Slightly Settled. Wendy Markham

How about you?”

      “Brooklyn. Let’s get a cab.”

      To where? The East Village? Brooklyn? (Yeah, I know, a borough, but Jack’s the exception to the bridge-and-tunnel-people-aren’t-cool rule.) His intent isn’t clear, but what the hell?

      I’ve got other things to worry about right now. It’s all I can do to concentrate on finding my coat-check tag. Jack helps me look. We both crack jokes and laugh hysterically the entire time.

      I guess you had to be there. And drunk.

      Ultimately, we arrive at the hilarious—at least, to us—conclusion that I’ve misplaced the tag. I then have to focus on not slurring when I describe my outdated wool coat to the utterly unamused and fashionable coat-check girl.

      Outside, the arctic air hits me, along with a big dose of reality. Suddenly nothing seems funny.

      I just made out with some guy at the office party. Now I’m leaving with him.

      Does he think he’s coming to my place? Does he think I’m going to his place?

      I should insist on separate cabs to our respective places, just to make sure this doesn’t go any further.

      For some reason, Buckley’s face pops into my head. I hear Buckley’s voice warning me to stay away from strange guys.

      I promised him. At least, I think I did.

      But Buckley doesn’t have to know…

      No. Stop it, Tracey.

      Sleeping with some guy you just met and will never see again is one thing. A bad thing.

      Sleeping with a co-worker you just met is…

      Well, it’s just out of the question.

      It’s the ultimate Don’t.

      I stand on the sidewalk by a garbage can and smoke a cigarette, trying to sober up while Jack stands in the street and tries to hail a cab. They’re few and far between, and when he finally gets one, I’m not about to tell him to let me take it alone. I mean, that would make me a Don’t and a Bitch. A Bitchy Don’t.

      I giggle. I can’t help it.

      Jack looks at me. “What’s funny?”

      I wipe the goofy grin off my face. “What?”

      “Didn’t you just laugh?”

      “Me? Nope. Not me.”

      Jack looks confused.

      I smile pleasantly. At least, I hope I do. For all I know, another burst of maniacal laughter can escape me at any moment.

      Oh, Lord, am I ever trashed. I try to send myself Sober Up vibes as we climb into the back seat, which smells of mildew unsuccessfully masked by fruity air freshener. I immediately tell the driver my address.

      “And after that, I need to go to Brooklyn,” Jack says through the plastic window.

      Instant relief. He’s not planning on coming home with me.

      Bitter disappointment. He’s not planning on coming home with me.

      As the cab barrels down Ninth Avenue, I focus on the driver’s name on his license fastened to the dashboard. To inebriated moi it looks like Ishmael Ishtar, and I vaguely wonder which is his first name and which is his last.

      Then Jack puts his arm around me and pulls me closer. Kisses me. I feel weak.

      In the front seat, the driver speaks in a foreign language into his two-way radio.

      In the back seat, Jack makes me forget everything I promised myself five minutes ago.

      All too soon, we’re at my building. Jack opens the door, and we both step out onto the sidewalk.

      “Can I come up?” he asks, low, in my ear.

      “You already told Ishmael you’re going to Brooklyn.”

      “Huh?”

      I gesture at the driver.

      “Oh.” He shrugs. “I’ll give him a big tip.”

      He kisses me, an intensely sweeping kiss.

      Life comes down to a few Moments of Truth. This is one of them.

      What will happen if I say yes?

      What will happen if I say no?

      There’s no way of knowing.

      Nothing to do but take a deep breath—and make a decision.