by Audra Cole
“I thought you were trying to save me from a spaghetti dinner. I could have gone to Little Ricky’s. Although then, I would have missed all the fun.”
“Well you could have, but then it wouldn’t be my special recipe! The secret is in the sauce.” I wink.
Brandon laughs again. “Ricky is a fourth-generation Italian chef. I’m pretty sure he knows how to make spaghetti sauce!”
“True.” I bite my lip, trying to think of another idea. Unfortunately, in all the chaos of the past few days, I haven’t had time to go grocery shopping. I eat a lot of meals at the café, so I rarely keep much around the house in the first place. Right now, my cupboards are especially lean. “We could order in?”
“No, no. You’re not getting out of this. I need to try some of this secret sauce,” he says. “Let’s get cooking.” He pulls me up from the couch.
I smile and lead the way to the kitchen. It’s a small, galley-style kitchen with a breakfast nook attached. There’s not a lot of room for two cooks, but we dive in anyway.
He helps me cook the meal, and we talk about random things, mostly about his movie roles and the places he has traveled to over the past few years. It all sounds exciting to me, but there is a slight dullness to his voice that I wasn’t expecting. Acting has always been his passion, and yet the way he talks about it makes it feel like he is describing another day at the office.
“I’ve never actually seen one of your movies,” I confess. “I hear they’re amazing.”
“I didn’t figure you had,” he says. He turns to look at me but keeps one hand stirring the ground turkey that is browning on the stove.
“Trust me, it’s been difficult. Everyone in town wouldn’t stop talking about it, and then your face is all over every magazine at the grocery store.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” He asks, his expression serious as he turns to look at me.
“It’s very weird. But, I want you to know, that, despite everything, I am happy for you and the life you have built.”
“Thank you.” No other words are needed.
“What about you though? You seem to be doing something right. You look amazing, your house is nice, Ashley and you are still close.” His voice is sincere, but I can’t help but think how dwarfed my life sounds in comparison to his.
“I don’t know. I guess. To be honest, I feel like I took a wrong turn somewhere.”
He nods and glances back at the stove. “You’d be surprised at how little it all means.”
“How little what means?”
“The fame, recognition, money. It’s all kind of pointless,” he says. “I mean, it’s nice to do what you love, and I do love acting, but it also makes you feel alone and isolated. No one understands what you do every day, and you’re constantly being watched and harassed. The actual job is a blast, but the lifestyle kinda blows. Everyone cheers for you, when really they’re just waiting for you to stumble so they can gossip about you and stab you in the back to get ahead.”
“That sounds awful,” I say.
“That’s just my take, my experience. I’m sure not everyone feels that way. I guess I have everything I ever wanted, and more, but at the end of the day I can be surrounded by people and still feel lonely, like I don’t have any real friends. They don’t know me, they know ‘Hollywood Brandon,’ I guess.”
I’m quiet for a moment, not sure what to say to that. A sudden thought pops into my head and I vocalize it without thinking of the implications, “What about Vanessa? Seems like you guys have been together for a while. She must mean something to you.”
He groans. “Cherry, tell me you don’t buy into the tabloid bullshit. I thought if anyone was above that, it would be you.”
“Hey! You haven’t talked to me in the past three years, remember?” I fire back. “The only information I can get on you comes from those sources. I don’t go out of my way to spy on you, but people talk, especially around here. I can’t put myself in a soundproof box and ignore it all.” I turn to face him. The prep knife is still in my hand, pointed in his direction.
He turns and holds up his hands in surrender, then crosses the room and takes the knife from my hand, laying it on the counter before gathering me into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he says. He presses his lips against my forehead and I try not to react to his tender gesture.
“I’m not with Vanessa or any of those other girls they link me to. At least not the way they portray it. I mean, I have dated some of them—”
My nose wrinkles at this. It’s kind of ridiculous, but it feels like I should be allowed to move on, but he shouldn’t.
“—but I’ve never had anything long-term or serious with anyone, other than you. I think I tried to fill a hole inside myself with anything I could think of for a while there. Drinks, clubs, girls, whatever. None of it worked though, and I gave up on all of it. I’ve been single for over a year now. Vanessa is still around. We see each other at events and stuff, but we do not live together and we were never engaged, or even close to that, no matter what the gossip rags say. Okay?”
I nod against his chest and then pull back out of his embrace. I really have no idea why any of this matters. It doesn’t.
“Might want to check the turkey,” I say, gesturing back to the stove.
Brandon looks disappointed but he crosses the small space and turns his attention back to the stove.
I resume chopping the fresh veggies and herbs for the sauce, taking my time.
We finish cooking in silence, for the most part, only speaking to help finish the dinner. I toast up some rolls from the café, and put a little butter and garlic on them as Brandon drains the meat and mixes it into the sauce. I set the table and he is right behind me with the serving dishes of pasta and sauce.
Once everything is set out, we sit down and start to dish the food out onto our plates. While we were cooking, everything smelled so amazing that my mouth was watering at the thought of eating, but now that it’s all before me I feel sick.
“Cherry, is everything all right?” he asks, before taking his first bite. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No, I don’t want you to leave,” I answer. “That’s the problem.”
I expect him to look confused, but when I finally bring myself to meet his eyes, he looks understanding. “I really didn’t come here expecting any of this to happen,” he says. “I didn’t even know if I would see you and then when I did, I don’t know, it’s like something just clicked and I was happy again, for the first time in a long timeAnd after all this other stuff, I really need a little slice of happy.”
I feel tears starting to build and I silently hold my breath, trying to keep them back.
“I’m still in love with you, Cherry, always have been. None of my feelings changed when I left.”
I exhale. A tear breaks free of my resolve and trails down my cheek.
“I know I don’t deserve a second chance. What I did to you is unforgivable, just like Ashley said.”
He pauses and I wait, silent, sensing he has something else to say.
“I know you have a boyfriend. I saw you today,” he continues.
My eyes open wide.
“At the farmer’s market. I saw you with him. It wasn’t easy but I watched you for a while. I can see that he treats you the way you deserve to be treated, and I have absolutely no right to ask you to try us again. I’ve already crossed lines with you.” He takes my hands in his, holding them tightly. “But I also know there’s still something here, between us, and I would be a complete idiot to just go back to LA and act like none of this ever happened.”
I don’t know what to say. Brandon’s eyes are dark and intense. I have to break away from his gaze because I can’t think straight with him looking at me like that. I look down at our hands and try to calm my racing mind.
In the months, even years, following his disappearance, I would sometimes let my mind wander through different scenarios and imagine what I would say to him, if I ever saw him again. Mostl
y they were a series of bitter diatribes that were meant to wound him and make him feel like shit for leaving me that way. I never imagined he would apologize and be so self-aware of his own failures. I never prepared myself to have this type of conversation.
However, one nagging question still remains unanswered. I look up at him again. “Why didn’t you come back for me? If you’ve felt this way the whole time, why not come here and tell me? You’ve had three years of stewing in this regret, when you could have contacted me at any point along the way and tried to make things right.”
Brandon shifts his gaze for a moment before answering. “I was ashamed. I was scared. I didn’t know how you would react. You have no idea how many times I sat down to write it all out in a letter or an email. I would go to call you but hang up before dialing the last number. Eventually, I just stopped and tried to bury it all. Lock it away in the back of my mind.”
I nod, remembering the letters I started but then threw away, the emails I never sent, and the hang-up calls I made. I remember being angry, scared, rejected, lonely, sad, and how I never found the right words to explain it all.
“I’m so sorry, Cherry, more than you will ever know. I know I ruined everything. I wish I could take it all back.”
I look down at my hands, no longer able to meet his eyes. “I can’t do this,” I hear myself say. “I can’t have you here, saying all these things.”
Brandon clears his throat and rises from the table.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“It’s okay. I get it,” he says. “Like I said, I know I don’t have the right to ask you for anything, but I had to try. For my own peace of mind.”
I can’t speak. My mouth opens but nothing comes out.
I finally look up and our eyes connect. He looks conflicted, as if he wants to say something more.
“Let me walk you out.” I start to rise from my chair.
Brandon holds out a hand to stop me. “Good-bye, Cherry.”
“Good-bye,” I answer. I wait until the front door clicks shut, and I finally release the tears I’ve been holding back since before dinner even started.
Chapter Fourteen
Work drags on for what feels like forever the next day. Ashley hasn’t stopped by yet, which is unusual for her. I drum my fingernails on the counter top, staring out the windows of the café…wondering what Brandon is doing right now…wondering if I should try to see him again…wondering what I would say if I did see him…wondering.
I’m just about to text Ashley to see what’s taking her so long. I also want to momentarily distract myself from my looping thoughts. I grab my phone from my pocket, and right as I send the message she stumbles through the front door.
Looking as if she’s about to collapse, she slaps her hand on the counter. “Hit me.”
I set a fresh coffee in front of her. “Pulled an all-nighter?”
“Is it that obvious?” she asks. As she smoothes her hair and tugs at her jacket, she realizes her buttons are mismatched. She mutters under her breath and unbuttons her coat to fix it. “I was up till four. But…I got everything done and shipped out this morning, so it was worth it. Just exhausting.”
“We’re getting too old for all-nighters. We don’t handle them as gracefully as we once did,” I say.
She nods in agreement as she begins to chug down the coffee. It’s gone in less than a minute. “Hit me again.”
I refill her cup from the carafe and decide she has probably burned off half of her taste buds by now.
“How was your night? Did you go out with James?” she asks.
Oh boy…here we go.
“Not exactly,” I start.
“You were with Brandon, weren’t you?”
My jaw drops in surprise. “What? How did you…?”
“Charity, I’ve known you forever, and one thing I know is that you’re a terrible liar! I always know when you’re up to something. Remember that surprise party you tried to throw for my seventeenth birthday? You kept it from me for what? A whole three days?”
I smile at the memory. “What gave it away this time?”
“The jacket. I knew it wasn’t yours.”
I shoulda known. Leave it to Miss Fashionista to spot something like that.
“It could have been James’s.” I know I sound unconvincing.
She just shakes her head at me like I’m some poor creature to be pitied.
“Okay fine, you’re right,” I admit, looking down at the countertop and rubbing at an old coffee stain.
“Alright, so spill. What’s going on with you two? What the heck was all that about in the restaurant yesterday?”
I start to recount the day to her in hushed tones. Even though we seem to be alone in the front, you never know who will overhear what, and in a small town like ours, it can seem like even the walls have ears.
“I can’t believe you made out with him in my bathroom.” She rolls her eyes when I finish. “I’m going to have to do some kind of a cleansing in there now. Bad juju!”
“That’s the part you can’t believe? In all this mess? Really?”
She laughs. “I’m just saying. That’s not very Charity-like behavior.”
I open my mouth to protest, wishing for some wild tale to use as a comeback. But I got nothing.
“Why didn’t you just tell me he was there?” she asks.
“I didn’t know how you’d react. I didn’t want it to be a big scene.”
“What? You thought I’d punch him out or something?” She laughs.
“Or kill him. You do have a lot of sharp tools,” I say, referencing all of her jewelry-making gadgets.
“True,” she says. “Not like I haven’t considered it before.”
“What? Killing him with pliers?”
“No, that would be way too messy.” She winks.
“Do you think I’m making a mistake?” I ask, suddenly serious.
“That depends. What are you doing?” Her eyebrow rises.
“I don’t know.” I sigh, dropping my head into my hands. “I’m just so confused.”
“Well, you know I’m here no matter what you decide. I know you well enough to trust that you will figure this out and make the best choice for you. But I do think you need to talk to James.” She takes my hand and forces me to look at her. “Whether you end up with him or not, he deserves to know the truth.”
As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right.
***
I head home and call James as soon as I get there. He apologizes for not checking in the night before, but apparently playing hooky in the morning led to a pretty late night at work, and he didn’t have a chance to call. He lets me know he is wrapping up at work for the day and can’t wait to see me later tonight for our “mulligan dinner” as he has taken to calling it.
I will never understand golf people.
I agree to meet him in the city so he doesn’t have to drive all the way here to pick me up. I can’t help but think that it will also spare us another awkward car ride back if the night should take a turn. I have a sick feeling, it will. We finalize our plans and get off the phone.
He drops another “I love you” bomb before the call ends, but I had already started to hang up, so I’m hoping he figures I just didn’t hear him.
I guess he will know the truth soon enough….
My face flushes at the thought of it. I’ve never really dated a lot and I have never been the one to end a relationship. Although, once he knows I’ve been seeing Brandon, he’ll probably be the one to actually end the relationship.
That’s just a formality, I suppose.
I try my best to push those thoughts out of my head as I go about getting dressed. I’ll need to leave soon if I want to beat the nasty, Seattle-area traffic.
***
A few hours later I’m sitting across from James. We are seated at a different table, but I can’t shake the déjà vu feeling that hovers around me. He is quite handsome in his business suit, and with the b
eginnings of a five o’clock shadow. He seems antsy, and I can tell he’s had a long day at the office and is ready to unwind.
He orders an appetizer and a bottle of wine before we really start talking. I try to stop my foot from bobbing under the table, hoping he is too tired to pick up on my nervous energy.
“So, Charity, there is something I wanted to talk about tonight. In the spirit of our clean slate,” he starts, after we finish our small talk.
I inhale sharply and my posture stiffens.
“I want you to know how happy I am that we are moving forward, and I am so looking forward to this summer. But all this talk got me thinking about our future, beyond just this summer.”
I nod. My mouth is dry, and I don’t think I could speak even if I wanted to.
He takes my hands and rubs his thumbs along my wrists. “I know you want to take things slow, and I appreciate that, sweetie, really, I do. It’s just that I need some reassurance that you’re in this for the long haul. I’ve had a moment of clarity and realized that I do want us to get married someday. This rough patch helped me see that. We can take all the time you need, but to me, that would be the end goal.”
I pull back one of my hands and take a gulp of wine.
“James,” I say, barely above a whisper.
He ignores my pleading and plows ahead with his speech, “In light of our clean slate, I would like to take this chance to move forward, not cement things where they are and have this whole conversation again in six months. I’m a proactive man.” He reaches for his pocket.
Oh my gosh….No, no, NO!
He pulls out a small, velvet, fancy box.
I inhale sharply.
He pops the lid open to reveal a ginormous diamond ring. “I thought this might help you make up your mind.”
What is happening? Did he just propose?
I stare at him for a moment, completely flabbergasted by what just happened. Is he insane? A week ago, I bolted from this very same restaurant at the very hint of a proposal.
My gaze shifts back to the ring. Or should I say diamond door knob. It’s gigantic and very sparkly, not really my style, but pretty nonetheless. I wonder if he is hoping to hypnotize me with bling and lull me into saying yes.
