by Isabel Jolie
“I’m not sure if I make her happy or not. She wants to be there for you. And I get that. I do. But I have legal obligations I need to work through, and I also have a responsibility to my mother. I hoped we could make long distance work, but she hasn’t been...” I had to stop, unsure how to put into words the distance she’s put between us, a distance far more tenuous than the physical variety.
“Delilah’s been trying to be her happy self, and she hasn’t been succeeding. Maybe she bought into her mom’s point of view that if she put you in the past, all would be okay. But I haven’t seen that happen, and now, she’s in London. She’s taking time to step back and think.”
“London? She said she was going to Paris.”
“Nope. My girl took the reins into her own hands. She’s taking some time away from her mom, taking the supposed gift we gave her and going where she actually wants to go. I’m telling you this, because while she’s thinking things through, it might behoove you to make sure she has all the relevant facts at her disposal.”
Ashley tapped on the door to tell me my 3:30 had arrived, and I held up my index finger to indicate I’d be a minute. “I appreciate the call. I do. But unless Delilah decides to return to New York, I don’t see a solution for us. And what if she returns and...” What if you get really sick? It’s too difficult to ask, so I don’t.
“What if my disease progresses? Well, if it does, I’ll be okay. I don’t need my daughter to play nursemaid. What I need is for my wife to realize she and I can survive this. I won’t say it’s going to be easy on her, and, god, I wish she didn’t have to go through this with me. But I’m a lucky son of a bitch, and I’ve done well in real estate investments over the last few decades. She has a wealth of family and friends here. She’s gonna be okay. She and I can do this. We’re approaching almost thirty-five years together. I can’t say it’s always been easy. Trying to have kids put us through hell in a handbasket. Adjusting to life without Delilah in the house has been another wringer I haven’t been positive we’d survive. And now, my whole health thing. There’s a lot of unknowns in life. Hard times. Unknowns. Always unknowns. But when you find the one to dig in through the ups and downs, then that’s what you do. You dig in, and you find a way. If you believe Delilah is the one you want by your side when you need to dig in, well, you know where she is right now. And I’m telling you, she’s making decisions right now.”
“Sir?” The person behind me breaks me from my trance. I’ve reached the end of the line. A sign flashes “111” in yellow lights by a customs officer on the far left of a long row of officials sitting in cubicles with glass windows. I step over the yellow line and hand the man my passport. He studies it, then me, and asks, “Are you here for business or pleasure?”
As I wait in the taxi line, I pull out my phone, pondering my course of action. You’d think I’d have a plan. I rolled the dice and didn’t book a room at a hotel. My hope is Delilah will see me and understand I’m in this. I don’t have any intention of letting her slip away. Not without a fight.
I haven’t seen her in three weeks, and it’s been way too long. My return flight is booked for tomorrow. This is all a touch of insanity, but I couldn’t bring myself to plead my case over the phone. If her dad is right, and she’s weighing her options now, then I need to make the most impactful and persuasive case I can. A phone call or email won’t work. I need to do this in person.
It’s 8:03 a.m. when the black cab drops me off at the hotel. A man in a black coat and cummerbund steps out onto the curb for my luggage and to assist me to the lobby desk. I explain that I’m here to see a guest.
“Ms. Daniels didn’t answer, sir. You’re welcome to wait here in the lobby, or I can leave a message.”
I pull up the Find My Friends app and see she’s nearby. The orange dot is in a plot of green, indicating she’s in a park. “Can I leave my luggage here?”
The woman studies me for a bit. I’m certain she’s trying to determine if I might be a danger to the guest staying in her hotel, as there is no note on file to expect my arrival. I must pass muster, because she offers a cordial smile and points me to a gentleman who can store my small carry-on in a closet until I return.
I’m so tired my eyes burn and a rancid taste from being parched fills my throat. I stop and help myself to a glass of cucumber water in the lobby then head out into the sunlight. Well, sunlight might be an exaggeration. The sun cannot be found in the sky. A thick gray cloud cover hovers overhead, portending rain later in the day, but it is bright enough I am forced to squint, though the sky’s not bright enough for sunglasses.
Like a stalker, I tap Find My Friends again. I zigzag down sidewalks headed in the general direction of the orange dot. The orange dot isn’t moving, and knowing what time it is, my bet is she’s gone to the park for her morning yoga routine. I quicken my stride, hoping to catch her before she finishes and before I lose my nerve.
I find the entrance to the park and hold out my phone like a beacon, following the blue dot as I scan the park, searching for a blonde ray of light. Park might be stretching it. It’s really a plot of grass surrounded by a black iron fence and a jogging path. The city sidewalk is on the outside of the fence, and joggers and pedestrians pass by at a clipped pace.
My chest clinches and perspiration beads across my forehead when I see her. She’s on a yoga mat, hands down, butt in the air, in a downward dog pose. Her hair falls loose and pools around the top of the mat and over her hands. A runner jogs by and almost runs into someone as his head turns to watch her, no doubt admiring her shapely ass. She’s a danger to men, and she has no clue. She tilts her right knee forward, then her left, with her ass thrust into the air.
I step onto the grass and wait. City dwellers hustle by, so we are not alone, but no one else has taken up a spot on the small patch of lawn. It’s not raining, but the mist is thick.
As if she can sense someone is watching her, she slowly rises and lifts her head to the sun, palms pressed together. Then her neck makes a slow rotation to the side and stops when her wide, light blue irises come to rest on me.
Chapter 24
Delilah
The crisp morning air bites against my damp skin as I run through my morning yoga routine. My tight muscles release as I shift into downward dog, then walk the dog. My skin tingles from an undercurrent of energy, a sensation so exhilarating that I pull myself out of the pose and search the park perimeter. I stand in tree pose, a solid straight statue, and rotate my head. Joggers pass on the nearby sidewalk. A businessman in a trench overcoat hustles by near the park entrance. A dog walker passes by with four dogs of varying sizes leading the way. I continue to twist, then freeze. I blink and strain to better see the man standing almost directly behind me.
A man with grizzly black stubble, dark hair, and an uncanny resemblance to Mason stands nearby, maybe ten feet away. I rotate slowly to face him. On this dreary early morning, we are the only two sharing the grassy lawn. I rub my eyes, fighting disbelief.
“Mason? What? How?” My mind reels, and my mouth drops open because Mason in London makes absolutely no sense.
He chuckles and raises his eyebrows. “Surprise.”
“Holy cannoli. What are you doing here?”
He takes my hands. An electric current churns through me. His long fingers twist through mine, his touch cool. He dips his head, uncertain. “Do you not want me here?”
I blink. This is all like a dream. The last thing I want is for him to suspect I don’t want to see him, so I spring up and wrap my arms around his neck, holding him close. He lifts me higher as I tell him, “I’m thrilled you’re here. Shocked. Blown away.” He squeezes me then lets my feet fall to the ground. We stand there, my arms round his neck, his around my waist.
With a timid smile, he explains. “Your dad called me. Told me where you’d be.”
“How did he know I’d be in the park?”
“He told me you’d be in London. Find My Friends led me to you.”
I
run my fingers over the stubbly growth along his jaw. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”
“You weren’t at the Savoy, so I left my bags there and came searching for you.”
“Is everything okay? Is Kara okay?” My pulse quickens as reasons he might show up here in person fly through my mind.
“Yeah. She’s fine. She misses you. Your FaceTime sessions mean the world to her.” His hold on me tightens. “Have you been avoiding me? Is that why you time your calls when I’m at work?”
“No.” He tilts my chin up to meet his questioning gaze. I nod slightly and admit, “Yes. I’m sorry. I’ve been so confused.” And I’ve needed space because my heart has been crushed, and I need to find a way to be happy back home.
“Well, that’s why I’m here. Your dad said you came here to think. He suggested I put all my cards on the table.”
“He did? My dad called you?”
“Yeah. He doesn’t believe you’ve been happy at home. Something about he believes you’ve outgrown your hometown.”
“It’s not the same as in high school, that’s for sure.”
His head dips, and his lips press against mine. Then he pulls back and asks, “Is that the only reason you haven’t been happy?”
That’s a loaded question if I ever heard one. My ass is parked in London because I’m trying to sift through it all. Weighing what I should do and trying to figure out why doing what I should do is so damn hard. But one thing I’m not confused about at all. “I’ve missed you. So much.”
His lips brush over mine, and I open, a tentative kiss at first, then our connection deepens. When we break apart, my heart races erratically.
He nuzzles my neck. “I’ve missed you too. Your energy.” He toys with my hair and lifts it away from my face. “Your quirky sayings. Your non-stop hand motions. How you make me feel. I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed us making plans each day. Deciding on meals. Cooking together. Spending evenings with you and Kara. Silly, right? We didn’t do that for long.”
I rest my head against the crook of his neck as the reverberations of his heartbeat penetrates my core. My heart cracks all over again, because there’s no way around us being apart. He kisses my forehead and drops to one knee. The world oscillates, a dizzying sensation circling me.
“Delilah Daniels, will you consider spending your life with me? Will you marry me?”
“I. I. I. Can’t.” He’s lost his mind.
He falls forward onto both knees. I remember his story of Amber, and how she backed up, and I leap forward and grasp his shoulders, forcing him to lift his head as I explain.
“It’s too soon. Mason, marriage is huge. Ginormous. Marriage is forever. We’re still at the getting-to-know-you stage. And things haven’t changed. Have they? You can’t move to New Orleans, can you?”
A red hue rises across his cheekbones. I reach out for his hand. It’s clammy and cold. I drop onto my knees to face him. The uneven ground grinds into my knees, and I shift off of a painful protruding rock. I inch forward until my thighs press against his, punched by the deep hurt I see. I caress his jaw. He has to see it’s too soon. He presses a soft kiss to my forehead and sits back onto his feet, creating space between us.
Eyes cast downward, dejected, he says, “You’re right. Nothing has changed. I’m not any closer to being able to leave New York. With Kara, with my Mom, with the business. I guess I hoped if I put it out there, if I showed you how strong my feelings are for you, and I’m willing to commit, then you would come back. Your dad had me convinced.” He stares off over my shoulder, avoiding my gaze. “But why would you? What was I thinking? You’re so young and full of life. I have a daughter. You’d be a stepmom. That’s not fair to you. That’s not what you deserve. You deserve the ideal family. Your children. In New Orleans, like you planned—”
“Stop.” My cold fingers wrap around his wrist and tug. “I love Kara. She’s not the issue. I mean, at times I feel like a kid myself, so I’m not gonna lie, the whole parenting responsibility thing does freak me out. I’m fairly certain I’d suck at it, but it would be the honor of a lifetime. But you gotta believe me. I honestly want nothing more than to move back to New York to find out where our relationship grows. I’ve been telling myself there’s no way these strong feelings could last. I’ve never...” I press my lips softly to his. “Ever. But none of this changes my reality. Yes, my mom went about this completely wrong. Ridiculously wrong. But I’m all she has. I get it. And I’ve tried to explain it, but this has always been the plan.”
Then I slap my palm across Mason’s chest, and his eyes widen in surprise.
“And marriage? Mason? Really? That’s mega huge.” He stares off across the park. I tug on his wet coat. “We need time. Time to see if these emotions are fleeting or real. And time is one thing we don’t have. I mean, I’ve already moved. As planned.”
His jaw flexes as he swallows. I hate this. But this has always been the plan. I’m simply following the plan. “On the bright side, I’ll be a partner, making the big bucks. I can participate in your next friends and family investment round.”
He closes his eyes, tilts his head back, and softly chuckles. “God, I have been such a moron.”
“Don’t say that.”
He strokes his thumb across my cheek. His lips fall to mine. Our tongues mingle, and the tender kiss deepens. The pain in my chest throbs and tears flow. We hold each other for a painful moment before he rises. When we stand, dirt stains our lowers legs. We’re both soaked and cold.
We don’t speak on the walk back to the hotel. He stops at the concierge and collects his suitcase and heads back out onto the curb. I ask him to stay, but he doesn’t respond. It’s like he no longer sees me. I suppose there are no words left to say.
Chapter 25
Mason
I push open the door to my apartment late at night, attempting to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake anyone. The blue light from the television screen creates a halo effect on one wall. The golden glow emanating from outside streetlamps offers the only other source of light. My keys scrape the wall when I hang them, a sound that in daylight wouldn’t be heard, but somehow in the still of night echoes loudly through the apartment.
My mom’s sleepy head rises from the sofa, a dark blot. “You’re back. How was your trip?”
“Hell.”
“What?”
I circle around and collapse onto the club chair beside the sofa. “It was hell.” And it was. As soon as she turned me down, the second woman to say no to my marriage proposal, I wanted to get the hell out of London. The change fee was higher than staying in a crap hotel for one night. What the fuck had I been thinking?
“Tell me about it.”
Fuck. I slam my back against the chair, not entirely on purpose, and close my burning eyes. I can’t sleep on planes. I barely fit into those cramped, tiny coach seats. “I asked her to marry me. She said no.”
A gasp reverberates across the room from the sofa. “You asked her to marry you?”
“Yes.” And of course, she said no. Why do I keep thinking someone would want to spend her life with me?
“Honey, I didn’t realize you were that close with her. That you were talking marriage.”
I can’t believe this. “You’re the one who told me to go after her!”
“Well, yes. But wait, did you think I meant for you to propose?”
“What did you mean? You were all ‘give her a reason to come back.’”
“I meant to tell her you loved her. That you had fallen for her. Tell her you wanted to see where things went.”
“Oh. Well, I had already done all that. But no need to worry. We know how she feels now. I put it all out there. Offered her everything, like her dad said. Like you said. She said no.” But she did offer to invest in my company. As if it was a consolation. No, I won’t spend the rest of my life with you, but here’s a small investment to wish you well on future endeavors.
“Honey.” Her mother
voice sounds exactly the same as it did when I was a kid. Back when she kept Toll House chocolate chips on reserve for bad days.
I jump up and stretch my arms to the ceiling. “It’s late. Do you want to stay here? Stay in my room, and I’ll take the sofa.”
She doesn’t respond, but I set about gathering a comforter and pillow. All I want is to stretch out and fall asleep. When I return to the sofa with my bedtime goods, she doesn’t move. She’s going to need to, because I’m ready to crash.
“Honey.”
Aw, fuck, she wants to talk. “Mom, I’m tired.”
“Hear me out.”
Like the good son I am, I sit.
“I love that you put your heart out there. I love that you are so willing to give someone every part of you. But I want you to consider why it is you jump to marriage as a solution. I know you. You always look for solutions, but why do you think marriage is the solution?”
“That’s what women want, right? How else are you supposed to...? What did you mean when you told me to give her a reason to come home?”
“I just meant to tell her how you feel. To tell her what you love about her. To tell her that you could see a future. That you are willing to work for that future. Had the two of you ever talked about marriage?”
“No.” I don’t have a lot of experience with relationships, and the fact that my mother is sitting here on my sofa asking these questions highlights that glaring fact.
“What did you do for a ring?”
Now she sounds amused, and that pisses me off.
“I bought one.” What does she think I did?
“But if you hadn’t been talking about it, how did you know what kind of ring she’d like? Or her ring size?”
