by Darci Balogh
"And no matter what I do, there are always going to be drunk fans around, and women like Emery somewhere backstage. Not that they hold a candle to you in my mind, but I can't make them disappear. And I think that's what you want."
"I know they can't disappear," she said, trying to act as if she hadn't had that very thought.
He didn't believe her, she could see it in his eyes. His expression softened and he sighed. "I guess your Professor Shipley was wrong. Not every problem has a solution."
It took a moment for his words to sink in. She gave him a quizzical look. "You talked with Professor Shipley?"
"Yes, at the ball after you left. He's an interesting man." He read the look on her face and asked, "Why?"
"I–I–I'm uncomfortable with that."
"Uncomfortable? Why?"
"I'm not sure, but knowing that you spoke with him makes me feel strange."
"Why? I'm a musician, not a leper." He sounded defensive.
"Of course you're not a leper," she said. But she didn't feel any better. "The thought of it just makes me...uncomfortable." She shrugged and something about that gesture infuriated him.
He stood up and started pacing back and forth. He stopped suddenly and said, "Do you know what you do? You compartmentalize. That's what you do." He used his hands to mime little boxes as he spoke. "There's work here, friends here, math here, art here, academics here, fun here, and none of them are allowed to touch each other." Ian made a sweeping gesture with his hands, as if knocking all of the imaginary boxes off of a table. "Well, I have news for you. Life is about touching. It's about seeing all the parts of yourself and all the parts of other people and mashing them up together into one glorious..." he looked for a word and found one, "Soup. The soup of life."
She cracked a smile, "The glorious soup of life?"
"You know what I'm getting at. Everything's not black and white. There's more to you than your work. And there's more to me than mine."
Tears pressed at the back of her eyes and she wanted to reach out to him. She wanted him to reach out to her. But neither of them did. They stood there, staring each other down, an ocean of silence between them. She tried to think of what she could say to bring the conversation back to what she had intended it to be from the beginning.
"I wanted to call you after we danced, Ian, but I couldn't think of the right words."
He looked at her, void of anger and frustration, but full of something worse. Pain.
In a voice gruff from both singing and emotion, he said, "That's the problem, Sofia. It's not about finding the exact right words or doing the exact right thing. It's not about reason and logic...it's love."
He stopped speaking, but the way he continued to look at her–into her–said more than he could have spoken with words.
Her heart was in her throat. He loved her? She tried to form a coherent response. Then, without warning, Ian ripped his eyes from hers and pushed past her, out the door.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sofia looked down onto the street in front of her flat through her living room window. Rain hit the glass and snaked down its smooth surface, blurring her view. With listless eyes, she stared at the spot where the lights of Luna's cab had disappeared into the grey, depressing morning.
She had walked her cousin downstairs with her suitcases just minutes before and put her in the cab that would take her back to the airport. Back to the United States.
"No, you stay home and rest," Luna had insisted when Sofia offered to ride with her and see her off properly. "You need rest." Luna had placed her small, cool hand on Sofia's cheek and Sofia had smiled softly. But no kindness could mend Sofia's heart, she knew that, and Luna knew it, too.
Sofia leaned her forehead against the cold glass of the window. A dim reflection of her eyes looked back at her, red and puffy from crying all night. Luna was gone. Everyone was gone, leaving their respective hotels and flying back home. Everyone except her.
Fat tears swelled and dropped from her eyes. She closed them. Could there really be any more tears inside of her? She thought she'd cried them all out into her pillow. Sofia groaned and pulled away from the window, going to the tissue box on her kitchen counter to blow her nose. Her nose was just as puffy and red as her eyes. It hurt when she blew it. Her head hurt, too. Throbbed.
She poured a cup of the coffee Luna had made before she left and used it to swallow some ibuprofen. She may be able to get rid of her headache, but she couldn't get the images of last night out of her mind. Ian's face. His words. They revisited her mind and cut into her heart each and every moment, pressing her down and down until she thought she would disappear into darkness.
When she'd returned to the art gallery she hadn't been capable of explaining exactly what had happened to her friends. She still couldn't. All she knew was that her world had turned dark and cold.
Sofia looked around at her empty flat, finding no comfort in it. She picked up her cell phone, its glowing screen an affront to her tired senses. No messages. No texts. She took a deep breath and blew it out through pursed lips, building up energy for what she was going to do next. Searching through her list of contacts, Sofia found what she was looking for and hit the button to call. After a few rings, the voicemail message began to play.
"Hello, you have reached Dr. Clara Weston..."
Sofia listened to the end and left her own message as directed after the beep. When she was done, she turned her phone off and left it on the counter. Shuffling into the still dark bedroom as the rain picked up outside, Sofia sank back into her bed and pulled the covers up over her head. The world outside would have to wait.
Sofia had never taken a sick day in her entire adult life. Let alone two in a row.
Her dark mood was impenetrable and she had not had a choice. Taking two days off to try and overcome the whole debacle of a relationship with Ian was all she could think of to do. She focused on extreme self-care and reflection. She ate chocolate and ice cream, took long baths, lit candles, slept, and slept some more. Her Mom called, Tawnyetta called, Luna and the rest of them called when they got back to Denver. She was fully supported, loved, and cared for in every way possible.
Still, her heart remained crushed and her dreary outlook on the future persisted.
She couldn't fit Ian into her life. That was clear. And his final words of love to her, which she would have thought would bring tremendous joy, instead settled in like a thick tar covering her soul. Not letting her breathe.
Ian was right. She did compartmentalize everything. She always had. And she always would. Her logical brain, her love of reason, was not conducive to falling in love. Especially falling in love with an artist like him.
Sofia stared at her reflection in her bathroom mirror. Dressing for work, because there was no way she would allow herself three sick days in a row, she had decided to embrace the fact that she and Ian were never going to happen, and she was probably going to remain alone forever.
No contacts since her eyes were still tender from crying. No makeup either, her black rimmed glasses would help mask her eyes from the world. She pulled her hair up into a high pony tail like the kind she wore when she was going to the gym and smoothed the plain white business shirt she'd pulled out of the back of her closet. Paired with simple black slacks and her low-heeled black boots, she looked as much the part of a spinster as she felt.
"Time to move on," she said to herself in the mirror. Flicking off the bathroom light, Sofia grabbed her jacket and left for work.
The sun was not quite up yet. She had decided to head in very early and try to catch up on whatever she'd missed the past few days. The rain had finally stopped the night before and everything was wet and chilly as she walked toward the Thames. She pulled her jacket tighter. The humidity in the air made the bite of the cold fall morning even sharper.
She heard the first notes as she walked through the quiet hall that led to her office door. They floated to her ear so softly, she almost thought she was hearing thin
gs. An almost empty university at the break of dawn was not the place she expected to hear...was it jazz music? As Sofia got closer to her office door, the sound grew louder, and she recognized the fluid and sultry tone of a saxophone. Once at the door, she knew the music was coming from inside. It stopped and started again, not like a recorded song, but rather like someone practicing playing a song.
Sofia pushed the door open slowly, not sure if she was supposed to witness whatever was happening inside. To her surprise she found Professor Shipley perched on the edge of the conference table, his eyes closed, playing the saxophone.
She looked around. Nobody else was there. The music stopped and Professor Shipley opened his eyes, looking at her with some surprise.
"Dr. Venegas," he said.
"I'm sorry," Sofia said uncertainly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."
Professor Shipley lowered the saxophone and let it rest against his thigh. "Nonsense," he said brusquely, waving her in, "this is a work area." She stepped in, but felt awkward, as if she didn't actually have a job there. He eyed her over his glasses, "We weren't sure you were going to make it in today. Sick, were you?"
Sofia nodded, trying to look sincere. She wasn't really lying. She had been too sick to come in. Lovesick counted as sick, didn't it?
"You look tired. Are you sure you're not still sick?" His large eyes widened even larger, apparently alarmed at the idea she might be spreading germs.
"No, I'm much better now," she reassured him. "I'm just a little sleepy from getting up earlier than normal."
"Yes," he peered at her again. "You're here quite early."
"I thought I would make up some work since I've been gone. I didn't know you would be here..." Sofia's eyes fell to the saxophone. She wasn't sure what to say about it.
"Oh, this," Professor Shipley chuckled quietly as he regarded the instrument in his hand. Sofia watched this uncommon show of good humor with curiosity. "I practice every morning. Though by the sound of it you may not be able to tell." He smiled at her, and again she was perplexed at his friendliness. "It helps, you know. Music doesn't just help the soul...it helps the mind." He emphasized his point by tapping one finger against his temple.
Sofia mumbled her agreement. A pang of regret shot through her body. She didn't want to talk about music right now.
"Do you play any instruments?" Professor Shipley inquired.
"No, I don't."
He grunted. "You listen to music, though?"
"Yes, of course." She was having a hard time disguising her discomfort on the topic.
Professor Shipley observed her for a few beats before turning his attention back to the saxophone. "You wouldn't think the two were related. Music and math. Unless you choose to look deeper." He stood and began putting the saxophone away in a case that lay open on the table behind him. "In reality they are deeply entwined. They just appear different on the surface. Do you agree, Dr. Venegas?"
Sofia was taken aback. Though she couldn't be sure Professor Shipley was trying to tell her anything in particular, his words were eerily on point. His gaze sharpened as he looked at her awaiting an answer.
"Yes, I agree," she answered quickly.
"That's the way life is, sometimes, Dr. Venegas. Take Clara and I, for example."
"Dr. Clara?"
He nodded and clicked the saxophone case shut. He held his right hand out, palm up. "She is a babbling, excitable, unconventional and, let's be honest, quite peculiar old girl." He looked at her and Sofia had no choice but to silently concur. Then he held up his left hand, palm up. "And I am a blustering, mean spirited, stubborn old codger." He raised his bushy eyebrows at Sofia, daring her to disagree. She did not. "And yet..." he clasped his two hands together as if he was greeting himself with a warm handshake, "Together we make an excellent team."
Before she could stop it, a laugh escaped her lips. But when Professor Shipley eyed her, she could see amusement in his look. He was trying to entertain her. A tiny warmth flared in the center of her stomach and for the first time since she'd started working there, Sofia felt like she belonged.
Something else began to stir inside of her. An idea. A feeling that had come loose and was releasing into her system. The sensation flooded her veins and was overtaking her entire body so quickly, she felt a little lightheaded.
"Professor Shipley?" she asked.
"Yes?"
"Would you mind if I took another day off?"
Chapter Twenty-Nine
She had to call Tawnyetta for directions.
"Yes, I have it. I'll text it to you," Tawnyetta told her after listening to Sofia's rushed request for Ian's home address. There was a moment's pause where neither of them said anything, then Tawnyetta exclaimed, "This is so exciting! How romantic."
Sofia laughed out loud. Even though she was out of breath from hurrying down the street on foot, determined to get to Ian's flat as quickly as she could, the thrill of knowing she was on her way to see him was all powerful.
"We'll see how it works out," she cautioned, but she had an uncharacteristically positive feeling about her decision to find Ian and...and...she wasn't sure yet. She just needed to see him. To talk to him. A text or phone call seemed too trite given their last conversation. Whatever she was going to do had to be done in person. She would figure out the rest when she got there.
Tawnyetta texted the address and Sofia saw she was less than a ten-minute walk away. However, it did not take her anywhere near ten minutes and she did not walk. She flew.
When she reached up and knocked on the door to his flat, her hand was steady and sure. For a long moment she worried he wasn't there and she would be left dead in the water. Then she heard the lock click and she thought her heart might burst out of her chest it was beating so hard. The door pulled open and Sofia's heart sank.
"Good Lord," Emery said, looking Sofia up and down. "You're buggering about again?"
Sofia's enthusiasm was dimmed, but not extinguished. She remembered what Ian had told her about there always being an Emery around. Focusing on the part when he had said none of them held a candle to her, Sofia cleared her throat and said, "Is Ian here?"
Hugh, the bass player, popped his head around the corner of the door. "Oh, hello," he said kindly.
"Hi," Sofia said, grateful for his friendly smile. Emery rolled her eyes and yanked the door open all the way, indicating Sofia could come in if she wanted to, but it might ruin Emery's day. "I need to speak to Ian," Sofia reiterated, not moving inside.
"He's not here," Emery called out over her shoulder.
Sofia could see most of the living room with the door wide open. In addition to Hugh and Emery, the other guitarist and the drummer were there, Danny and Charlie. No Ian.
Hugh gave Sofia an apologetic look, "He's not here, sorry." He indicated with a sweep of his arm that she should enter. "You can wait here if you like." There was an awkward pause as all of the band members waited for her to step inside the flat. Emery snorted her disapproval.
Sofia thanked them for their offer, but didn't stay. She knew that she needed to see Ian in private. Their reunion would have to wait, though waiting was excruciating.
She was halfway down the block from his flat when she heard, "Oi!" Turning at the sound, Sofia saw Hugh jogging in her direction. She waited for him.
When he reached her, he was a bit out of breath, and appeared a little out of sorts. "Look...I know Ian would want to talk to you. Are you sure you won't wait?"
"Thank you for saying that, but..." Sofia glanced at the building they had just come from. "I don't think so." She looked back at Hugh. "You don't know where he went?"
"No, we were rehearsing. Then Emery showed up with some invitation for the band to go on a morning show and Ian, well, he just took off. He's been a little off lately." Hugh gave her a meaningful look and Sofia's soul lifted. In his band member buddy way, he was trying to tell her that Ian missed her.
She smiled at him and asked, "He just left without saying anything?"
<
br /> "All he said is he needed to clear his head. That doesn't help much, I know."
Sofia's stomach did a flip-flop and her smile slowly widened. "Actually, Hugh, it helps a lot."
By the time she got to The London Eye the day had dawned and a warming sun shone down through puffy white clouds. No more dreary grey clouds. She smiled at the sun as she made her way to the gigantic Ferris wheel contraption. The weather mirrored her growing sense of optimism.
There were throngs of people in the area. All of them enjoying the morning as much as she was, though she imagined none of them could possibly be on the same quest. She was here to find the man she loved and tell him how she felt. It seemed impossibly dramatic, but that was the truth. He had been right about her trying to keep everything separate and never trusting that even though they were very different from one another, they were actually a perfect match. She needed to tell him that he had been right and that she wanted to be with him.
She scanned the crowded line leading up to the bottom of The London Eye where groups loaded onto the pod, were shut in by automatic doors and lifted more than 400 feet into the air. She didn't see him anywhere amongst the families and tourists and for a brief moment she thought perhaps she had been wrong. Perhaps he hadn't come here to look out over the city and clear his head.
Then she saw him.
He was unmistakable, even from behind, with his deep red hair, lean frame, and worn leather jacket. He was at the very front of the line, grouped with the next set of people ready to board the empty pod heading their way. There was no way she could reach him by running through the line.
"Ian!" she shouted, drawing the attention of people in her immediate area, but not him. Ignoring the looks, she shouted again, this time waving her arms in the air, "Ian!"
The empty pod was in front of him now and the group he was with began to board. An elderly man next to him said something to Ian and she saw his profile as he responded and they chatted for a moment. Ian gestured for the elderly man to get on the pod in front of him. In a moment he would be boarded and on the pod and lifted into the air without her, and even though it wasn't logical to be anxious about that fact, Sofia was overwhelmed with urgency.
