by Marie Force
Yes, I could’ve done a lot better, but Rob is paying off my law school loans as a wedding gift. His family has money. Lots of it. Since we don’t need to work for a paycheck, we will work toward the goal.
“How about Eric and Ava?” Rob asks, the gruff timbre of his voice indicative of a hangover.
“I know! How cool would that be?”
He opens his eyes and looks over at me. “She won’t hurt him, will she?”
“Ava? She’s a lamb. She couldn’t hurt a fly.”
“From the little time I spent with her, she seems very sweet.”
“She is very sweet. What you see is what you get with her. Don’t worry.” Though Ava is three years older than me, I often feel like the elder sister in our relationship. Where Ava is quiet and reserved, I’m outgoing and determined. People have often joked about whether we have the same father, and the jokes have hurt Ava on more than one occasion.
I hate that, because I love my sister, even if I struggled to maintain a relationship with her while she was in San Diego. Now that Ava is back in New York, I hope we can be closer than we’ve been in the past.
“I do worry about Eric,” Rob says. “After what happened with Brittany the bitch, he can’t handle another disappointment.”
“You’re getting a little ahead of things by making them into a couple. They hung out yesterday because they were paired together. That might be all it is.”
“Don’t forget he spent the night in her room.”
“Because she got drunk, and he took care of her. She told me nothing went on, and I believe her. Something happened when she was in San Diego. I don’t know what it was, but it was something.”
“How do you know?”
“She’s different. Quieter, even more reserved than she used to be, which is saying something. I’ve tried to get her to talk to me about her life out there, but she never would.”
“Keep an eye on the situation with Eric, will you? I couldn’t bear to see him go through another disaster like Brittany.”
“I’ll keep an eye on it, but Ava’s not a bitch, and she could never do something like what Brittany did. You have nothing to worry about. Besides, how much fun would it be if your brother and my sister got together?”
“Lots of fun.”
A flight attendant comes by to offer drinks. Rob orders a Bloody Mary.
“That sounds good. Make it two, please.”
“Coming right up,” the attendant said.
“A little hair of the dog, my love?” I ask him.
“Let’s hope it works. I feel like death warmed over.”
“Two weeks in Hawaii will fix everything.”
He brings our joined hands to his lips. “This is the part I’ve been most looking forward to.”
“Me, too. The wedding was amazing, but the honeymoon…”
He leans in to kiss me. “Will be epic.”
Chapter Four
AVA
Eric doesn’t waste any time asking Julianne to get involved in my job search. A week after the wedding, I’ve already been on four interviews with top PR firms in the city—two of them I got on my own and two were thanks to her help. The fourth one, the most promising of the interviews I landed on my own, appeals to me the most because one of the partners, Miles Ferguson, lost his fiancée on the Star of the High Seas.
If anything, that should make me not want to work there, but I’m drawn to the place like the masochist I’ve become in the last five years. I’m sure I’ll have little to do with Miles if I get the job, but the connection, however fleeting, makes his firm that much more interesting to me.
Yeah, I know… It’s insane, but there you have it. I’ve given up on trying to make sense of how my brain works in my post-John reality.
I text Eric to thank him again for his help and ask if I can buy him a drink while I’m in town.
He replies right away. Happy to help, and I’d love to meet you. Where do you want to go?
I have no idea. You tell me.
He suggests a hot spot in the Financial District, and we agree to meet in an hour when he finishes work.
With a little time to kill before I have to head downtown, I duck into Bloomingdale’s to check out a big sale on suits. I’m elated to find two that I could never normally afford, one red and the other black. I ask the clerk to bag rather than hang them, so I can carry them on the train home without a hassle.
We’ve nearly completed the transaction when I notice the pin on the saleswoman’s lapel that indicates she lost someone on the Star of the High Seas. Right in the middle of a rather great day is a reminder that sucks the air from my lungs and brings tears to my eyes, the reaction as involuntary as the ache in my chest. “I’m sorry for your loss,” I say when I recover the ability to speak.
The clerk reaches up to touch the pin, caressing it lovingly. “My parents,” she says softly. I figure her to be roughly my age. My heart breaks for her.
With her eyes full of tears, she gets busy folding and bagging my new suits.
I want to ask if she’s okay, if she has a support system, if she has people who love her. I want to know who her parents were. I’m sure I’ve read their story. I’ve read every word ever published about the unbearable tragedy. I don’t ask any questions as I take the bag from her. “Thank you.”
“Have a nice day.”
“You do the same.”
The encounter rocks me and reminds me of why John had to leave. It was for people like the sales clerk and her parents. In the first few months, the memorial pins were produced and sold by the family member survivor group, which raised money for a memorial to the victims that has yet to be built. Infighting among the group about how the victims should be remembered has slowed the process. I’ve read every word about that, too.
From the beginning, I’ve made a point to stay up-to-date on the investigation, the war that was declared on the Al Khad terrorist group that claimed responsibility and the survivor group struggling to cope with staggering loss. I still scour the internet every day for news of the war, hoping to catch a glimpse or a clue or anything to tell me what became of John. But there’s never been anything. Not one single thing.
My elation over the deal on the suits is long gone as I trudge to the corner to flag down a cab. I wish now that I hadn’t made plans with Eric. I just want to go home. However, I can’t blow him off after everything he’s done to help me, so I give the cab driver the address of the bar and try to find my game face. You’d think by now I’d be an expert at pretending to be fine when I’m anything but.
At times, I wonder if I’ll ever be fine again, or if there will always be a cloud hanging over my life, an asterisk next to my name. I also wonder if there are other people like me out there somewhere who have no idea what’s become of the men and women they love. Unlike the families of the victims, there’s no group for me to join. I’ve walked this journey alone and will continue to do so, no matter where that journey might take me.
With my forehead pressed against the cab’s window, I watch the city go by in flashes of light and glass and stone and people. So many people. Why can’t one of them be the man I love?
Tears roll down my cheeks, making me feel weak and powerless, the way I did for so long after he first left. I don’t cry over him as much as I used to, and when I get low enough for tears, I can usually expect a rough couple of days.
As we get closer to the cross street Eric told me to look for, I make an attempt to pull myself together, to wipe away the tears, to repair my makeup, to put on that game face. I brush my hair and apply lipstick, hoping I’ll appear cheerful and upbeat. I can pretend for a few hours, until I can be alone again with my memories and my grief.
Dragging the shopping bag behind me, I enter the crowded bar. On the way through the throng of happy-hour revelers, I note polished wood and brass, mirrors and velvet-covered barstools. I scan the faces of young, attractive, ambitious professionals, but I don’t see Eric among them. I’m about to turn around to leave when h
ands land on my shoulders and the familiar scent of his cologne fills my senses.
“Here I am.” His voice is comforting and familiar. He takes the shopping bag out of my hand and steers me to the back corner, which is all but deserted. Apparently, no one wants to be back here, preferring to see and be seen in the front.
“I feel like I just passed an endurance test,” I say to him as we take seats at a table.
His grin lights up his face.
I’d forgotten just how handsome he is. The navy suit he wears fits him as if it was cut just for him, which it probably was. He’s the picture of up-and-coming success, and I’m happy to see him. Happier than I expected to be.
“You passed the Wall Street happy-hour test.”
“Is that a thing?”
“It could be an Olympic sport. Lots of business gets accomplished in these places.”
“Lots of hookups, you mean.”
“Those, too,” he says with the easy grin that I remember from the wedding. Despite the heartbreak he suffered at the hands of his ex, he’s still quick to smile, to joke, to appreciate life’s lighter moments. I admire that he can be lighthearted. For the first two years after John left, I didn’t smile or laugh about anything.
“What can I get you?” a frazzled waiter asks as he plops a bowl of Chex Mix on the table.
“Bourbon for me and…?” Eric crooks a brow at me.
“A cosmo, please.” Why not? I’m not driving. Then I hear John’s distinctive voice: Go big or go home. I wish I could tell him and that sexy voice to leave me alone.
“The interview went well?” Eric asks, diving into the bowl of Chex Mix.
“Really well. If they make me an offer, I think I’ll go with them. They’re working on some fun projects.”
“Like what?” he asks with genuine interest.
I give him a rundown on the hip clients the firm represents, from bakeries to five-star restaurants to Broadway actors and actresses, one of the country’s hottest comedians and a celebrity chef who made himself into a household name by appearing on a cooking competition that scored huge ratings last summer.
“That’s like a who’s-who of pop culture,” Eric says.
“I know! How much fun would that be?” It’s the kind of job I could throw myself into, and that’s what I need. “Plus, the salary is decent enough that I could live in the city if I can find a roommate.”
He snaps his fingers. “Speaking of that…” Withdrawing a piece of paper from a pocket inside his suit coat, he hands it to me.
I unfold a flyer created by a woman with an apartment in Tribeca who’s looking for a roommate.
“I saw that on the board at work and grabbed it for you.”
“You’re supposed to grab one of the tabs at the bottom, not the whole thing.”
“If I hadn’t taken the whole thing, the place would be gone already. You should call her.”
“I haven’t got the job yet.”
“You’ll get something soon.” He nods to the paper. “Go for it. We’d be neighbors.”
I like the idea of living near him, this new friend who’s been so kind to me in the short time I’ve known him. I pick up my phone and dial the number the woman listed and wait for her to pick up.
“Hello?”
“Um, hi, I’m calling about the apartment. Is it still available?”
“It is. Some asshole took my flyer at work, so I haven’t gotten any calls.”
It’s all I can do not to lose it laughing. “Oh, well, my friend took a photo of it and sent it to me.”
Eric’s eyes dance with mischief that makes me smile along with him.
“Can you tell me more about it?”
She describes a two-bedroom loft with a shared bathroom, living room and kitchen. “It’s nothing special, but we have an elevator and a doorman, and there’s a gym and laundry in the building.” She tells me her name is Skylar, she’s a first-year attorney at Eric’s company, and her roommate moved in with her boyfriend, leaving her in the lurch.
She asks what I do. I tell her I’m job-hunting but getting close to landing something, and after some friendly back-and-forth, she says, “Are you interested?”
“I’ll take it.” Maybe I’m being impulsive, but it feels good to be moving forward, especially after the setback I suffered earlier. Besides, I have some money saved, at least enough for three months’ rent. If I don’t have a job at the end of three months, I’ll have bigger issues than whether I can pay my rent.
“Oh, that’s great. I was worried about swinging the rent by myself.”
I hope I haven’t made a huge mistake committing to the apartment before I land a job or even see the place, but I have a good feeling about this. Good feelings have been in short supply in my life of late, so I’m running with this one.
“I’m on the lease, so you can send me a check for the first month’s rent and move in whenever you want. Just let me know when. I’ll get you keys and clear it with the super.”
I thank her, we say our goodbyes, and I end the call.
Eric raises his glass. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
I touch my glass to his. In the ten minutes we’ve been together, he’s made me feel better—again. I could get used to this, a thought that scares me as much as it excites me. “Thank you.”
“I like to see you smile. You’re even prettier when you smile.”
I like the effortless, charming way he flirts with me, even if my better judgment warns me to proceed with caution.
“How was your day?” I ask him.
“Actually, it was very good. I pitched a new client to the acquisition committee, and they seemed far more interested than they usually are.”
“When will you know?”
“Next few days.”
“Ugh, the waiting must be torture.”
“I try not to get too wound up about it. I get paid whether they take on the client or not.” He grabs another handful of Chex Mix. “That helps me to keep it in perspective.”
“Still, it would be nice to score a win.”
“It’d be very nice.” He leans in closer to me, so close I feel his breath brush against my cheek.
I break out in goose bumps.
“If I score a win, will you help me celebrate?”
I shoot him a playful look. “Depends on what this celebration entails.”
“Dinner, dancing, drinks. Somewhere fancy with candles and cloth napkins.”
I’m utterly charmed by him, and I find myself rooting for a win so we can celebrate together. “That sounds lovely.”
“You are quite lovely.” He tucks my hair behind my ear, and for a brief, terrifying second, I think he might kiss me.
But he doesn’t.
And when he backs off, I’m caught between regret and relief. That’s when I realize Eric Tilden poses a threat to the heart I’ve patched back together, and I need to be very careful where he’s concerned.
“I’m starving,” he announces when he finishes off the bowl of Chex. “Want to get dinner?”
I’d planned to go home and do my nightly scour of the news sites, looking for any sign of John. But more time with Eric is much more appealing than that dreadful task. “I’d love to.”
Chapter Five
AVA
Two weeks later, Eric, Rob, Camille, Amy and Jules help me move into my new apartment in Tribeca. I got the job I wanted and am due to start at FergusonMain on Monday. As I can’t bring my car into the city, my parents drive me in, along with the possessions I brought home with me from San Diego. I stash the priceless boxes full of John’s belongings in my bedroom closet and try to forget about them.
If Eric is curious after I insist on carrying them in myself, he doesn’t say so.
Skylar already has living room furniture, so I decide to keep my things from San Diego, including the bed I shared with John, in storage for now and buy a new bed for my room. New home, new beginnings, new bed. If my heart breaks a little at the thought of sta
rting over without him, I stuff those feelings into a box inside my heart and seal it up so I can continue moving forward rather than dwelling on the painful past.
When I’m unpacked and settled in, my parents head back to Purchase, and Camille suggests the rest of us hit the town for dinner and drinks. I invite Skylar to join us. I’ve gotten to know her by text over the last few weeks and have learned she’s focused on her job to the point of distraction. Tonight is no exception.
“I wish I could,” she says, eyeing Eric with barely concealed interest that rankles me for reasons I don’t dare explore too closely. Apparently, they’ve never met at the firm where they both work. She’s tall and striking, with dark hair and eyes. “I have a huge presentation on Monday that I’m in no way prepared for. I need every minute of this weekend. But you have fun.”
We say our goodbyes and take the stairs to the street level, making more noise than we probably should. The Tildens are a rowdy bunch, and my sister fits right in with them. She and Rob are tanned and happy after their Hawaiian honeymoon and still can’t keep their hands off each other for more than a few minutes at a time.
We bring up the rear, behind Rob and Camille. Eric nudges my shoulder, nods to bring my attention to Rob’s hand on his wife’s ass and rolls his eyes dramatically. Get a room, he mouths.
I cover my mouth so I won’t laugh out loud and nudge him in the ribs. “Stop it.”
“I don’t have to.” He’s been flying high after the firm’s acquisitions committee approved his latest recommendation. Camille told me he earns a big bonus for a successful recommendation. He hasn’t said anything about that to me. In the weeks since we had dinner, we’ve chatted by text almost every day.
I’ve learned that he’s as witty and entertaining by text as he is in person, and I’ve found myself looking forward to hearing from him. I appreciate that he didn’t doggedly pursue me after our first memorable weekend together. Rather, he’s allowed a comfortable friendship to develop between us, one text at a time. I’ve tried not to read too much into the flirtatious banter or the time he spends texting me, but I like knowing that behind the texts is a man who is also familiar with deep pain.
