by Cat Carmine
I sat down on the bed. Frustrated tears were pricking my eyes. Where could it have gone?
And then I heard giggling from out in the hallway. I jumped up, just as Mom crawled out of the closet where she’d been digging through old shoe boxes.
“I bet one of them took it.” A pink flash streaked past my bedroom door. Blake or Emma, I couldn’t be sure. But I was suddenly sure — a hundred percent positive — that one of them had my necklace. “I’m going to kill them.”
“I’m sure your sisters didn’t touch it, Rori.”
But by then I was already off the bed and following them down the hall.
“Give it back, you brats.”
It was Emma I ran into first. She threw her hands up in the air. “Don’t look at me, I didn’t touch it.”
I scrutinized her face — it looked innocent enough. And to be fair, Emma wasn’t the troublemaker in the family. She was fourteen now and got perfect grades and spent an hour every morning ironing her hair to stick-straight perfection.
“Blake!” I could hear her giggling from down the hall in her bedroom. Our house wasn’t that big, so even with her door closed, I knew she was in there. I stomped down the hall and pushed her door open.
“Give it back, you little twerp.”
Even from here, I could see the stones glittering around her neck, hanging over her purple sweatshirt.
Her eyes widened as I came into the room and she crab-walked backwards on the bed, laughing. She had twisted her blonde hair up and stuck a clip in it, so that it looked like a messy version of mine, and put a slick of some plum colored lipstick on.
I softened when I saw her. Blake was the baby of the family, and though she was twelve now, she’d always seemed much younger. Our parents coddled her, maybe because they knew she was their last, and so she did silly little things like this to get attention sometimes.
“Blake, can I have that back, please?” I said, changing my tactic.
“Fine,” she stuck her bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout. She reached up and tried to pull the necklace over her head.
“You’re going to break it!” I rushed over and kneeled on the bed beside her. I took the necklace from her and gently undid the clasp.
“Oh, stay there, girls. I just have to get a picture of this.”
Blake and I both looked up at the same time and saw Mom in the doorway, her camera held up in front of her face.
“Mom,” we both whined at the same time. At least we could agree on that.
“Oh, come on, you girls look so cute.”
I knew there was no getting out of this, so Blake and I stayed posed like that until Mom had taken enough snaps. When she pulled the camera away from her face again, she had tears in her eyes.
“You girls are getting so big,” she said. “I can’t believe all my babies are growing up.”
This had been Mom’s constant lament for the last year or so, ever since it really started to sink in that I was graduating this year and would be going off to college in the fall. I’d picked a school here in the state — close enough that I’d easily be able to come home on weekends if I wanted to — but just the fact that I wouldn’t be living under the same roof anymore had triggered Mom’s empty nest syndrome, or whatever it’s called.
“Can I go now? I have to finish getting ready.”
Mom sighed and nodded, though she was still smiling sadly.
Necklace in hand, I went back to my room. I sat in front of the mirror again and slipped the necklace around my neck. It was as pretty as I remembered. Blake had returned the earrings too, so I popped those on as well. I took a moment to admire the effect in the mirror. The set my grandmother had chosen was perfect, and I knew Wes would love it.
Wes. Just thinking his name gave me a deep thrill. I couldn’t wait to see him in a tux. He’d said he wanted to do something special after the prom was over too, and I couldn’t wait to see what he’d planned. He was always so thoughtful — I knew tonight would be amazing.
Wes and I had been friends for a few years now, ever since he’d moved here back in ninth grade. I’d always liked him, but over the last couple of years, my feelings for him had grown more than friendly. The more time I spent with him, the more I liked him — his sweet smile, the way he’d swoop his dark blonde hair out of his eyes. But it was more than that. It was the thoughtful way he’d ask about things that were going on with me, the way he remembered that I liked my hamburgers with extra pickles, the polite way he’d speak to my parents when he picked me up.
For a while I only saw him in groups, but then we started spending more time one-on-one. And then one night he kissed me. It was right outside the house, here, when he’d dropped me off and insisted on walking me to the front door. We stood under the porch light as dark moths fluttered above us, hurling themselves at the bright light. When he leaned in, his lips against mine felt right. Like we belonged together.
Since then we’d been inseparable. Being with Wes was so easy, it felt like it was as natural as breathing. Maybe I was silly to believe it, but it felt like we belonged together. It felt that way when we had sex — which we did a lot these days, usually in the back of Wes’s car — but more importantly, it felt like that when we weren’t even doing anything special, just driving around Highfield talking or wandering through the mall or hanging out in my basement watching movies while my parents were at the flower shop. Wes and I could do nothing at all and it felt like the most fun thing in the world to be doing.
“Oh, Rori, you look beautiful.”
I turned at the sound of Dad’s voice in the door of my bedroom. He was leaning against the doorframe, and like Mom, his eyes had a misty sheen to them.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He watched me for another minute, then shook his head.
“I almost forgot. This is for you.”
He held out a small white box. I recognized the green Bloomers sticker immediately.
“Daddy, you shouldn’t have.”
I lifted the lid and found a beautiful corsage — a white rose, backed by delicate greenery, and all held together with silver ribbon and silver beads that matched the ones in my hair.
“Oh, come on,” he says. “We own a flower shop. Like hell I’m not going to get my little girl a corsage for her prom. Besides, your young man may have come into the store a couple of weeks ago, so I happen to know he’s getting you a wrist corsage. Now you can have two.”
I stood in front of him as he gently pinned the arrangement to the front of my dress. When he was done, he stood back to admire the effect.
“Perfect.” He turned away for a second, but not before I noticed him wiping his eyes.
My heart swelled a little. I’d always had a good relationship with my parents — I was the first born, so I was a pleaser — but ever since the reality of going away to college and leaving my family behind had begun to sink in, I’d come to appreciate them even more. Even my sisters, who more often than not drove me crazy. I’d miss all of them next year.
I didn’t want to think about how much I’d miss Wes too.
We hadn’t spent much time talking about what would happen in the fall, when I went to college here in Connecticut, and he went off to Harvard. He’d been accepted on a full scholarship, which was quite the achievement. Wes didn’t play it up, but he was crazy smart. Harvard wasn’t as far away as, say, California, but it was still far enough that I worried about what would happen between us. Part of me felt like the connection we had was strong enough to withstand the distance, but the other part of me was wise enough to know that we were teenagers, and that a lot of things in our lives were about to change dramatically. Would we really be able to last through that? I wanted to believe we would but ...
“What time did Wes say he was coming to pick you up?”
“Seven-thirty.”
“Hmm.” Dad glanced down at his watch.
“What?”
“It’s already quarter-to-eight.”
A nervous fl
utter went through me. It wasn’t like Wes to be late.
Dad must have seen the concerned look on my face.
“I’m sure he just ran into some traffic. He’ll be here soon.”
“Yeah.” Neither of them mentioned the fact that Highfield was small enough that ‘traffic’ wasn’t really a thing. “I’ll just text him.”
I grabbed my phone off the dresser and fired off a short message.
“where r u?”
“You better come downstairs,” Dad said. “You know your mother’s going to want to take a million pictures before you go, so you might as well get started before Wes shows up.”
“True.” I grinned and grabbed the silver clutch off the bed, then followed Dad downstairs.
Sure enough, Mom had an entire notepad page filled with shots she wanted to get — me with her, me with Dad, me with each of my sisters, me with both of my sisters. You would think I was the Queen of England or something.
But as we worked our way through the list, my worry grew. There was still no sign of Wes. By the time we finished, it was well passed eight.
I grabbed my phone, but he hadn’t responded to my text.
“Just call him, honey,” Mom said, sneaking a glance at Dad.
“I think I will.” I took the phone into the kitchen, where at least I could get a modicum of privacy. I hit Wes’s contact info and then the dial button.
There was no answer. The phone rang and rang and then went to his voicemail. The sound of his voice in the message sent a flutter through my heart, as it always did.
“Hi, it’s me,” I said hastily. “Just wondering where you are. Hope everything’s okay. Let me know. Love you.” I hit the disconnect button and then stared at the phone in horror.
Love you? Oh God, why did I say that?
Wes and I hadn’t said those words to each other yet. And even though I was pretty sure I felt them — and that he did too — I wanted the moment we said them to be special. Memorable. Not a dashed off voicemail when I was impatiently waiting for him to come pick me up.
I told myself to breathe. It didn’t matter. Maybe it would be something we’d laugh about later. He’d tease me about raiding Mom’s peach schnapps and then he’d kiss me and then maybe we’d say it for real. I could already see the moment unfolding in front of me.
I took the phone back into the living room, where my whole family was still gathered.
“Any luck?” Mom asked.
I shook my head. Bit my lip. “Voicemail.”
“Well, I’m sure he’ll be here any minute.”
I sat in the chair nearest the window so that I could watch the street, waiting for the moment that his little red Pontiac Sunfire would pull around the corner. He’d saved up all year to buy that thing, and even though it wasn’t much to look at and already almost ten years old, Wes was so damn proud of it.
The minutes ticked by. Mom tried to keep up a cheerful stream of conversation, but eventually she ran out of things to say — quite the feat, really — and turned on the television. The sky grew dark. Blake and Emma went to bed.
I kept my phone in my lap, gripping it so hard I was sure I would break it. It buzzed a few times, and I’d leap hopefully, but it was always just Taryn or Amy, wondering where I was. They were all at the prom already. Everyone was waiting for me, they said. I asked them if Wes was there, if maybe we’d gotten our signals crossed and I was supposed to meet him there, but no one had seen him.
Still, I sat there. Waiting. My worry grew. Mom kept yawning, and I knew she wanted to go to bed, but both she and Dad seemed determined not to move until I did.
“You can go to bed,” I said quietly.
Mom looked helplessly at Dad, but he shook his head softly.
“I’m sure there’s a good explanation,” he said, helping Mom to her feet. “And if not, well, I can always punch his lights out.”
I tried to smile, but my mouth refused to budge. I watched as my parents went upstairs. Once they were out of earshot, I let go. The tears I’d been blinking back for almost an hour now started to fall, streaking down my cheeks.
I turned off the television and all the lights, but I couldn’t bring myself to go to bed yet. I stood at the window for a minute, watching the street. I don’t know why. Maybe I thought that if I concentrated hard enough, I’d see Wes’s car peeling around the corner at last.
Instead, something else happened.
My phone buzzed.
I looked down at the screen right away, breathing a sigh of elated relief when I saw Wes’s name there. I opened the message and read the words on my glowing screen.
“I’m so sorry,” he’d written. “But I have to go.”
That was it. Seven words.
I slipped back into the chair, smoothing the wrinkles that had formed in my dress from sitting so long. The room was dark and silent now, and I cried quietly as the soft light from the streetlights outside poured in through the windows.
Two weeks later, I got a postcard postmarked from Boston. All it said was that he’d decided to leave Highfield early, that he had a job in Boston for the summer. He said he hoped I had fun at college in the fall.
That was it. That was the last contact we ever had. Until the day he showed up in the doorway at Marigold and offered me a job.
Twelve
I lean against the window of my office, admiring the view of the Manhattan skyline. It’s a spectacular thing, that view. Worth every penny we spent for this office space.
If all goes well, in the next couple of years there’ll be another tower there on the horizon. Another skyscraper joining the flock, preening against the sky. The tallest residential building, taller even than 432 Park Avenue. Courtesy of GoldLake Developments. Courtesy of me.
I wonder if my mother would be proud?
The thought comes to me unbidden, and I draw back from the window. I search my office, as if I might see her standing there. Her image flickers in front of my eyes, almost real, like a hologram. Her ash blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. Her warm smile. She’d be wearing either her diner uniform or the jeans and purple knit sweater she used to wear the rest of the time. I’m sure she had more clothes than that, but those are the only two outfits I can recall these days. She wore that purple sweater so often that the cuffs were all frayed, the back of the neck torn a little from yanking it over her head so many times. God. If I close my eyes, I swear I could even smell it — that familiar scent of fabric softener and black coffee and her.
I don’t know why I’ve been thinking about her so much lately. Usually she comes to mind on holidays, anniversaries, her birthday, mine. The rest of the time I can get on with my work without those memories haunting me. Lately though, my mother’s memory has been lurking constantly, always just around the corner of my mind.
It’s been happening since I saw Rori, I realize.
I suppose it’s natural that spending time with her means I’m going to think about the past a bit more. Going to Fran’s Diner didn’t help either. It’s been years since I’ve been to an place like that, and the deluge of memories had hit me as soon as I’d sauntered in. The same way they had when I’d walked through the laundromat the other day. The smells, the sounds, even the squeak of my expensive shoes on the weathered linoleum floor brought back visceral memories I didn’t even realize I was still carrying around with me.
That life is supposed to be behind me now. But suddenly it seems to be very much in the present.
Rori, too, has become a very real part of my life again. I thought I’d be able to handle that, but now even thinking her name calls up a picture of her delicate face, the sparkling sound of her laugh, and that’s enough to knock me back down into my seat. Rori. The realness of her is a much stronger force than the idea of her I’d been holding onto all these years.
Lunch at Fran’s hadn’t gone exactly how I’d expected. I should have known when she suggested we meet there that she was shooting for something loud and public, where she wouldn’t be tempted
to reenact our antics from the other day. I just hadn’t realized that she felt so strongly about the issue that she would want it codified into a contract. A no-sex contract. I shake my head, a smile on my lips. I’ve signed a lot of contracts in my life, but I can honestly say I’ve never before signed a no-sex contract. I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Look, do I want to sleep with Rori again? I don’t know — do dogs bark? Does A. Testoni make the best men’s shoes on the planet? Am I a man with eyes in my head and a dick in my pants?
So yeah, I want to sleep with Rori. But maybe she’s right — maybe that’s a mess neither of us should wade back into. I mean, look how well it had ended last time. Sure, I’m a different man than I was back in high school, but that doesn’t mean Rori and I would be any better for each other now. I don’t do relationships, and she clearly doesn’t do casual sex, so maybe it’s good that we’ve got the contract keeping everything nice and neat.
Although, other than the sex part, there’s not much chance of me wanting to do any of the things on that list. Going on dates? Talking about high school? Neither of those things are happening any time soon, that I’m a hundred percent sure of.
I don’t have time to ponder the situation any further, because then Levi is at my door.
“Got a minute?” he asks.
I nod and gesture for him to come in. He slips into the seat across from me and crosses his legs.
“How’s everything going with Marigold?” he asks. His voice is casual, but I can tell he’s still uneasy about this whole arrangement, especially given that Rori and I have history. Which means there’s definitely no way I’m letting him know about the other contract we signed.
“Great. I met with Rori and they’re going to have a fully specced proposal to us by next Friday.”
Levi nods, pleased. Good. Maybe that will get him off my back for a little while.
We wrap up a few more items of business and then Levi heads back to his office. I lean back in my chair, folding my hands behind my head. This is good. Everything is working out the way it’s supposed to. If we can succeed in getting this project off the ground, we’re going to be very wealthy men. This is life-changing money. Buy-a-private-island kind of money.
