by B. E. Baker
I did just tell his grandfather that he slays my dragons. “But I’m not sure he knows how to let someone in.”
“What happened before?” Mary asks.
“Before what?”
“Luke says the two of you hit it off at the wedding. Then you obviously shared something back in Liechtenstein, but both times, whatever it was fell apart. What happened?”
I lean back in my chair and Mary sits back too, perching on the edge of my desk. “At the wedding, I told him he had to give up his vindictive list, or he shouldn’t call me.”
“And?” Mary asks.
“He never called.”
She frowns. “So he wouldn’t give it up?”
I shrug. “Not sure.”
“And in Liechtenstein?”
It’s so embarrassing, but it’s Mary. I can tell Mary, I think. “The whole thing was fake.”
“I know,” Mary says. “But why did that fake relationship, that was clearly predicated on real feelings, die?”
I don’t understand. “It was fake all along.”
“Was it?”
“I mean, I liked him, but he didn’t ever feel the same way about me. So when the deal fell apart, that was it.”
“He didn’t call you? Or text?” Mary’s eyebrows rise. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I don’t know. I blocked his number.”
“Oh, honey.”
I scowl. “I’m not an eight year old.”
“You’re kind of acting like one. You think he didn’t care about you, but you blocked his number so you have no idea whether he did or not.”
I stand up and my chair rolls behind me loudly. “I am not acting like a little kid. I was protecting myself. I liked him too much, and he didn’t even care about me. I had to block him or I’d have started following him around like a pathetic sycophant.”
Mary laughs then.
“Great. Yes, laugh at my pain.”
“I’m not laughing at your pain, you idiot. That man is in love with you. It was clear as a bell at your wedding. Even Paul saw it. It was so obvious that he told Trudy he doesn’t hate him anymore. He said he knew that look, because he’d looked at Trudy the same way. Paul told us the other night that he’s actually really hopeful for the two of you, that he didn’t think James deserved you, but he hoped he was wrong.”
“I blocked his number the first time around, and this time, I flew home.” I close my eyes.
“You flew home?” Mary asks. “When? Yesterday?”
I nod silently. She doesn’t get it, because she doesn’t know why we got married in the first place. “So you think after our first fake relationship, he liked me then.”
“Oh, I’m sure of it. He called Luke to ask for his help. But I’d say the biggest tip off should have been when a guy who never even dates proposed.”
“Yeah, except I proposed. . .”
Mary’s jaw drops. “Wait, you proposed? Are you kidding me right now?”
“Lower your voice,” I say. The office is dead, but not that dead. “Yes, I proposed. But then he went and picked me a ring the same night.”
“I think I need to hear this entire story.”
“Then grab a seat. It’s a wild ride.”
And I tell her. All of it. Including the fact that I thought I was proposing to help him, but I realized at the wedding that I did it because I love him.
“Okay,” she says. “I understand your hesitation now, but I still think I’m right. And if you’d given him an extra moment to consider it, I think he would have said yes to you, regardless of the money from his grandfather.”
“There’s absolutely no way to know what he would have said one way or another, not now.” I cover my face with my hand. “And now I’ve done it again. Blocked his phone.”
“Wait, you blocked his number again?” Mary throws her hands in the air. “Why?”
“I mean figuratively.” I hold up my phone. “I didn’t block him. That’s all cleared up, but I may as well have done, because he hasn’t texted me or called.”
“Would he text?” Mary asks. “He’s a pretty proud guy, and you’re telling me you’ve shut him down and run away twice now.”
She’s right. “So should I text him?” I ask. “Or what do I do?” Because I want him in my foxhole with me. I want him on my side. I’m just not sure how to get him here.
“When do you fly back home to Europe?” she asks. “Isn’t it soon?”
I want to cry. I’m supposed to go back for my first Distribution in years. I have to go. “In four days.”
“That’s not much time,” she says. “Maybe let him suffer for a little while.”
“Are you kidding me?” Images of my super hot hawk going out for drinks at a bar and meeting another woman flash through my head. “I’m not sure he should be suffering. I mean, I don’t want him. . . I don’t know. Out there, meeting people.”
Mary laughs and stands up. “He’s not the kind of guy to go try and replace you. Believe me, he’s not even a little bit like that, from what Luke says. But sometimes guys need a while to stew things over, especially when they aren’t very in touch with their feelings. I gather that he blocked his feelings’ number years ago. He didn’t stop you from flying back here, you said, and he should have. Not putting up a fight was his mistake, but it doesn’t mean he won’t fight for you. Give him until you’re done with your family, and if he hasn’t figured out what to do by then, we’ll come up with an alternate plan.”
“You don’t think I should, I don’t know, fly back?”
“I don’t.”
“Why not?” I ask. “You said that he loves me, and I screwed up. I’m confused.”
Mary smiles. “But I didn’t know that you proposed. The ball is in his court this time. It was the pursuit of his family’s money that brought you back together, and he needs to man up and fix this. He needs to come to grips with how he feels, and figure out how to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“Because out of the two of you, James is the most emotionally stunted. Dealing with him right now is like tenderizing meat. You need to let it sit for a bit.”
“Oh my gosh. I’m always comparing him to a hawk, and now you’re saying he’s a hunk of meat.”
“We’re kind of terrible people,” Mary says. “I mean, talk about objectification.”
“He is gorgeous.” I smile. “If I had to fall for someone who’s a total mess, at least he’s nice to look at.”
“Officially, I think he looks like a troll,” Mary says. “Luke is the handsomest man I know, and no one else comes close to comparing.”
“Unofficially?” I smile.
“Oh, James is hot. Like, really hot.”
I think about my gorgeous husband, whom I love so much that my heart aches. “So you think maybe I haven’t ruined everything?”
“Some of that depends on him,” Mary says. “But unless I’m very wrong, your epic happily ever after is just getting started.”
20
James
With all the work I’ve missed lately, I shouldn’t be here. There’s snow on the ground in Boston, and the air in front of me floods with fluffy white vapor every time I exhale. I wanted to buy the biggest tombstone in the entire cemetery, but Gigi told me not to in her very first letter. She wanted something small, and she wanted a meaningful message from me inscribed on it, nothing more. The message I chose was: small kindnesses make the biggest impact.
I had to fight with Dad, but she got her modest, oval stone with carnations etched in the center of the round message. Not that I can see it now. It’s covered in snow.
I should be working, and I really shouldn’t be holding a stack of letters in my hands, three previously read and two still unopened. Gigi made me promise I’d open one a year on the anniversary of her death. I can only open the next letter if I’ve completed the task from the prior year. I squeaked under the wire and forgave my grandfather just in time, which meant I opened year three right on schedule.
But I have months and months before the anniversary of her death comes around again, so I shouldn’t be here, on her birthday, contemplating opening the last two early.
I did complete her third task already, and she’s always been the only giver of good advice in my life. I miss her now, more than ever before. I need her help, and she wouldn’t fault me for reading it early, I hope. I kick at the drifts of snow until her headstone is clear, and then I lay the huge stack of blood red carnations across the base. “No matter how many times I told you carnations were the cheapest flowers, you never cared.”
She loved carnations. Bubbly, easy-going flowers that know how to last and last, she always said.
“I miss you,” I say.
Of course she can’t say anything back, so I open her third letter, the one where she tasked me with the truly impossible.
Dear James,
You are going to read this letter and you’re going to laugh, but I don’t care as long as you also listen. I watched you for years and years, and I know you don’t allow yourself to love anyone because you’re afraid. If you completed last year’s task, then you have learned to let things go. You’ve learned not to let the past control your future. You also know that whatever path he’s wandered down since, your grandfather and I loved one another deeply at the beginning.
I want you to know that it wasn’t all his fault. I’m not sure what he’ll tell you, but I made mistakes too. When a great love falls apart, there are missteps on both sides. Always. I loved him so much that when he lost my trust, it gutted me. I never quite recovered. I wish now that I had, because I passed the remainder of my life alone, grieving the loss.
That was a mistake.
And unfortunately, I see you making the same mistake. Your parents failed so miserably to teach you how to love that you haven’t made an effort at all. But this year that is going to change. This year you are going to love someone, and when you realize you love her, you are going to propose to her.
Then you’re going to marry her.
Don’t drag that part out. Marry her as fast as you possibly can, once you realize you can’t live without her.
You’re going to be looking at this letter like you think I’ve lost my mind right now, because this seems so preposterous you can’t imagine proposing to someone. But you’re smart. You’re stupidly handsome. You’re talented, and you’re organized. Once you decide you’re ready to do things the right way, once you open your mind to the idea, you’ll find someone.
That nonsense that there’s only one person for you is rubbish. There are hundreds, probably thousands, of women you could find joy with. You both need to be aiming for the same target, but if you can get there, you can find happiness. That’s your task for this year. It’s time. Marry a woman you love, and if it takes more than a year, then that’s how long it takes. But go out and look, and don’t open that fourth letter until you’ve done it.
My biggest regret for you is that I didn’t get to meet her or see the two of you together. But don’t let that stop you. I’m sure I’ll be smiling down from above, and I’ll do it with all of my teeth.
All my love, now and forever,
Gigi
I carefully fold the letter and tuck it into my pocket with the other two. She told me to get married, and then Paisley dropped back into my life.
And then she proposed.
In the moment, I didn’t even think about this, about my grandmother’s advice, but now here I am. Married, but alone. My wife is about to annul our brief marriage, and I want to crawl into the ground next to my dead grandma just thinking about it.
The snow starts to fall again, fluffy flakes tumbling toward the ground.
I pull out her fourth letter. “It’s not time. I know that, but maybe there’s something in here I can use. In my entire life, I’ve never needed your help this badly.” I rip the letter open.
Dear James:
You’re married! I can’t tell you how delighted I am. I hope she cherishes you. I hope you cherish her right back. I hope you wake up with a smile on your face. I hope your life is the Hallmark card you always deserved.
And if it’s not, that’s okay too. Marriage has bumps, just like the covers on your bedspread. It takes time and effort to smooth those out, but if you do, you’ll sleep much better at night.
If you’re struggling as you read this, that’s okay. If you’re worried, that’s still okay! Read that again. If your marriage isn’t perfect, then figure out what’s wrong and make a plan, just like you would with any problem or threat to your business. Attack it with the ferocity you use at taking out your competition.
But never attack her.
You’re on the same side. And that’s a strange feeling, since you’ve always been out there alone. But now it’s not you against the world. It’s the TWO of you against the world. Isn’t that a blessing?
I’m sure you’re wondering what your task is this year. Don’t worry. I didn’t forget. This year I’m going to ask you to do something very, very hard. This year, I’m going to ask you to clean up my mess. I know that’s not fair, but life is the furthest thing from fair.
You have always been my greatest blessing. You have always been my delight. You listened to me, took care of me, and loved me, always. But I failed in something, failed badly.
Your grandfather and I, we lost someone. We lost a little girl who we should have shared. It broke me in ways I can’t even articulate, and I didn’t take care of your father like I should have. And then, when my only son asked to leave me, when he told me he wanted to live with his father, I thought it meant I was a bad mother. I thought it meant he needed someone better, someone with more means, someone more successful at conquering the world around him. It felt like he was saying the same thing I felt your grandfather said: that I wasn’t enough. So I did what someone who was lacking would do, and I let him go.
I am so sorry I agreed. I am sorry I didn’t fight for your father. I never should have sent him to live with your grandfather when he was only twelve. I lost my son, and you lost the father you should have had. He never learned what he should have learned about caring for people in his life. You can’t fix him, but I’m going to ask you to do something hard. I know you’ll feel like I’m asking you to help your father, but I’m not. I’m asking you to do this for your own good.
You’ve learned to love again, and you’ll learn this year that there is freedom in forgiveness.
That doesn’t make sense, perhaps, but it will. I know your dad has hurt you. I know he has let you down, over and over. I know that your mother doesn’t know how to care for herself, much less you. I know they were the worst kind of parents. But in spite of all of that, I’m still going to ask you to forgive them. Let go of your anger. Let go of your hate, if it’s that bad, and your frustration, and your disappointment. I don’t know whether they’ve grown up. I hope they have. I hope they want to be part of your life, and they can do it in a constructive, supportive way.
If they can’t, protect yourself and your new bride, but forgive them anyway. Let go of those feelings, because they are a cancer that will eat away at your heart.
Be free of it all.
That’s my request for you this year.
All my love,
Gigi
Well, that was useless. Because there’s no way I’m about to forgive my dad or my mom. Not after what they’ve done, and what they haven’t done. I’d like to think I’m just not ready, but I don’t see it happening any time soon.
“Oh Gigi, I wish you were here. I haven’t missed you this badly since you died. I messed things up,” I say. “I wish we were eating birthday cake right now, because then, instead of a bunch of letters you wrote with no way of knowing how my life would go, you’d be here, in person, to tell me how to fix this. But you’re not here.” I shake my head. “I’m alone, freezing in the snow, and I have no idea what to do. I would do anything to fix this. In fact, when grandfather told me that he wasn’t going to give me his esta
te in spite of the fact that I did what he asked, I didn’t even care. Actually, that’s not true. I was relieved. Because if Paisley stayed with me, I would know it wasn’t because of some stupid game. It wouldn’t be affiliated with my misguided revenge. If she and I stayed together, it would have been because she wanted me.”
I kneel down in the snow. “Paisley is so good. She’s a princess, a real, honest-to-goodness princess, and she doesn’t even care. She left it behind. She values work, she values friends, she loves her family, and she is the most caring person I know.” I choke. “She reminds me of you, which is exactly why she should never have married me.”
Someone clears his throat behind me.
I jump to my feet and spin around, snow spraying behind me. My dad has never looked less comfortable in his life. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was here earlier. I didn’t realize you were going to start talking, and then I wasn’t quite sure how to interrupt you. I think the snow dampened my footfalls so that you didn’t hear me.”
“Why are you here?” I glare.
“It’s my mother’s birthday,” he says. “I always come on this day.” He’s holding a bouquet of flowers bigger than my head. Roses, lilies, even orchids, but not a single carnation. My dad didn’t know his mother at all, but he’s here. He loved her.
I close my eyes. I should have realized.
“You usually come on the anniversary of her death,” he says. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”
The only way he can know I come on that day is if he has come too, and seen me, or noticed the flowers. Something about that warms my heart. I’m not the only one who misses her. “I’m sorry I came.” I stick my hands in my pockets and walk away, brushing past him.
“Look, son.”
I stop, but I don’t turn around.
“I hate to run you off, and I know it’s none of my business.”
