by Stella Rhys
“You made up a narrative about me? In the two minutes since you’ve met me?”
“Naturally. You were an unexpected sight when I got here and you aren’t dressed like someone who lives around town. And the whole being alone at your old high school on Christmas thing. Definitely adds to the story.”
“Fair enough. So, what is it?” I asked. “The story you made up for me.”
He set his briefcase down. “I’m not an English teacher so nothing elaborate. Just that you might be someone in the midst of a…” He trailed off to wince in a way that I appreciated. It meant that he felt at least a little bad for what he was about to say and a second ago, he didn’t seem too concerned with hurting my feelings. “Again, don’t take this the wrong way, but you look like someone who’s attempting an escape to her roots because she’s amid some melodramatic crisis in the nice, shiny life she has now. Is that… what this is?”
Wow.
I stared at him. But when he glanced up to get my reaction, he didn’t back down. Our eyes locked for a hard, intense moment then at once, we burst out laughing.
“Oh my God,” I groaned up to the ceiling. “That’s so embarrassing.”
“Why? Because I’m right?”
“Yes, you’re right. And I’m… transparent, I guess.”
“No, you’re not. I mean you are, but at least you’re a good story. You’ve been polite, you’re likable and you have a fair enough reason for writing that textbook of a letter to your old teacher. You’re making my routine trip to the building a lot more interesting on this lonely Christmas, so thanks for that.”
I snorted. “My pleasure, I guess.” As my laugh wound down, I turned and found my second-row desk from seven years ago. Running my hand over its surface, I sat on top of it.
“Settling in,” he observed. “I guess that means you aren’t rushing home to anyone.”
“No. I assume you aren’t either.”
“Your assumption would be correct.”
I hoisted myself further onto the desk and crossed my ankles. “Right. So tell me why you’re flying solo today?”
“Remarriage. No dad to speak of and mom’s recently married an asshole. Christmas was fun with just her but now it’s her and the trashy stepfamily.”
“Ooh. Trashy stepfamily. That sounds like the kind of reality show I watch.”
“Well, if you come home with me for Christmas, you can watch it up close in person.”
“I’d take you up on that but it would require you going home too,” I smirked. “And considering I just saw the soul sucked out of your eyes as you talked about them, I won’t force you to do that for my entertainment.”
“Thank God,” he said, massaging the tension from his own shoulder. “Soul-sucking would be an accurate description for them.”
“Alright. Girlfriend then?” I asked, shameless in my curiosity. It helped to be far from home with no familiar faces nearby. And Mr. Teacher didn’t so much as flinch at my question.
“No relationship as of September. Yourself?”
None as of ten days ago, I wanted to say. But then I reconsidered what Mason and I had been and corrected myself. “None as of October. My fiancé left me.”
“Brutal,” Teacher said. He meant it but he wasn’t shocked or dramatic about it, which I appreciated. “Is that why you’re here and not at home?”
“Surprisingly, no. Not really. Just escaping New York in general.”
“I thought New York was your escape from this place.”
My eyes dropped to the floor. “It was. Till about ten days ago.”
“What happened ten days ago?” he asked, moving to a desk in the first row, closer to mine. Sitting on top of it, he hugged his legs to his chest. I had to smile at how boyish the man looked in a classroom he usually taught in. “Something bad happened ten days ago.”
“No,” I replied. “Not ten days ago. Years ago. I just didn’t realize it at the time.”
“Bit of a riddle.”
I gave a weak laugh. “Sorry. I’d explain but there’s about ten hours of context that I’m not going to subject anyone to. Especially not on Christmas Day.”
“It’s alright. I’m a math teacher so I’m curious to figure it out based on the information you gave me.”
“Oh God, word problems? The worst.”
“I know. My favorite though,” he laughed, his green eyes squinting as he genuinely tried to solve my problem. We both laughed when he finally gave up. “Yeah, I’ll take the F on that one. I can’t figure it out but I’m guessing someone lied to you.”
“Bingo,” I smirked, our eyes finally locking in a gaze that wasn’t completely awkward. “A-plus.”
“Sorry I’m right.”
“That’s fine. I just… God, I’ve just been lied to way too many times and I just can’t take another one,” I murmured. “I swear the next time someone lies to me I’m gonna snap,” I joked, feigning a gasp when Mr. Teacher dropped his eyes. “Oh no. Did you lie to me too?” I teased. But my smile quivered when he let his legs down and drew his hand over his face.
“I’m sorry.”
“What?” My instinct was to laugh because I couldn’t imagine how he could’ve lied in just the past five minutes. But as the silence stretched longer by the second, I found myself frowning hard. “I don’t even know your name. What could you have lied about?”
“I, uh…” The hollows of his cheeks flexed as he tightened his jaw. “I guess it was by omission. My lie. I should’ve told you from the start that she wasn’t here anymore but I didn’t.”
I blinked and stared. “Who? Mrs. Nolan? She doesn’t work here anymore?”
His eyes flirted with looking elsewhere before he told me but then he brought himself to meet my gaze as he broke the news. “She passed last year. Her car skidded on ice.”
My heart sunk like a weight as my mouth fell wide open. My glassy eyes stared down at the four-paged letter in my hand. “Oh my God,” I whispered, my chest twisting in shock.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have led you on.”
“Why did you?” There was no anger in my voice but I had to ask.
“It was just instinct. I could tell you really wanted to see her and you had that long-ass letter written, so I figured you’d just be… happier not knowing the truth.” He shrugged. “I guess I wasn’t thinking about the possibility of you trying to find her home address or coming back another time to look for her. Figured I’d let you go home in peace.”
I sucked my bottom lip in, repeating his words in my head. I wanted you to go home in peace. I blinked away my tears for Mrs. Nolan as I looked up from my letter to him. “It wasn’t really your place to make that decision,” I said. But the moment the words left my lips I felt as if they sounded harsh.
“I recognize that now,” he admitted, eyes downcast. “It was just… human instinct, I guess.” He raked his hands through his hair. “When you like someone, you don’t want to see them hurt. Simple as that.”
“You don’t like me or know me.”
“You’re right, I don’t. But I like you enough. You seemed like a nice person from the first few seconds that you spoke to me and I didn’t have the heart to break yours. Same way I don’t have the heart to tell my mom that she doesn’t actually have the secret to cooking turkey that isn’t dry. Her turkey’s fucking awful but I’ll never let her know it. I just don’t want to be the one to ruin her happy and perfectly harmless perception of herself. No one wants to be that prick.” He paused and gave thought. “Except maybe my step-dad.” When he cracked a real smile, I managed to almost do the same.
“Fair enough,” I finally said. And to my own surprise, I meant it.
Watching me get up off the desk, his shoulders fell a bit. “Leaving now because you’re mad at me?”
“I don’t know you well enough to be mad at you. But I get why you did what you did. You were protecting me from the truth. Human instinct,” I repeated his words. “And I guess I ca
n say I appreciate it,” I added, tucking my letter back into my coat.
“I’m glad. If you want, I can make it up to you by bringing you home to meet my disaster of a stepfamily. They’re probably hammered by now. They’ll be better than anything you watch on Bravo.”
I laughed a bit. “No, better not. For your sake and mine. But I hope you have fun grading papers tonight.”
“They’re word problems, so you know I will.” Watching me head toward the door, he was silent. But once my hand touched the knob, he blurted, “Can I know your name?”
I stopped and turned around. “Taylor. Simms. Yours?”
“Ben Locklear.”
I took a last look at his face and put his name to it. “Mr. Locklear. Thanks for letting me learn something from you today,” I said. “Or at least giving me something to think about.” He nodded. I could tell from the look in his eyes that he didn’t want to see me go, but he didn’t know me well enough to say that. And I was glad because I needed to get back to the B&B to call Lori and perhaps pack my bags to go home. “Merry Christmas, Ben. It was really nice meeting you.”
“You too, Taylor. Merry Christmas,” he said. Once I was in the hallway, he called after me. “I hope you have a happy New Year, too!”
I called back. “Me too!”
And that was certainly no lie.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My return to the real world came three days later and while I’d started my day jittery about being in New York, the nerves subsided by the end of the work day – precisely when Lori swung by my desk and set before me a vanilla cupcake with pearl sprinkles lining the pink, petal-shaped frosting. I stared at it for an awed second before looking up at the very wry look on her face.
“Thought I’d forget, you little shit?” she asked.
“Hoped. But I pretty much knew better.”
“You should. Anyway, happy birthday. I’m sorry you chose this day to come back, and I’m sorry I made you actually work.”
“Trust me, I came back on this day for a reason,” I said, plucking the cupcake into my hand and swiping a bit of frosting off with my finger. “It got my head back to feeling normal. Normal-ish, at least. All I need is another few work days and a few social outings and I’ll start forgetting about… everything.”
“Well, if you want to get a head start on the social outings, I’m going to drinks right now with the hippie-dippy chick we get our floral arrangements from. Not for pleasure. Just trying to get her to lower our costs. Can’t wait for her to preach veganism to me for three hours,” Lori said, staring at the wall. Unenthused, she turned to me. “Wanna join?”
“As much as you sold it, no. Not really.”
She laughed. “Fine. Works better for me because I actually need you to drop this envelope off at the Atrium on the East side.”
I stared at the manila envelope she handed me. “Are you kidding me?”
“I’m not. I know it’s Mason Leo’s holiday party but it’s six in the evening, the party doesn’t start till eight, and his staff is probably just leaving the office to get ready for tonight. So I promise he’s not there. In fact, I personally called and made sure of it, so I swear on my husband’s life that – ”
“Okay, that’s not necessary.” I took the envelope from her hands. “I’ll go.”
“Atta girl. Assuming catering’s done setting up, you can swipe some shrimp cocktail while you’re at it,” Lori said. Walking backwards, I took a giant bite out of the cupcake and jabbed my finger at the remaining half.
“Got everything I need here,” I said, my mouth purposely full.
And before she could respond, I stepped into the elevator because the last thing I needed was for her to ask about the crack in my voice. I was trying to be funny but my joke backfired on myself because saying those words aloud actually felt like unintentional self-torture. I didn’t have everything I needed – I was so far from that it hurt. But like the other bruise in my soul, I told myself this pain would eventually lessen. For the sake of moving on, it was all I could hope for.
*
As Vandermark’s biggest and most coveted party venue, the Atrium was generally booked year round with elegant socialite weddings. But come December, it became Manhattan’s most popular destination for the kind of extravagant corporate holiday parties that had everyone gossiping for months – about things like who had too much fun with the top shelf open bar or who nearly had sex in front of all their colleagues in the middle of the dance floor.
Ascending the limestone steps at the entrance, I imagined that Mason’s party for The Leo Group tonight would be exactly that, but with a hundred times as much scandal. I knew Mason had hurt at least a little over me and considering how many women had hurt him in the past – somewhere around zero – I had little doubt he’d use our clash on the tarmac as an excuse to indulge in vices and make himself feel better. And for Mason, feeling better at a lavish holiday party probably involved sleeping with all the prettiest girls in attendance and breaking his record for number of women in one night.
Masochist, I scolded myself, managing a smile at the man who opened the door into the Atrium. I just couldn’t stop. In the past week, I had done alright trying to think about other things but now, in the same building that Mason would be in two hours, I couldn’t stop picturing him. I saw him entering in the same suit he wore to work – something sleek, fitted and dark grey with a black tie. I saw him walking in joined by Noah, both of them striding first to the bar. Then with a drink cradled in those long fingers, Mason would lean back, fully relaxed as his blue eyes scanned the crowd for long legs in short skirts.
From there, my mind fast-forwarded to the image of buttons flying as the lucky girl he picked yanked his shirt open and squealed at the sight of that ripped torso. Another flash and I saw Mason stretched out asleep on the bed I’d gotten my best nights of slumber on.
Ugh.
I missed him. I’d faced enough deceit lately, so I really didn’t need to lie to myself. I missed Mason in a way that I had never missed Aaron and on my birthday, the heartache was only that much worse.
“Miss Simms?”
Blinking, I looked up at a suited gentleman at the host stand, grateful for his sudden greeting because I sorely needed the distraction. “Yes, hi. I’m here to drop off some paperwork from Lori Kirk at Vandermark Restaurants. Would it be okay if I left it here?”
His accommodating smile wavered. “Ah. I can’t accept deliveries on behalf of the host but I would suggest you walk into the main event room and leave the envelope there.”
“Oh. Sure.” I paused. “There’s no one in there right now, is there?”
“No, Miss Simms, there is not.”
“Perfect. Thank you very much,” I said as I made my toward the grand double doors that led into the massive event room. Considering the party was in two hours, I expected to see dozens of tables with ornate centerpieces and hundreds of white and gold balloons floated to the top of the seventy-foot domed ceiling. I figured there had to be at least a dozen staffers milling around busily, trying to put the finishing touches on the party.
But when I walked into the empty room, what I saw snatched the breath from my throat.
Because there were no tables. There was no deejay booth or long buffet meant to cater to hundreds of guests. Missing were the loads of glittery decorations and noisemakers I expected for a giant holiday bash. Instead, the décor was isolated to the very center of the sprawling room.
The sheer amount of white hydrangeas was the first thing I saw. There were hundreds of them arranged throughout the space. They were breathtakingly beautiful but what my eyes settled on next, despite looking deeply mismatched in the elegant room, was what truly took my breath away.
It was a tall, leafy green tree. I surprised myself because I burst out laughing right away and just as quickly, my feet rushed to the display, giving me the proximity to confirm the sight of an eight-foot butterfly palm potted in a beautifully ornate vase. Tied around th
e stronger branches were strings on which pieces of Mozart truffles hung.
“How the hell…?”
In my account of the magical place I wanted to transport to for my birthday, I had never revealed my favorite kind of chocolate and yet here they were, pretending to grow from the imaginary, chocolate-sprouting palm tree I’d said I wanted to simply read under for my birthday.
“Oh my God, Mase,” I murmured in disbelief as I ran my hands along the back of the plush, leather sectional sitting just under the plant. Next to it was a side table on which there was a single crystal wine glass, a bottle of Cabernet and an extra box of Mozart chocolates. I wondered again how Mason knew about my favorite and somewhat obscure sweets, but then I saw the antique shelf holding a carefully curated selection of books – all the ones in my apartment that I had started but not finished, along with dozens of books from the same two authors that always came recommended to me by Sofia. It didn’t take long at that point to figure out that she’d been called to consult for this elaborate evening constructed entirely for me.
I was so struck by the unbelievable sight in front of me that it took a good ten minutes for me to notice the white envelope sitting on top of the couch. Grabbing it off the pillow, I tore it eagerly open. Until this moment, my smile had been cautious, curling my mouth at a snail’s pace. Upon skimming the six words typed inside the card, a huge grin burst like fireworks onto my lips.
“Open the envelope you brought here,” I read aloud before dropping the card like a hot potato and grabbing the manila sleeve Lori had given me. Sliding the thick sheet of crisp white out of the envelope, my eyes settled upon Mason’s handwriting.
I couldn’t build you your own island to celebrate in peace and quiet so I did my best. This whole space is yours for the rest of the night. I figured one bottle of wine would be enough for you but in case you’re no longer a lightweight, a selection will arrive for you to choose from when dinner and dessert are served.
Happy birthday, Taylor.
Love,
M
I breathed out hard, using my pinky knuckle to dot at the tears in the corners of my eyes. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there holding the letter in my hand but on cue, the gentleman outside entered to wish me a happy birthday and show me just how to get his attention if I needed anything before dinner arrived.
