Chapter Five

It felt as if they were standing there for hours, just eyeing one another by the door. She couldn't bring herself to look away. His eyes were mesmerizing, speaking volumes, everything he didn't dare to utter out loud. It felt as if she could read his mind, but at the same time she couldn't. It was so confusing; like she had experienced it all before, at some point in her life, and now it was happening all over again. It made her head reel. She sensed it earlier, when their hands touched at the diner, but she dismissed it, telling herself it was in her head. And now he was leaning closer, but he didn't seem to notice; like he couldn't bring himself to look away as well. If she made one step, just a tiny step forward…

She stepped back, her mind everywhere. He blinked, as though her sudden movement surprised him. She reached out to touch his cheek. "You should go," she said quietly.

His gaze was a bit unfocused, like someone who had just woke up. "Yeah. I'll call you tomorrow," he replied. He took her hand, the one that was resting against his cheek, in his, and pressed his lips against it in a soft kiss. He flashed a tiny grin at her. "Good night."

She didn't reply, just watched him as he left the suite, until he disappeared around the corner. She closed the door and leaned against it, releasing the breath she didn't even realize she was holding.

The next morning went by in a haze. She wasn't sure how she managed to appear professional in her morning meeting, because her mind was anywhere but on the matter ahead. Mostly she was thinking back of the previous evening. Libby didn't stop talking about Mark from the moment she woke up, and it made her happy how fond of him she had become after just one day. It was hard not to like him, really, and he was so amazing with her. He seemed taken by Libby as well. But that moment right before he left... It kind of scared her, mostly because she wasn't sure what it meant, if it meant anything at all.

It was relatively warm outside, the nicest weather since her arrival, and so when she had an hour to kill following her meeting, she grabbed some coffee and a blueberry muffin and found refuge in Bryant Park, on a bench overlooking the Chrysler Building. She sat there admiring the elegant skyscraper, happy with the lack of responsibilities that came with simple observation. All this mingling was getting to her; she was in desperate need of some alone time, and a bit of sun.

Her cell phone rang just as she broke her muffin in two. Sighing, she glanced at the screen, thinking it would be one of her colleagues. She didn't recognize the number, but accepted the call anyway. "Hello?"

"Maureen?"

She sat a little straighter, as if he could somehow see her, then mentally scolded herself for her stupidity. She didn't think she'd hear from Mark so soon. The previous evening, when she pretty much rejected him, she feared she'd hurt him. Of course, she had done that countless times before, but now she actually cared. "Hey," she said, as casually as she could.

"Is this a good time?"

"I'm having coffee in Bryant Park. Why haven't I been here before?"

"You were too busy ruling Avenue A, I guess," he chuckled softly. "You should check out the library, it's incredible."

"I'll add it to my list, thanks."

There was a pause. Mark cleared his throat, as if he too was debating whether or not to bring up the previous evening. She thought he was maybe waiting for her to apologize, or explain, but she didn't know what she could say. First she'd have to explain all that to herself, she rationalized.

But whatever happened, she still wanted to see him again. There were still things to say; things she couldn't tell him in Libby's presence. She decided she should just ask. Worst case, he'd just turn her down. "Are we still on for tonight?"

"When did we say anything about canceling it?" Yeah, that was more like Mark, pretending nothing at all had happened. "Around eight thirty?"

"Great. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise," he replied; it sounded as if he was smiling.

"Oh, don't do that to me, you know I don't like surprises," she laughed. "What am I supposed to wear if it's a surprise?"

"Not something you'd wear for work. Unless you want to be an easy target for odd looks."

If that was supposed to be a clue, she wasn't any wiser by it. "Where are you taking me?"

He laughed softly. "You'll see. I'll be there on eight thirty."

"Fine. See you then."

"But why can't I come too?" protested Libby for what felt like the hundredth time. She sat in the middle of the bed in her flannel Hello Kitty pajama, hugging her teddybear close to her chest, and looked resentfully at her mother.

"Because it's way passed your bedtime, Munchkin. Why are you still up?"

"Because I want to see Mark!"

"Who is this guy anyway?" asked Robin, who was kneeling by a suitcase in the corner, looking for a book she and Libby could read. "And how come your daughter is head over heels in love with him?"

"He's an old friend. That's all." Well, not exactly, but she didn't feel like explaining the whole story to Robin. Surely not with Libby around. "Anyway, he should be here soon, so what do you think? Wool or leather?" She was wearing a soft black sweater and her favorite jeans. She knew the smarter choice would be the wool trench coat she usually wore for work, but she'd packed her brown leather jacket as an afterthought, and it seemed like the perfect opportunity to don it. And Mark had specifically instructed to not wear something she'd wear for work.

"You'll probably freeze to death in the leather, but you'll look hot wearing it, so," said Robin winking.

She rolled her eyes but slipped into the jacket, then looked in the mirror doubtfully. "I can always wear a scarf." She looked at Libby through the mirror. "Munchkin, what do you think?"

"You look pretty, Mommy!" Libby confirmed enthusiastically, clapping her hands and making both women smile.

"Right, so leather jacket it is," she said, just as a knock was heard on the main door.

"He's here! He's here!" exclaimed Libby, all but launching herself out of the room.

Robin raised her eyebrow at her; she pretended not to notice. "Libby, you can't just open a door without knowing who is on the other side. Ask who is it."

"Who is it?" imitated Libby, who was standing in front of the door.

"It's Mark." His voice was muffled by the door.

"Mommy, it's Mark, can I open the door now?"

"Yes, you can," she said, smiling despite herself.

Mark was standing on the doorway, his face wearing that hesitant expression. She could recognize it from miles away. But then it slowly faded as Libby threw her arms around his knees, which was the highest she could go. He almost toppled backward with surprise.

"Hey little one, aren't you supposed to be in bed?" he asked her, smiling, ruffling her hair a bit.

"We couldn't stop her."

"Reminds me of someone I used to know," he said, looking up from her daughter straight at her. For a second, she was speechless; then she snapped out of it and turned her attention to Robin, who was watching the scene from the entrance to the hallway.

"Robin, this is Mark. Mark, Robin is Libby's babysitter."

"Nice to meet you," said Mark. He couldn't even shake her hand properly; Libby was still all over him.

"Same here," smiles Robin. "You're all Libby talks about," she added, making him blush.

"Okay, Munchkin, now say goodnight, it's bedtime for you."

"Oh wait, I've got something for her," said Mark all of a sudden, reaching for the inner pocket of his coat.

He got her something? She glanced at Robin; it was easy to guess what the younger woman was thinking. Too cute to be true. "You shouldn't have – " she started to protest. There was a glimmer in Libby's eyes as he handed her a small parcel, wrapped in a colorful paper. She looked at her mother hesitantly, as is she wasn't sure she was allowed to take it. "What do we say, Libby?"

"Thank you," whispered Libby, suddenly shy. She slowly unwrapped her present to reveal… what was that? For a second, she thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. Then she looked at Mark, and by that mischievous spark in his eyes she knew they weren't. She burst out laughing. It was a Christmas ornament shaped like a cow with a bell around its neck.

"For your tree," he said, nodding towards their tree in the corner. "Your mom used to love cows back in the day," he told Libby.

"I still do." How could he possibly remember that? She completely forgot until she saw that cow. Only thing to do is jump over the moon. That protest felt like forever ago.

"Ready to go?" he asked, shaking her out of her reverie.

"Yeah, just a sec." She knelt next to Libby, who was still fascinated by her gift. "Goodnight, Munchkin, give me a kiss." Libby kissed her nose, then gave her a hug. "Don't stay up too late."

"Okay."

"Bye, Libby. Robin, it was nice meeting you," said Mark, letting her walk passed him outside.

He told her to wait as he hailed a taxi and chatted with the driver for a second. She stuffed her chin into her scarf. It was biting cold. Just when she thought she should go back up and fetch her more sensible coat, he beckoned her forward and opened the taxi's door for her. It was much warmer inside, thankfully. As the taxi headed downtown, she was trying to talk him into telling her where they were headed, but he only grinned mischievously, being all secretive about it. It wasn't until they got to their final destination when it finally dawned on her where they were. She stared at him in disbelief as he paid the driver, then followed him outside. She looked at the street, somewhat familiar and yet not at all.

"Do you come here often?" she asked Mark as he held the door to the Life Café open for her.

"Not as often as I would like, these days," he replied. "Work's been crazy lately. But I like coming here every now and again. The owners changed a couple of times. But you know, it's still the same old Life."

"Only now they actually let us in," she remarked in a whisper as they followed a waiter to a side table.

She raised her head from the menu to look around the crowded café. Everyone seemed to mind their own business. Christmas songs were playing softly in the background. There were no joined tables, no crazy groups to jump over those tables and celebrate life and love and simply being. Was the place different, or was it just her? For a second she could see them in her mind's eye, that night after her protest. That night was a turning point of sorts, a night of new beginnings; beginnings that inevitably led to endings.

"Mo?" Her head snapped up to the sound of her old nickname, spoken softly. A different waiter was standing next to their table, waiting to take their orders. After he left, Mark eyed her with concern. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. It's just... weird being back here."

"We can leave if you want," he said hesitantly. "I mean, we just ordered, but we could always make a run for it."

"No," she smiled at him. "I meant weird in a good way." She shook her head, chuckling. "I still can't believe it was your gallery."

"I still can't believe you just showed up there."

And then, all of a sudden, she remembered the reason for her return. "Is she your girlfriend or something?"

"What? Who?"

"I didn't just show up at the gallery the evening we met. I was there the day before. There was this woman, she told me she helped a friend run the place. She's the reason I returned, sort of."

There was this spark of recognition in his eyes, but at the same time he looked puzzled. "You mean Tammy? No, she's not my girlfriend; I mean, we dated a couple of times, but we're not… it's not... What do you mean she's the reason you returned? She told you I would be there?"

"Not exactly. She said her friend who owned the gallery would be there the next day. I didn't know she meant you. She never mentioned you by name."

So he told her about the circumstances in which Tammy became an inseparable part of his life, then about some other failing relationships he had had through the years. She told him about some of hers. When she jokingly mentioned Joanne, he covered his ears and started humming until she stopped. Then their orders arrived, and their conversation took a more serious turn as he told her about his whereabouts on 9/11. They were on her mind in the aftermath of the attacks, when the size of loss and devastation was slowly unfolding. Of course, she only learned now that Collins was already gone and wasn't there to witness that; there was some comfort in that, at least. Mark and Roger spent the first several nights uptown with one of Mark's colleagues, away from the dust and the horror. It was a bit surreal to hear him speak of it now, safe and sound across from her. She mentally added the World Trade Center to her ever-growing list of places to visit before she returned to San Francisco.

When he began asking her more personal questions, they were all vague, as if he didn't dare asking what he really wanted to know. And it was easy to guess what that was. "Look, Mark, it's fine. You can just ask it," she told him eventually.

"What are you talking about?" There was surprise in his voice, as if he didn't expect her to be on to him.

"I know what you want to know, and I'm fine with it. Don't offend me by assuming you had me fooled. I'm on to your scheme, Mark Cohen." She tried to make light of the situation, but he didn't seem so amused. "Just go ahead and ask it," she added, almost pleading with him now. She just wanted this issue out of the way.

He looked as if he was about to protest again, but then he changed his mind and looked at her seriously. "Did he even know her?"

She didn't know why she was surprised. Probably because she assumed he wouldn't associate Libby with the story of her ex-husband. She assumed he would think Libby was an accident, the result of a one-night stand that went too far. Well, maybe he did think that, but decided to phrase his question as politely as he could.

She didn't look away from him as she replied. "He didn't want her. We weren't married long when I got pregnant. We didn't plan on having kids so soon. He tried to persuade me to get rid of it, said we weren't ready yet. And when talking wasn't enough, he tried some other ways."

She wasn't ready to share the gory details, not even with Mark; thinking back of it made her shiver, even after all this time. "It wasn't long before I got rid of him." She would always remember the night Libby was born. As she held her sleeping newborn, it wasn't horror at her new status as a single mother that washed over her, but an enormous sense of gratitude. Her baby girl was unharmed. She was all that mattered.

She peeked at Mark over the rim of her coffee mug. He looked shaken. He hesitated, then said, "It isn't like you to marry someone like that in the first place."

She chuckled darkly, having heard that before by her mother, who had become twice as protective once she signed the divorce papers and decided to raise Libby alone. She couldn't explain it without it sounding like some sort of lame excuse. She truly believed at the time Andy was different. "I believed I loved him. Maybe I did, for a while. And I wanted to have a family, to do something right with my life for a change. The only good thing that came out of all this shit was Libby. I don't know what I'd do without her," she said honestly. His expression remained unreadable. "I know what you must be thinking. Maureen Johnson, a mother? What a laugh."

Mark shook his head in protest. "That's not what I was thinking at all. She's incredible, and you're raising her all by yourself, somehow along with a demanding job and with your parents living across the country. This is something people should be proud of, not laugh at."

She was feeling stupid for even suspecting he would treat her with scorn. Didn't she know anything? "This is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever told me about this whole issue." He smiled, but seemed embarrassed by the compliment. He was blushing ever so slightly. It was just like old times, she thought fondly; she could always count on Mark to say just the right thing. "How do you do it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Even when we were together, you always knew exactly what to say to make me feel better."

"I cared about you. I care about you now. I don't do anything, really, I'm just being honest."

"And I went out of my way to treat you like shit." To have this dawn on her now, with the changes she had undergone and the shift in her priorities, was rather painful. What sort of a person was she? What gave her the right to hurt him like she had? "I was so mean to you," she whispered, now ashamed of the old version of her. She looked up at him pleadingly. "Will you even forgive me?"

For a second, his expression was sealed, and she was bracing herself for a nasty remark, or a downright refusal. But once again, she should have known better. A moment later a slow smile appeared on his face. "I have forgiven you."

From that point on, the conversation took a lighter note. He told her funny stories about Roger and Collins, things that happened after she left. She laughed in all the right places, but the truth was they saddened her more than she would ever admit to Mark. She knew they could have been funnier if she was a part of them, which she wasn't. The one thing they did not talk about was what happened, or nearly happened, right before Mark left the previous night. It was as if there was this line that both of them were careful not to cross, a wordless agreement to never mention it.

They talked literally all the way back to the hotel. He walked her upstairs, just as he did the night before, and waited until she opened the door.

"Do you… want to come in?" She wasn't even sure where the question came from. He looked surprised as well, but nodded and followed her inside. It was warm inside the suite, and quiet. Robin must have been fallen asleep. It happened before, when one of her dinner meetings got delayed. When she returned to the hotel, she found Robin and Libby fast asleep side by side in the suite's second bedroom.

She held a finger to her lips and led the way to the sofa. They sat facing one another, eyeing each other a bit shyly. "I had a really great time tonight," she said, then chuckled when she realized that she told him the same thing the day before. "Man, I gotta stop saying that."

"Then I guess we both lose points for originality. I had a great time too."

His hand was resting on the seat between them. She covered it with her own hand, then laced their fingers together without thinking too much of it. If the motion surprised him, he showed no signs of it; he just squeezed their joined hands a little, and smiled softly at her.

"When are you leaving for Scarsdale?"

"Tomorrow, as early as I can."

"You're not driving there," she half said, half asked him.

"No, not a chance. I hate driving in Manhattan," he said, pretending to shiver. "Plus, traffic will be a nightmare, Christmas Eve and all that. I'm taking a train from uptown, it's much more efficient." He paused, then said hesitantly, "Maybe we can do something on New Year, if you want."

"Yeah, I'd love that." She looked into his eyes and there it was again. Just like the other night. The air itself was charged with it. Well, this time she wouldn't back away, she decided. With his gaze still locked on hers, he was leaning closer, or was she the one moving closer? It didn't even seem to matter. He reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, then kept his hand against her cheek. His breath was soft and warm against the skin of her neck. Her lips parted ever so slightly; as if that was the approval he'd sought, he leaned in and let his lips graze hers with the slightest touch –

"Maureen?"

Mark pulled back immediately, and even in the dimming light she knew he was blushing. Robin came in from the hallway, looking disoriented. She blinked into the semi-darkness.

"Hey, Robin. Sorry, did we wake you?"

"I thought I heard voices... I didn't realize I fell asleep." She shook her head, as if hoping the motion would sober her up somewhat. "Did you guys have a good time?"

"We had a great time, yeah. How's Libby?"

"She was determined to wait up for you, of course. She didn't last half an hour," replied Robin, smiling fondly.

"I'd better go," said Mark, standing up. She walked him to the door without a protest. Although Robin was discreet and kept her distance, she could feel eyes on them.

"Bye, Mark, thanks for everything."

"I'll be in touch. Merry Christmas," he murmured. He leaned over to kiss her cheek, lingering a second longer than was probably appropriate. Then he waved his goodbye to Robin and left. She closed the door slowly, avoiding making eye contact with Robin for as long as she could.

"I hope I wasn't interrupting anything," said Robin. She had that tone. And of course, as she turned to look at her, she had that smug expression on.

"No, of course not." Well, actually...

"Because he's kind of cute. I think I want one. Like, if older guys were my thing."

"Hey, he's my age! I'm not that older than you!"

"I see what you're doing, but you won't get away with it, you know. Libby's asleep."

"Which means you're free to give me the third degree?"

"You won't find another babysitter in such short notice, so I know you can't fire me."

She mock-groaned, but knew Robin had a point. And she had been so evasive about it; she had to give the poor girl something. "Fine, what do you want to know?"

"Where did you find him?"

"I told you, he's an old friend." Robin rolled her eyes. "Back when I lived in the East Village, we used to date. But then things happened… and I dumped him."

"Oh, poor thing. And now?"

"And now," she echoed, but had no idea how to finish. Now what?