by Olivia Hayle
I’d given them a very simple response. “Make it as painful as possible.”
The legal fees would be worth it—more than worth it—if it could discredit this thing. I see Faye’s face in front of me daily, the look in her eyes when she said how this made her feel, and I feel nothing but shame. She’s amazing, and smart, and strong, and talented… proud and funny. And this job, and us together, had somehow broken that spirit.
She still doesn’t answer when I call.
So I give her even more space, as one week turns into two. I go to the gym in the mornings. I sit through excruciating interviews with new assistants, but none of them are Faye, and none of them could be. It’s unfair of me to compare, and despite it, I see her in all of them. It serves no one.
I receive the new model for the opera house with the changes that Faye and I worked on. Curving steel, combined with thick timber. It’s gorgeous. It’s truly an abstract violin now. The shape flows beautifully, a ready-to-build monument. It’s the best piece I’ve ever designed, and it’s better because of Faye.
The longer I look at it, the clearer the touches she added become. The beam at the bottom. The increased stage space. Her specific ideas were never mere additions; they were fundamental. They altered it entirely, making it stronger. Some of the changes were a combined effort. I remember when we discussed the curve on the outer beams—we had both been excited, referencing some of the early ’20s work in Manhattan as our inspiration—and sketched it out together.
She’s not a junior architect on this project. She’s an executive. And that’s the way I credit her, when I submit the application. Architects: Henry Marchand and Faye Alvarez.
On the third week post-Faye, I drive to Paradise Shores for the weekend. Lily and Hayden are back from their honeymoon and both Rhys and Parker are in town. The entire weekend is miserable. The Frida, which had been my family’s refuge for so long, reminds me of Faye. Staying in my sister’s spare house reminds me of Faye. Playing rummy reminds me of Faye.
It’s not made better by my siblings asking about her all the damn time.
Sitting on the porch in the July sun, they’re relentless. “Why didn’t you bring her this weekend?” Parker pushes.
I glare at him, but don’t answer. What is there to say? I fucked it up?
My youngest brother rolls his eyes at me. “You were more fun when she was around.”
Lily frowns. “Don’t mock him. He’s clearly upset about the whole situation.”
“Henry doesn’t get upset. That would require feelings.” Rhys throws in his final hand. “And I win again.”
I toss down my own cards, the loss souring my mood even further. She’d fit in here like a glove, by my side, giving as good as she got on every topic. Even my father—who barely spoke to me after the Chicago incident—commented on her absence. He called her that girl, but he had grunted in displeasure when I said she hadn’t joined this time. Mentally, I wondered if she ever would again, or if I’d ruined everything by going too fast.
It’s late when I finally drain my whiskey and decide to go home. Parker has already gone to bed, and Rhys has long since retreated into himself, lying on his back to stargaze. Lily is watching him fondly, leaning into Hayden. They’ve been different since the wedding. Closer, if that’s even possible.
I sigh as I watch them. Easy companionship. It wasn’t always easy for them, I know that now. Part of that was probably our fault—the entire nosy family. But now, with his arm around my sister and his eyes filled with quiet adoration, I know Lily couldn’t have chosen a better husband.
And I need to get out of here, before I’m reminded even more of the woman I’d found and let slip through my fingers. For a few days, we’d had… oh, hell if I knew. Something that felt like everything.
Lily quietly extricates herself from Hayden’s arm. “I’ll follow you out,” she says, as if I don’t know the blueprint of her house, having designed the remodel.
She’s unusually quiet. “Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Yeah, everything’s fine. But Henry… are you fine?”
Not this again. I nod. “Yeah.”
“Did you two break up?”
I don’t know if it’s because it’s just her and me, or the whiskey, or the late hour, but I nod. I must look as miserable as I feel, because Lily’s eyes soften.
“Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It was my fault.”
“I find that very hard to believe.” Her eyes hold the same tint of hero-worship they used to have when she was a child, and I was lifting her up on my shoulders, or later, teaching her how to drive stick. It makes the guilt roil in my stomach.
“She was my assistant at work. Not my girlfriend.”
I wait for the admonition, but it doesn’t come. Lily just nods. I narrow my eyes at her in suspicion. “Did you know?”
“No.” A faint pause. “I suspected. She mentioned something about the two of you not being serious, and then I did some internet research. She’s listed as one of your company’s employees.”
I groan. “Lily.”
“Faye and I spoke about you, briefly.” She puts a hand on my arm. “I basically asked her what she felt about you, when we had dinner.”
“You were supposed to give her a house tour!”
“Yes, well, you know how I get.”
I run a hand over my jaw. “Yeah, I do.”
“She was… worried that you didn’t care for her?”
“She said that?”
My sister’s hesitation says it all. “Well, that’s what she meant. And I told her that Henry Marchand doesn’t do half-measures. That if you’re bringing her here, it’s because you like her. We’ve never met any of your girlfriends before! I tried to put her at ease.”
“She was worried about that? That I wasn’t really interested?”
“Yeah.” Lily shoots me a look that says this should be obvious to me. “It’s not hard to imagine why. She was basically considering getting together with her boss, Henry. It’s not exactly recommended.”
“I know that. Hell, I do. That’s what ended the whole thing.”
“I think she wanted to know if it was worth it. I told her that you were.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly. Lily is staring up at me with determination, her small frame set in a mixture of frustration and unwavering belief. For so many years, I was the one who held us together as siblings, but she’s always been the beating heart.
“Now, Henry Edward Marchand, was I right? Will you work hard for what you want, and for those you care about? Were you worth her taking a risk?”
Faye’s expression comes back to me. Her anger at Kyle, at the situation. At the uncertainty I’d helped create. I’d given her space without a second thought. It had been what she asked for, and I’d respected that.
But maybe I’d been too fast with it. There were still things between us that needed to be said—and things I need to make clear.
I wrap an arm around my little sister, who leans into me with complete trust, as she always has. Her head barely comes to my shoulder. “Thanks, Lils.”
“Of course.” She looks like something is on the tip of her tongue, eyes expectant, but then she shakes her head. “Go and get Faye back, and then bring her back for another weekend here. I want us to go sailing together with Hayden.”
“I will,” I say, backing away from her. She’s framed by the porch light, and in her white summer dress, she looks like an angel. “I love you, Lils!”
“I love you too!” she calls back. “Go get your girl!”
Back in the cottage, I sit down and write a letter. I write down everything that could have been a potential point of miscommunication between Faye and me. Everything is detailed. As soon as I get back to New York, I’ll drop it by her mailbox. I don’t know if it’ll be enough, but it’s a start, and I’ll refuse to stop from there.
29
Faye
I stare at the envelope. It had been waitin
g for me in the mailbox this morning. There’s no stamp, only my name on the front, written in his handwriting. Faye. He must have hand delivered it. He’d been that close—just downstairs—and I hadn’t known. I’d been here in my apartment, stress cleaning or ironing or doing whatever other semi-productive thing I could during the days, waiting for my work contract with Rykers to start.
I don’t know what I would have done if I knew he’d been downstairs, to be honest. If he’d texted me and asked me to come down. I’d have been panicked, of course. Excited. I want to see him—it’s like an itch under my skin, the lack of communication between us, even if I’m the one initiating it.
Am I being a fool for needing space?
The envelope is lying innocently on my coffee table. Despite my staring, it’s not giving me any answers. Jess, who has taken to staying over several times a week, gives me a disapproving shake of the head. “Are you actually going to open it? You’ve been staring at it for half an hour.”
“I’m not sure I want to know what it says.”
She sits down opposite me. “What do you want it to say?”
I look at the envelope again, at my name scribbled across the top. He’d called several times after I walked out of his office. I hadn’t answered a single time.
“I don’t know,” I say.
She shoots me a crooked smile, like she doesn’t believe me. “You want it to make things better between the two of you.”
“Yes. But I can’t see how it could. What happened…”
“Was seriously messed up,” she fills in. “And it’s perfectly understandable that you’re still upset about it.”
“Yes.”
“Your self-confidence was hurt.”
“Yes,” I say again, weaker now.
Jess leans forward and puts a hand on my knee. She’s just put a loaf of bread into my oven, and the scent in my apartment is divine. Thank God for being in-between jobs when you also have a best friend who mostly works nights.
“And I get why. We both do. But what happened wasn’t like with Elliot Ferris. Henry didn’t try to cut you out of his project. He didn’t imply to companies around the city that you made improper advances. He is suing that asshole for slander.”
“I know that.”
“You do rationally, but you’re in exactly the same state as after you were fired from Ferris. Worse, actually.”
I roll my eyes. “Thanks.”
“I’m a harsh friend, I know. But you love it, and frankly, you need it at the moment. This whole thing hit you right where you’re weakest. Punished for your ambition. Your looks made out to be something dirty. And Henry and you… well, I’m guessing you allowed yourself to be vulnerable with him. And then it all came crashing down, and the issues are mixing in your head, when they’re actually very separate things.”
I look up at the ceiling and feel hollow inside, like I’ve been emptied completely. “When did you get so wise, huh?”
There’s a smile in her voice. “People talk to bartenders a lot. More than they should, probably. And I’ve known you a long time.”
“I know what I don’t want the letter to say. That he’s saying goodbye for real.”
“See? Progress!” The sofa dips as she sits down next to me. “Do you miss him?”
“Of course I do.”
“From what you’ve told me, he was very concerned about not crossing any lines, right?”
“Yes.” I think of his body against mine, of my promise to him that I wouldn’t regret sleeping together, that I was in this with him. I had messed this up, too. Other memories flood back. His laughter as we walked along the beach. His hair wet from the ocean. He’d let me into a piece of his world, his mind, his soul. And when we were found out, I’d retreated.
“I’ve been an idiot. Not news, exactly.”
“No, you’ve been afraid. There’s a difference.” Jess nods at the coffee table. “And I think it’s time you stop.”
She’s right. I need to find the version of me who sent a drunken application letter to a high prestige architecture firm. Who showed up to the interview determined to take any chance she got. I reach for the envelope, pulling out the letter with a trembling hand. It’s long, written in Henry’s neat hand.
My heart is a war drum in my chest as my eyes scan through it. “Oh,” I sigh in relief. “It’s good.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Maybe I still have a shot.”
“Of course you do. He’s wanted you since you two met. Tell me what it says.”
So I read it out loud, Henry’s words filling my small apartment.
Faye,
I’m glad you’re reading this, that you didn’t throw my letter out, and with it any chance of us. Thank you for that.
You’ve asked for distance, and I’ve tried being respectful of that. But I also want to make a few things very, very clear. Maybe these are things you’ve been thinking about and maybe not. But for a long time, you and I communicated in riddles and games. That’s been more fun than I can express, but this is too important for that.
I did not hire you for any other reason than I thought you had potential, and I didn’t like the idea of Elliot Ferris getting away with ruining someone’s career. I did not hire you to piss him off. I did not bring you to the Founders’ Gala to show you off to him. Most importantly, I did not hire you to sleep with you.
Nothing ever happened between my previous assistant and me. She got too attached, and I felt it interfered with her ability to do her job effectively. I informed her about it, and she agreed, deciding it would be best to end her contract. She left with an excellent recommendation.
You have asked me repeatedly why I invited you to my sister’s wedding, and why I agreed to the contract with you. The truth is simple. I wanted your company. That was selfish, I’ll admit, and I’ll never forgive myself for the way it ended. I regret what it led to, with that picture. But I can’t find it in myself to regret the weekend itself or what happened between us, and I hope you don’t either.
I’m sorry for not making that clear earlier. For not being more careful. For hiring Kyle all those years ago. For not letting you know that the risk you were taking was worth it—that I always wanted something long-term with you. I’m sorry for not following you out of the office the day you left. For not giving you enough space afterwards, or for giving you too much space. I know I’ve fucked up, Faye, and if you want to yell at me for it, you know where I live. You’re very welcome.
I would very much like to be a part of your life going forward, and I’ll accept whatever terms you set for me. Give me a contract if you want—I’ll sign it blindly.
PS. Rykers has kept me informed about your employment. I understand you’re starting your new job next week. I’d wish you good luck, but I know you won’t need it. You’re the most talented architect I know.
Henry
I release another shaky breath and lean my head back on the couch, closing my eyes again. He addressed every single point I’d been thinking about, even the banal ones, the small ones, that I hadn’t been able to get out of my mind at night.
Jess was right. This wasn’t the Elliot Ferris situation all over again. We weren’t doomed because of the way things went down at the office. With the exception of Terri and Rykers, I wasn’t planning on seeing most of those people again. Who cared what they thought? Kyle was an asshole, but in the end, he wasn’t right at all.
Henry and I had begun as a mess. Messier than either of us were used to, and far too messy for my taste. A forbidden office romance. Assistant-boss relations. Project deadlines, co-workers, family.
But that didn’t mean the connection we had was a lie. It had just happened inconveniently. And when had inconvenience stopped either of us from going after what we wanted in life? Suddenly, all of my feelings of shame or fear make no sense at all.
“Well?” Jess prompts. “What do you feel?”
“Like I need a shower and a plan.”
Her smil
e is glorious. “You’re going to see him?”
“If he’ll see me, yes. Hell, even if he won’t, I’ll make him.”
I don’t let myself overthink it, either. That’s been my mistake for these past few weeks, when I’ve been stuck in my head and in my memories. I fish out my phone from behind a cushion and find his number immediately. The last text we’d exchanged was mine, when I’d told him I needed space nearly three weeks ago. Looking at it now makes me feel uneasy. Yes, there had been a power imbalance between us, but we’d spent a weekend together… and then I’d pulled away without any explanation.
I text him a single, simple sentence.
Faye Alvarez: Can I see you today?
To my infinite pride, I don’t toss my phone away from me, either. I put it down calmly on the coffee table and bow to Jess’s theatrical little applause.
“Now, off to the shower,” I declare, and she shoots me a thumbs up. One-quarter of my deep conditioner later, I emerge to freshly baked bread and Jess smiling from ear to ear. “He responded,” she says.
“He did?”
“Yes. Your phone beeped and I looked. You know I can’t help myself.” She hands me the phone and I read the response, just as sparse as mine.
Henry Marchand: Yes. I can come over?
Something inside me relaxes, at the same time as new nerves emerge. He’s never been in my apartment.
Faye Alvarez: Meet me in Brooklyn. Let’s take a walk?
It’s the coward’s way out, but he agrees, and we set a time. I put my phone down and look over at Jess, who is still smiling at me. “I can’t wait to meet him,” she says.
“Jess!”
“Not today, of course. But from the way he sounds, and the way you’re all in knots over him… I’ll meet him one day.” She opens my fridge in search of butter. “Of that I have no doubt. You two are basically soulmates.”
I watch her in silence as she cuts two thick slices of bread for us both. Her words are hyperbolic, but they’re spoken with sincerity, and something in them rings true. With Aiden, I never had this feeling, the desire to integrate our lives into one. To share our friends, our family. I’d met Henry’s entire family before we’d ever even shared a bed. And every step of it had felt right.
