Our Unscripted Story

by L. A. Fiore

  “It’s been what, four and a half years? You must be crawling out of your skin in anticipation.”

  “Yes, and I’m scared too.”

  She understood. “You’re afraid it won’t be like you remember.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s not a bad thing. You’re still carrying a torch for him and I get that because I saw you together, but if it is different you can let him go. Move on with your life, find love again.”

  She was right and yet instinct was to argue against her words.

  “Call me. I want to know everything.”

  “I miss you, Paige.”

  “I miss you.”

  Greyson’s show was in two days and I had nothing to wear. Walking down Fifth Avenue, the bite of cold felt good. The Christmas season was in full swing; the streets were crowded with tourists, the hustle and bustle of the city slowed as crowds clogged the flow, stopping to snap photos and memories.

  I slipped into Bergdorfs. It was pricey for me, but then this was a very special occasion. An associate offered me assistance, but I didn’t want to feel obligated to talk to her. The truth was my imagination had been scripting Greyson and my reunion since I received the invitation. Despite knowing we were over, it had been years since we’d seen each other and we’d been more than sweethearts. I missed him.

  I had a fluttering in my chest; anticipation at the thought of being in the same room with him again, but there was another emotion twisting around in me too. What if he didn’t remember me? I wasn’t sure how I’d handle that, him seeing through me instead of into me like he used to. My hand shook a bit as I touched the silky fabric of a gown. What if everything I was clinging to he wasn’t? What if I was nothing more to him than just an old girlfriend? Then I’d do what Paige suggested. I’d leave him in the past, a memory that I could pull out from time to time. I would move on.

  I looked in the mirror this way then that, the image staring back was quite a bit different than the one at sixteen. I’d never be a Debbie, but I had curves now. I loved the dress I’d picked out, the embroidered top with a deep V neckline and tulle skirt. I felt pretty, a bit like Cinderella heading to the ball. I was nervous, my heart beating in a staccato rhythm and hard enough it hurt. I had to calm down. I probably wouldn’t even see him and if I did, it was doubtful I’d get a chance to talk to him. He was the featured artist; he’d be swamped with critics and collectors and groupies. He had groupies; the tabloids weren’t shy about posting those pictures. Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my coat and clutch and headed downstairs for a cab.

  Limos pulled up along the curb in front of the gallery. Old iron gas lanterns lit the front door as the beautiful people made their way inside. My legs felt wooden as I walked over the threshold. It was a good thing I hadn’t eaten because I wouldn’t have been able to keep it down. I checked my coat before walking into the main room of the gallery. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their ambient light perfect for viewing art. My breath stilled as my eyes roamed around the room. Nerves fled as I soaked in Greyson’s creations—oil and pastel landscapes, sculptures created in copper, iron and clay. There was no distinct style; each piece was unique and exquisite. One landscape beautifully captured the whimsy of Ireland with its rolling hills of green and majestic cliffs as they were battered by the violent surf, the spray so life-like I believed if I reached out and touched it, my fingers would come back wet. His home. I made my way through the exhibit studying his pieces and wishing I had been with him, the man he became to create such beauty. One painting had my heart moving into my throat. I stepped closer. It was me on the day I met Greyson. He didn’t paint portraits and yet here I was among his works. Love washed over me. I studied the painting, how he saw me. I was beautiful in his eyes. Then I saw the caption next to the painting and both my heart and eyes filled. It wasn’t for sale, a part of the artist’s private collection.

  I listened to those around me discussing his technique and compositions. Theorizing on his motivation and inspiration and I nearly burst with pride. This room was filled to capacity and every single one of them had come to see Greyson. He’d done it; he had made his dream a reality.

  Heat sizzled down my spine; nostalgia swept through me. It had been too long since I felt that sweet burn. Turning, my breath caught when I saw him. Melancholy replaced nostalgia at the reminder that he wasn’t my Greyson anymore. His hair was still short and spiky. He was taller, wider in the shoulders and dressed in a beautiful tux. It was his eyes though that had changed the most. I wouldn’t say he was cynical, but he was shrewd—a man who’d learned through experiences that life wasn’t fair. I saw very little of the boy I fell in love with, the boy who was my first kiss, my first love and my first heartbreak. And still I willed him to see me, to feel me like he had in our youth. He didn’t. He laughed; the sound carried across the room and settled happily in my chest. Cameras flashed, voices called out his name; papers were thrust in front of him to sign. He posed with a few people, that easy smile I hadn’t seen in far too long curving his lips. He looked good in this new life; he belonged there. I then saw the leggy blonde walking with him—the same one from the magazine, the one with lavender eyes—her adoration as she stared up at him, his when he looked down at her. I knew we were over, had been for years, but seeing in the flesh the evidence that he had moved on was painful. Suddenly I felt out of place. I wasn’t part of this world. I really was Cinderella playing dress up for the night, but the clock was getting ready to strike midnight and my outer coverings would disappear exposing the real me. The one who was an outsider in his new life.

  I shouldn’t have come. Even wishing to keep my promise, I shouldn’t have come. Sometimes it was best to keep the past in the past because you couldn’t go back, and second chances rarely lived up to the memories you were clinging to. Greyson didn’t belong to me anymore; he belonged to them. I really did have to let him go. It was with a heavy heart that I turned from him and walked out.

  My chest ached; my lungs struggled to pull in breath. The lights of the city blurred as tears filled my eyes. I was happy for him, I truly was. The tears were for me because I’d lost another person in my life and I didn’t even have a picture of us to keep in my bedside table.

  I didn’t go right home. I wandered around for a while. One day the memories wouldn’t bring pain. It had only been nine months, but we had jammed a lot into those months. I wondered how his grandfather was, wondered if his new girl had seen their home in Ireland? Had he painted her? Did he call her his girl? That caused an ache in my chest. I wasn’t his girl anymore, but that endearment was mine.

  I stopped on my way back to my apartment for some ice cream therapy. The sundae at the local diner where I worked wasn’t as good as the one from Dee and Mel’s, but then nothing was ever as good as home. A few people stared, dressed as I was eating a sundae in a diner in the middle of the night. I’d go home, curl up in bed, have a good cry and do the whole moving on thing in the morning. Reaching my apartment, I was digging into my purse for my keys—in my misery I didn’t have them in my hand like I usually did. I didn’t see the figure in the shadows until I was almost on top of him. The scream caught in my throat when Greyson stepped into the light. There was a part of me that thought he was a hallucination; then he spoke.

  “Hello, Alexis.”

  My breath caught, he literally took my breath away. My eyes that hadn’t stopped burning started to tear again. It all came back; the onslaught of memories was overwhelming.

  “You kept your promise.”

  I stared, not quite believing he was there; so close I could touch him.

  “Why did you leave?”

  For a hallucination, he sure was inquisitive. When he didn’t vanish and continued to stare expectantly, I questioned if he was a hallucination. “You knew I was there?”

  “Who do you think sent you the invitation?”

  A smile pulled at my mouth because that sounded like the Greyson I knew.

 
; “Why did you leave, Alexis?”

  He really was here; he’d left his show to follow me. That felt really good. Wait. He left his show. “Why did you leave your show?”

  He smiled and my heart stopped. I’d missed that smile. “They’ve had me for every second of the last four and a half years. They’ll deal.”

  And your girlfriend? I couldn’t seem to ask that.

  “It’s been a long time. Can we go somewhere and catch up?”

  There was nowhere else I’d rather be. “I would really like that.”

  He hailed a cab and once we were settled he gave the cabbie the name of an upscale speakeasy that I didn’t think we had a chance in hell of getting into. Like in our youth, he could read my mind.

  “The owner bought a painting, extended an open invitation.” He settled back on the seat, taking a moment to study me. “Is New York everything you hoped it would be?”

  Even with all the emotions I’d felt over the last few hours, being with him felt natural. The nerves that had plagued me all night were gone. “I love it here. There is so much going on, the culture and the people. I can’t tell you how many journals I’ve filled. I miss home, Paige and the family, the twins, but I do love New York.”

  “How is the gang?”

  “Paige and Grant had another daughter, Heather. She’s two. Tara and Mandy are eight and seven, third and second grade respectively.”

  “Wow, that’s a little scary. And the twins?”

  “They’re at Berkley. One day I fear they will take over the world. They’re too smart for their own good.”

  The cab pulled over, Greyson paid and helped me from it. Holding his hand brought on a wave of memories. His was bigger, more callused, and still my hand fit perfectly. The hostess greeted him with a huge smile before she walked us to a small sitting area near a roaring fire. She took my coat and his before she disappeared.

  Greyson waited for me to sit before settling next to me on the sofa. The service was phenomenal, a waitress appearing seconds later to take Greyson’s order for champagne. She disappeared as soundlessly as she appeared. Those pale eyes returned to me. They were different, wiser, and yet I was happy to see a bit of the boy I knew in them.

  “You painted me,” I hadn’t meant to blurt that out, but I was still in awe.

  His eyes warmed. “It’s my favorite painting.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “You’re beautiful.”

  I looked down as my heart moved into my throat. I tried to move the conversation along before I did something he might not welcome. “When did you start sculpting?”

  He didn’t answer right away and I wondered what he was thinking. There was a time I would have asked him, but we weren’t those people anymore.

  “About a year after I left.”

  “Is that your preference, sculpting?”

  “No. Whatever strikes me is the medium I use.”

  “Is it everything you thought it would be?”

  “It’s a lot of work. I spend more time promoting myself than I do creating. I get it, I need to carve out a niche, but I can’t wait for a time when I can focus solely on my art.”

  “How close are you to that?”

  “Next year I should be able to call the shots, not the other way around.”

  I’d be out of school then. Maybe fate would be kind and we’d meet again. I didn’t dwell on that, though I could have. Instead I asked, “How’s your grandfather?”

  His expression softened. “He’s great, happy to be home. I try to see him as often as my schedule will allow. He’s come to visit me in San Francisco a few times.”

  “Please tell him I said hello the next time you speak to him.”

  “I will. He’s asked about you.”

  That both surprised and pleased me. “He has?”

  “He took a fancy to you.”

  My cheeks warm, but I liked hearing that. “The feeling is mutual. I’m working on the book of your family.”

  It was his turn to be surprised. “You are?”

  “I don’t get to spend as much time on it as I would like, but your family is fascinating. There are a few mysteries buried in your ancestry.”

  “That sounds intriguing.”

  “When I graduate, I intend to dedicate more time on it. I want to solve those mysteries.”

  His expression softened as tenderness stared back at me. “I made plans to visit Mendocino a few times, New York too, but my damn schedule fucked it up.”

  Pleasure washed over me hearing he had tried to keep in touch. “I love that you tried.”

  “I should have done more than try. Despite my schedule being insane, I should have done more than try.”

  “You’re not alone in that. I should have made the effort too.”

  Silence followed before he added, “I can’t believe it’s been almost five years.” An act born of familiarity, he ran his thumb along my jaw. “Why did you leave the show?”

  I didn’t mean to be so blunt; I blamed it on the emotional rollercoaster I’d been riding all night. “Seeing you with your girlfriend hit me harder than I expected.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “The woman you were with earlier. She’s quite beautiful. She could pass for a model.”

  “She is.”

  Of course she was. She probably walked on water too.

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  This was where my imagination started inserting lines because there was no way he just said that.

  He grinned at me, the same look I got often when we were kids, the look that said he was reading my mind.

  “My agent thought it would be good for publicity. She’s just a friend.”

  “You’re serious? She’s not your girlfriend.”

  “No.”

  “Friends with benefits?”

  He looked sexy as sin when he grinned. “No.”

  I was suddenly very thirsty. Where was that champagne?

  He leaned closer. “You thought she was? How did that make you feel?”

  How did it make me feel? How did he think it made me feel? Homicidal and terribly sad. I didn’t say that though. “It’s been a long time since I held a claim on you.”

  “That’s not answering my question.”

  What was he after, an emotional cleansing? Seemed stupid to open that Pandora’s box here, so I lied through my teeth. “Happy you were happy.”

  “That’s bullshit.”

  “What do you want me to say, that I hated seeing you with her, and the countless tabloid shots with you and women each more beautiful than the last. I hate that once upon a time your smile and laugh and words were only for me and now…” I bit my lip and looked away as I struggled to put my emotions back in the box. It was all water under the bridge now.

  Softly and with conviction he confessed, “There’s been no one since you.”

  I turned my head so fast I think I sprained it. No one since me, I had to be tripping, but I saw the truth of his words in those pale eyes. Maybe it was foolish to feel hope, his confession changed nothing, but I did. “For me either.”

  He leaned in and dropped his voice to a sexy purr, “Have you missed me, Alexis?”

  “Every damn day.”

  His eyes warmed and his focus moved to my mouth. I felt very warm. Maybe they could turn off the fireplace. “I’m glad to hear I’m not the only one holding on.”

  Happiness filled me, the kind I realized I hadn’t felt since he left. I reached for his hand, his fingers curled around mine. “You’re not the only one holding on.”

  The waitress returned, Greyson offered to pour the champagne. He handed me a glass. “So, tell me about the last four and a half years. Leave nothing out.”

  It was very late when he saw me to my door. “When are you leaving?” I asked.

  “We’re off to Boston in the morning.”

  I wished time would stop. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye again.

  “Call, email. I will respond,” Gr
eyson urged.

  “That goes both ways.”

  He stared at my mouth for the longest time, but he didn’t kiss me. I don’t know that I would have survived him leaving again if he had. Instead, he hugged me and it felt so good to be in his arms again. His heart was beating as hard as my own. I buried my face in his chest and breathed him in.

  “It was so fucking good to see you, Alexis.”

  “It was so fucking good to be seen, Greyson. Enjoy Boston.”

  He let me go, but he touched my hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. “Call me.”

  We’d exchanged phone numbers and email. You had to love mobile phones. “I will.”

  It hurt watching him go, but not as much as the last time because I made my own vow. I wasn’t letting him slip through my fingers again. I locked up my apartment then called Paige.

  “So?” She answered on the first ring.

  “He looks so good, happy, living his dream. I left his show, he followed me out.”

  “He did not.”

  “He left his show to spend the evening with me. Paige, I’m still in love with him.”

  “Alexis, honey, it sounds like he’s still in love with you too.”

  Dear Alexis,

  It is driving Colin crazy wondering who the woman is I keep sketching. I don’t even realize I’m doing it. You were always beautiful, but maturity has turned beautiful into exquisite, the curve of your cheekbones, the smooth line of your jaw, the arc of your brows and the fullness of your lips. I’d like to really sketch you, have you sit for me. As well as I knew every inch of your face, it’s different now and I want to learn it all over again.

  Boston was beautiful. There were a few places you would have liked. I took pictures and once I figure out how to attach them in this software, I’ll send them.

  I shouldn’t have let us lose touch. I know you feel responsible too, but it was me traveling, me with the crazy schedule, me who was in a different location every week. You were always in my thoughts. I still feel it, Alexis, even stronger than I did then. I’m coming for you.