make the most of his. "To be honest I lost my appetite the second you walked in, so. Happy to order a few here and talk, or they can toss our drinks in a couple to-go coffee cups and we can walk instead.”

[tate mccarthy]

This is not a comfortable setting for Tate. If this were a negotiation situation he felt sure that Rosie would be in the preferential position, with plenty of leverage at her disposal. She was refreshed and focused, clear headed and bright-eyed. She was the one with something to say, meaning she'd had time to turn the words over in her head, to select them and make plans for what she would say depending on how he reacted to them. He had been busy in Cabo downing tequila and burying himself between Olivia's thighs, wilfully pushing this looming interaction from his mind. "Wait, what?" He can't have heard that right. The idea of Rosie leaving her job at all, never mind soon, was beyond the scope of anything he could have anticipated. "You know April 1st was a while ago now, right?" What on Earth was going on. His head is still swimming as his negroni arrives, though despite himself he laughs. "First time a girl has told me I made her lose her appetite." A sip of the drink gives him time to think, mulling over what would be easier. "Let's finish these and then we can walk, alright? I might be too shocked to stand."

[rosie de la cruz]

It's kind of fun to see Tate off-balance. Not with the discomfort of the conversation, but with the strange efficiency in which she'd admitted she was uprooting some core part of her life. The second she'd been seated Rosie had let go of any preplanned conversation she'd made up in her head - choosing to be present, to let things pass as they may. He'd requested to see her in person but she'd forced it into a public setting, something she now too found uneasy as her eyes flickered around the room. "It's not a done deal yet but I've been taking calls, seeing what's out there that might give me a little more...I don't know, time? Sounds like a joke when I say it, I know.” The one thing she'd often been selfish with, putting hours on the clock over quality time with the people she loved, missing experiences she'd frankly, never get back. It strikes softly again that it feels correct, a laugh hushed under her breath as their eyes meet. "I seem to have a lot of those of yours,” Rosie murmurs, a large sip of her martini disappearing between her lips. It's a little flirty but she didn't exactly come here under the friendliest of pretenses, dark gaze caught between the tan of his skin and the set of his features, expression hesitant but curious. "It's good to see you. You really do look good.”

[tate mccarthy]

Rosie's movements seem more languid, her posture relaxed. There had been plenty of times he had felt in competition with her phone, the screen of which had been known to blur with work notifications at busy times. Now her phone isn't even on the table at all. It's unsettling and he can't quite get his head around it, his head muddling further with every word she said. "Can you... can you afford it?" It's a stupid question, but then she had built an expensive life for herself. He'd often wondered if she could afford it even with her high flying job. He looks at her again, looking for signs that maybe she was losing it, that she might have had some sort of mental break. Maybe this was an identical twin he had never known about. Her compliment makes something inside him soften. "Thanks. Maybe I should quit my job too." Another sip of his drink. "What's brought all this on, Rosie?"

[rosie de la cruz]

Can you afford it? The question hits harder than she expects, brows drawing together in furtive hurt before she notices, schools her expression. The disparity between them had always existed but it was a rare moment when it came up between them, taking another sip of her drink. "I'd be fine, thanks. I'm also just looking to go somewhere else, do something else, for the record. I'd be pretty listless if I just quit.” He'd seen her struggle with productivity during the pandemic, victim of her apartment re-arranging monologues and masterclass video obsessions. That time somehow feels like a million years ago and yesterday simultaneously, blinking the memories away as he finally dares to dig a little further. "I don't know,” she starts, trying not to pin it on one specific moment. Him or Beni or Dane or her job. "I think I finally picked my head up and realized I was running head first into a brick wall. Or maybe I hit it already - either way, I put so much value into my work and what that said about me, and not enough into other things in my life that mattered.” Her eyes flick from the murky haze of her martini up to his, lowering her voice as the restaurant closed in around them. "Two weeks with no e-mails, a few texts and just time for myself later and I know what I need to do on the work front.” The glass tips nervously between her palms. "Now I'm figuring out the rest.”

[tate mccarthy]

It had been the wrong thing to say, Rosie's furrowed brow confirmed that. She gives him a clipped response and he supposes it was an impolite question, that questions could be impolite between them now. That felt strange. It was hard to feel out how much of her business he had rights to, the questions that were permissible and those that crossed a line. He's trying to imagine her doing something else but he can't imagine it... he wants to ask like what, teaching? Gardening? But he keeps quiet, supposing that's not his business either. "It's not bad to work hard. That's who you are," he says, unable to reconcile the things she's saying with the Rosie he knew. It was increasing his sense of unease, making him feel as though he was sat across the table from a stranger and not his one time girlfriend of many years. He finishes his drink faster than he meant to. "You haven't made any huge declarations, have you? At work. Two weeks isn't a long time to decide on making a lifestyle change that drastic."

[rosie de la cruz]

Rosie tilts her head, confusion knitting her features together at his hesitance. A couple years ago this conversation would likely have been met with excitement, her finally giving a little to his wishes that she be more present, take time off, be able to do more. But it isn't that time, and they aren't those people anymore, the reminder wistful and sad. "It's not going to be that drastic it's-” Oh. Instinctively she reaches to squeeze his hand still wrapped around the glass, figuring out his thought process. "I still want to be in finance, just looking to do something else. Private equity or somewhere smaller that's not 70 hours a week...I'm not, It's...I've thought about it before.” A lot more recently, following suite and finishing her drink. "I'm just trying to act on it, now.” Rosie shifts around the table as the last drop is downed, holding her hand out. "Wanna go?”

[tate mccarthy]

Life had finally worn Tate down. Even from his position of immense privilege and relatively few consequences, there were obligations that had caught up to him; a board meeting he had to chair tomorrow at 8:30, performance reviews for people twice his age that he had to input into a system he barely understood. He had scoffed at Rosie's commitment to education, to work, but now he knew that it was a necessary evil, could see that his sister's lack of it had made her life worse, not better. She squeezes his hand and he feels somehow patronized by it, like he was stupid for not understanding what she was saying. "Oh, right." It's awkward, more awkward than it's ever been between them and he hates it. "We probably have to pay the bill..." he starts, though he realizes he's being pedantic. "Right. We'll pay on the way out." He gets up, loosely taking her hand as his spare one reaches for his wallet, nodding to someone to bring the bill.

[rosie de la cruz]

It's strange, how silent it suddenly feels. The restaurant is buzzing with life, with people and energy and catch-ups and laughs and Rosie feels almost frozen in time as the quiet stretches. Anxiety slowly claws up her throat, eyes drifting to the window even as he takes her hand. She'd felt steady before, curious but settled and excited to see him. Now she felt eerily upturned, watching in muted silence as the check was signed, unable to read someone she used to know by heart. "This wasn't how this was supposed to go" she thinks sullenly, the wind icier than she remembered as they stepped back onto the sidewalk. But if her self imposed escape had been any lesson for her, it was that life rarely bent to her whims. Slowly she releases a breath from her chest, and untangles her hand from his own. "Are you happy?” Rosie finally asks, eyes pointedly fixed down the block. It's an echo of a question she'd typed with thousands of miles between them, now coming to life in the cool night air.