by Scott, Lisa
“True. I only wasted two years of my life with him.” She looked up at the ceiling. “I feel so foolish. So stupid. I knew it was a mistake to marry him, but I did it anyway.”
“You did?” He wasn’t expecting that.
“Yeah. It’s very easy to get caught up in all the wedding details and forget about the marriage itself and whether it’s really what you want. There had been so many clues he’d been cheating on me, but I ignored them all. And I suppose he was just happy to find someone willing to overlook all his flaws.”
“If you knew it was a mistake, why did you say yes?” he couldn’t resist asking.
She rubbed the spot on her finger where her wedding ring had been. “That’s a question I haven’t been able to answer.”
They sat together in a silence that felt as if it could swallow them whole. “It’ll be better next time. You’ll know what to look for. You’ll find the right guy for the job.” Tristan’s heart pounded.
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not looking to hire. I doubt there will be a second time.”
“Oh.” That sounded like a strong hint to back off.
She picked up the picture of him and Monique. “And how are you two doing?”
He paused because he wasn’t sure what the truth was. He wasn’t crazy about Monique, but he did care about her. While she was fun, he certainly didn’t see himself marrying her. He didn’t think Monique wanted that either. Jillian did, but probably only because she wanted to plan a wedding. So why are you still with her? Because she’s your boss’s cousin? He shuddered to think of what Jillian would do if he dumped Monique. It was easier to stay with her than to end things. If he was being honest, Monique had been a way to divert attention from his broken heart. He didn’t love her. “We’re okay,” he told Charlotte.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
They sat there quietly, Tristan desperate for the right words to tell Charlotte he still loved her. The thought stunned him, but it was true, wasn’t it? He’d never stopped loving her. But that was too much too soon. She was hurting and needed time to heal. He wouldn’t want her to rush back to him thinking he could mend her heart. He wanted her to be with him because she loved him, too, not because she needed a distraction. Like Monique was his distraction. But who knew if Charlotte even wanted him back?
He noticed Charlotte staring at the heart-shaped rock on his desk that they’d found during a trip to the Cape. One sunny summer’s day she’d spotted it as the retreating tide sucked away the sand from the bright white stone. She’d scooped it up, held it in her palm for a moment, and then given it to him without a word.
“I still have your heart,” he said, watching her.
She looked up. “You do.”
Neither of them said anything else. Charlotte stood. “I feel better. Thanks for giving me a moment in here.”
“Anytime,” Tristan said. “If you need anything, let me know.”
He watched her walk to her desk and he swallowed hard. Charlotte’s divorce could change everything in his world. But it was up to him to make the next move. And he wasn’t sure what that should be.
***
Charlotte sat at her desk and listened to the dozens of voice mails that had been left while she was gone. She had a hard time concentrating and had to listen to them twice. She’d probably spend the rest of the day catching up on correspondence. Getting back to the office was a good idea, though. She could lose herself in her work and eventually return to her old life. No, that wasn’t quite true. But she’d find a new life for herself. Some day.
She declined several invitations to lunch, explaining she had too much catching up to do. But it was true. The day flew by and before she knew it, it was five o’clock. The office cleared out like there’d been a fire drill, and she packed up her things.
Tristan leaned against the wall to her cubicle. “Tomorrow will be easier.”
She smiled, and it was one of the few genuine ones she’d had all day. “I think you’re right. Thanks.”
“Can I walk you to the subway? Unless you drove. Where are you living now?”
“I took the T from my new place in Quincy.” She looked away from him. Tristan lived in Quincy. “I always liked it there.” She told him her new address.
“Nice street. Let me drive you home.” She heard the smile in his voice.
She followed him to his car in the parking ramp. “You still have the Trans-Am.” It was nice to see not everything had changed in their time apart.
“I’m lucky to have it. Monique hates it.”
“What’s to hate about a Trans-Am?”
Tristan laughed. “That’s what I said.”
She loved his boisterous laugh and how it made him sound like a rebellious teen getting away with something. “Are you guys living together?”
His laugh disappeared. “No. We’ve been together over a year now, so she’s mentioned it a few times, but that’s a big step.”
They slipped into the soft leather seats, and Tristan pulled out of the ramp and headed down the busy city street. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, he said, “I never pegged you for a Paris girl.”
She’d spent several weekends on the Cape with Tristan, and a glorious week in the Bahamas. “Yeah, I’m a beach girl. Sean booked the trip before we broke up. Since he’d bought insurance, he cancelled his tickets, but I thought, ‘Screw it. I want to see the Eiffel tower.’” She shrugged. “Wasn’t as exciting as I’d thought it would be.”
She told him about the great food she’d eaten, and the five pounds she’d gained.
“It looks good on you. You’d lost quite a bit of weight since the wedding. I was worried you were sick,” Tristan said.
She looked out the window. Darkness was settling over the city on the gray December day. That’s how she felt inside—gray and cold and quiet. “No, I’m not sick. Some people eat when they’re stressed. I get nauseous. It’s been a rough year. We were married six months when I filed for divorce, and it took a few months to finalize. I’ve been sick to my stomach for a while.”
“So it was basically bad from the beginning,” Tristan said.
“Yeah,” she said quietly. “One night during our honeymoon he went out by himself after I’d gone to bed. Said he couldn’t sleep. He didn’t get back until four. At the time I figured he was just out drinking. But thinking about it now, I bet he found something more.”
Tristan’s fingers turned white as he gripped the steering wheel. “I wish I could beat the crap out of him for you.”
“My brother already offered, but thanks. Really. For your kindness and for the ride home.” Leave it to Tristan to be super thoughtful and nice when he could be gloating about her bad decision.
He pulled up in front of her apartment, and they both sat quietly for a moment. It wasn’t the easy silence they used to share while reading magazines together, or driving to the Cape lost in their thoughts. Regret, loss, and a wisp of wonder over what might have been hung in the air between them now.
“Do you want me to walk you in?” he asked.
“No. I’m fine. Thanks so much for the ride.”
“Anything for you, Charlotte.”
Her heart melted a little, and she flashed him a smile as she got out of the car. She scurried up the flight of stairs to her upper apartment. Looking out the window, she watched his taillights disappear as he drove away. Was he on his way to Monique’s?
She headed for the kitchen, winding her way around the moving boxes. She wasn’t hungry, so she sat down to unpack, facing the daunting task of deciding what would stay and what would go. She’d had movers pack most of her stuff when she left, knowing she’d have to sort through it all later. Going through her things, she realized she didn’t want to keep any gifts from the showers or wedding. With each memory she unwrapped, she shaved a little piece of sadness off the hard part of her heart. It’ll be okay, she kept telling herself. It’ll be okay.
***
The next day, she set boxes of w
edding gifts on the conference table. They were things that she’d never used, or were opened but still usable. It wasn’t about giving the presents back it was about making a fresh start. She noticed that Shelby was watching her.
“Can you spread the word that I brought some gifts back?” Charlotte said. “I used the blender a few times. You still want it?”
“I most certainly do.” Shelby scooped up her blender. “Are the croissants coming later?”
Charlotte closed her eyes and smiled. “There are no croissants.”
“That’s okay. I know you’re overwhelmed finding yourself the center of gossip upon your return, all the while wondering, ‘What if?’ about your ex-boyfriend who’s dating a bombshell who doesn’t seem to love or appreciate him like you once did.” Shelby shrugged. “I’ll make a smoothie instead.” Shelby clutched the blender and patted its bottom like it was a snuggly baby happy to be back in its mama’s arms.
“Um…okay,” Charlotte said.
Soon, people were swarming the table snatching up gifts. Charlotte went to her desk, surprised to see Tristan there.
She motioned to the conference table. “Your gift might be over there. Want to grab it?”
“I sent you a card with money after the big day. I didn’t make it to the reception.”
She nodded and sat. “That’s right. And you showed up to the ceremony late. I remember looking up and seeing you right after…” She looked down, her smile falling. “Right after we said our vows.”
“What timing, right?”
“I thought maybe you weren’t coming. I didn’t see you in the church. It’s hard to miss your hair, you know.” It was a reddish-blond, like burnished gold. She adored it.
“You have no idea how sorry I am that I was late.”
She set her hand on his. “It’s okay.”
He wrapped his fingers around hers and squeezed.
“I’ll just come late to your wedding.” She forced a laugh.
He shook his head with a shy little smile. “There is no wedding in my future, thank you very much.”
Not even the luscious creamy Havarti in Paris had made her this happy—and she’d eaten half a pound of it in one sitting.
***
Tristan spent the next few days looking online for advice on how soon was too soon to tell a recently divorced woman you loved her, but he couldn’t find anything. Don’t advice columnists dole out that kind of guidance every day? He certainly wasn’t going to ask his friends about it. Definitely not anyone in the office. Someone would probably announce the news on a giant banner or hire a marching band to come in or choreograph a flash mob routine to spread the word. No, he’d have to figure this one out by himself. Of course, he had the Monique problem to deal with first. And that was no easy thing to resolve.
As the week rolled on, it was so hard not to pull up a chair next to Charlotte’s and chat. Or invite her to lunch. She needed space that was for sure. And he needed to end things with the woman who never should’ve been his girlfriend in the first place. Monique had seemed like a good consolation when Charlotte had gotten engaged. How he regretted their relationship now.
By the time Friday arrived, he couldn’t resist offering Charlotte another ride home. He needed to be close to her in a small space so he could smell her lavender shampoo. Thank God she hadn’t changed that. He wanted to watch her lips move as she sang along to the radio and see her fingers flutter to the beat. He’d be happy just to watch her sleep, as disturbing as that sounded. He just wanted to be alone with her.
Charlotte looked relieved by the invitation. “I’d love a ride. Thanks, your car is much more comfortable than the subway.”
“And there’s no chance of me flashing you or asking for spare change.”
She laughed as they climbed into his car.
“Are you feeling better?” he asked.
“I’m getting fewer sympathy stares at work, so that’s nice. I feel like I should send out a memo telling people I’m not upset about the divorce, I’m just mad that I married the fool in the first place. It’s not like I’m heartbroken. I’m embarrassed and upset by my bad judgment.”
“We’ve all made bad decisions. Maybe your memo would inspire someone else to avoid a bad decision.” He pursed his lips. “Or fix one they’ve made.”
He could tell she was holding her breath. “Do you think they can always be fixed?” she asked.
“I certainly hope so. I’ve got a few to fix myself.”
She turned to look at him, then smiled. “Me, too. A big one. Once I catch my breath. I hope it’s not too late.”
“It’s not,” he said, the words barely making it out of his mouth.
She reached over and squeezed his hand, and he held it until he dropped her off at her apartment.
“Have a good weekend,” she said.
“I will.” And he would, because Charlotte had just cracked open the window for a second chance.
***
Charlotte spent the rest of the night wondering if she was a horrible person. Tristan had a girlfriend. And Charlotte had just made it pretty clear she wanted another shot with him. Still, who knew if he was going to take that shot? Even though they didn’t seem to be in love, Monique was beautiful and rich. He might not want to leave her.
She grabbed a can of soda, and settled in the middle of the floor next to a tower of unpacked boxes. Bubble wrap and flattened boxes were stacked against the wall. Piles of CDs and DVDs lay on the floor waiting to be put away.
She pulled a heavy box down and started emptying it. As she finished unpacking the novels and scrapbooks, she thought about her first date with Tristan more than two years ago. She cracked open one of the albums she’d made when they first started seeing each other. The Valentine’s Day card he’d given her almost three years ago was on the first page.
She laughed. It was a kid’s valentine like you’d pass out at school. There was a picture of an owl sitting on a branch that said, “Guess whoooo wants to be your valentine?” Tristan’s just-barely-legible signature was at the bottom. She had to sneak into his office to compare the handwriting to be sure. Then she’d cornered Jenny to make certain this wasn’t some sort of office prank.
Jenny had assured her she’d had nothing to do with it, but her lips were zipped about the water cooler full of pink champagne in the break room. Charlotte had been thrilled the valentine was legit. She and Tristan had been flirting since she’d started working there two months earlier. So she’d dashed out during lunch, and found a box of school valentine’s with the perfect reply. She’d giggled as she signed her name. Then she left it on his desk before he got back from lunch.
Half an hour later, Tristan came to her desk, smiling. “Owl be your valentine? Are you sure?” He held the little card with a plump pink owl sitting on a branch, winking.
“If you’ll have me,” she teased.
“Want to go out to dinner tonight?”
“I imagine most places will be booked,” Charlotte said.
“Not everywhere.” And they went out for the most romantic dinner Pizza Hut had probably ever seen.
Charlotte sat there holding the scrapbook, tears running down her face. “How did I screw this up so badly?”
***
On Monday, Tristan took her to lunch at their favorite Chinese restaurant. Afterward, he called her desk every half hour and told her knock-knock jokes. After the fourth time, she asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I want to see you smile more.”
She stood with the phone still pressed to her ear and leaned back so she could see into his office. She gave him a big grin.
“That’s what I’m talking about.”
Thanks to Tristan, this week was better than the last, but she was disappointed she didn’t hear any rumors about him dumping Monique.
Was Tristan just being nice to her? Had she misinterpreted their conversation in the car that night?
***
On Friday, Tristan insisted
Charlotte join everyone from work for happy hour. He sat in the chair at the empty desk in her cubicle and rolled next to her. “You need to hit happy hour with us tonight.” His leg brushed hers. He was pleased to see she didn’t move it away.
“I don’t know. It’s been a long week.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m not sure I can slap on a happy face and talk about Kardashians and Real Housewives or whatever people are chattering about these days.”
“You can hang out with me in a chatter-free zone. I couldn’t pick the Kardashians out of a line-up and I don’t know one housewife. Plus, I refuse to drive you home. I’ll make you ride the subway. The flashers are out in full force on Fridays, you know.”
She laughed. “What about Monique?”
Tristan paused. “She won’t be there.”
It was almost imperceptible, but Charlotte blew out a breath. “Okay, but I can’t promise I’ll stay long. Or that I won’t get messy drunk.”
“I’ll make sure you get home safely.”
It was a blustery winter evening as they walked down the block to The Bar None. “I haven’t come out to happy hour in a long time,” she said.
“Not since we were dating.” Lord, how he wanted to reach for her hand.
Charlotte looked pained by his words.
“I’d say it’s time to start that again,” he said, knowing his words were cryptic.
Her lips parted and a puff of steam escaped her lips. It was probably warm and sweet. He could almost feel her breath whispering in his ear, or mingling with his in a kiss.
What would happen if he just took her by the shoulders and kissed her? Would she kiss back? Slap him? He couldn’t risk wrecking his chances with her. And oh yeah, there was the Monique problem. He’d never cheated on a woman, and he wasn’t about to start. But he wanted the woman beside him. He was willing to wait as long as necessary. They arrived at the bar, and he held open the door for her.
Please don’t let it be a long wait.
***
