I look at my reflection once I swipe a hand across the foggy bathroom mirror. My softly tanned skin is freshly washed, smooth. The dots of freckles running across my nose and slightly onto my cheeks are clearly visible now that the day’s light application of powder and blush have been wiped away.
Squirting some eye makeup remover onto a cotton pad, I carefully begin to clear away the smudge of black eyeliner and mascara, minimal amounts of makeup as is usually the case.
Once I’ve moisturized my face and run a brush through my long brown hair, the ends reaching all the way down to my waist—the longest it’s been in years—I spritz some Clinique Happy onto my wrists and neck. Though there’s no one in bed to compliment me on how good I smell, a girl can still make herself feel pretty.
I switch off all of the lights of my modern, one-bed, fourth-floor Belltown apartment, save for the one in my bedroom. I check my iPhone, making sure the alarm is set to go off at its usual time of five o’clock.
Unable to read more than two pages of the new Nicholas Sparks book I picked up at Randy’s tonight, I find myself drifting off into a much-needed deep sleep…and I dream. I dream about a time that I’ve thought I’ve forgotten, but have obviously only neglected to visit for many years.
Chapter Four
Six Years Ago, Summer in Seattle
“Where is that thing?” I cried from the narrow, floor-to-ceiling teal and yellow tiled bathroom. “I know I didn’t forget to pack it.” I pulled out one drawer after another under the small bathroom sink.
Freshly graduated from college, a practically useless History degree to my name, barely able to make rent with the money I was earning as a caterer and baker at Katie’s Kitchen, and completely smitten by my dark-haired, dark-eyed boyfriend, moving in with Brandon Crossley seemed like the best idea on the planet. Only when I surveyed the cramped bathroom and considered the laughable excuse of a walk-in closet did I begin to second-guess my decision.
The charming and tiny one-bedroom apartment in the old district of Lower Queen Anne was adorable, its brownstone façade, high-stepped entryway, and creaky wooden floors lending to its appeal. It wasn’t an imposing redbrick home or apartment complex or an elegant gingerbread home with sweeping and manicured lawns like that of the bluebloods who lived up above in Queen Anne on the steepest and highest hill in Seattle. Brandon’s place—our place—and the neighborhood had its own charm, but with that came the historic tininess that always seems to be a prerequisite of “old” or “antique” or “Victorian” residences.
Then, as if on cue, the person who could make all the negative thoughts about choosing where to live go away appeared by my side.
“What are you looking for?” Brandon asked, one well-toned arm resting on the narrow doorframe. “What could you possibly have forgotten to bring?”
He chuckled in that low, sexy way he always did when he was feeling at ease. “Have you seen how much crap you brought in here, Soph? There’s no way you forgot anything.”
I heaved a loud sigh, raucously shutting the last drawer. “It’s my Plumb Passion Perfection nail polish, Brandon.” Arms akimbo, I cocked my head to the side. “I can’t find it anywhere.”
“You don’t have enough polish already?” There he went chuckling again.
“No. This is Plumb Passion.” I pushed past him and charged into the bedroom, determined to find the lost polish. “Perfection!” I added for emphasis. “It’s only the best summer color I have.”
Brandon arrived in the bedroom a second later, cramming both hands in the front pockets of his dark-wash blue jeans.
“I hate to break it to you, babe,” he said, “but if you haven’t seen it yet, it’s probably gone.”
It’s true. I moved in months ago, so any chance of finding it now would be slim to none. Obsessing over order and organization, I was unpacked and moved into Brandon’s in record time. I don’t think I had even hit the one-week mark before every last box was unpacked, every item organized properly. Unfortunately, I neglected to maintain this sense of care when it came to my cosmetics.
“I don’t get it!” I shrieked, beginning to rifle through the dresser drawers in the low-lit bedroom. “All of my nail polish is in one cosmetic bag. Where could it have gone?”
“Have you worn it recently? When was the last time you saw it?” Brandon moved near me and gingerly pulled open the top drawer.
“Those are my panties, silly.”
“Wouldn’t hurt searching, just in case,” he said as he pulled out a black lace thong. He twirled the underwear on one finger. “Also wouldn’t hurt just digging through here for the hell of it.”
“Honestly,” I breathed out, abandoning the dresser and heading towards the shoebox of a closet. “This really irks me. It’s such a pretty color.”
“You can get a new one.” He stuffed the underwear into the drawer and took an at-ease seat on the bed.
“My brother got it for me.” I pulled carrier bags filled with scarves, belts, and other random accessories from the shallow closet shelves. “John said it would make my eyes really pop, that it was perfect with my complexion.”
“How’s this?” The sultry tone to Brandon’s voice made me turn around. I caught his dreamy gaze, those deep brown eyes of his speaking to me, reaching out to me. Our chemical attraction was unlike anything I’d ever experienced. It was almost…magical.
He leaned back onto the bed on his elbows, the hem of his Hollister t-shirt riding up to expose a line of smooth, tan skin and the top of his black-rimmed boxer-briefs. “Your dreamy bluey-greens pop without nail polish. You’re so beautiful it doesn’t matter.”
“You know just what to say to sweep a girl off her feet, don’t you?” I said with a seductive bite to my bottom lip. I sauntered over to him. “Or what to say to get her mind off her trouble.”
He held out one hand. I sat down next to him. “Tell you what,” he said as he pushed a strand of hair out of my eyes and tucked it delicately behind one ear. “I know another fool-proof way to get your mind off your trouble.”
“Oh, really?” I laughed out as his hand cupped the back of my head. He pulled me nearer him, his lips grazing mine.
“Really.” His voice was a whisper, his moist lips still grazing. Then he pulled me in tight for a deep kiss.
I did forget all about the lost nail polish. Although I never found the limited-edition color, I didn’t mind too much after all. I was living with the man I couldn’t imagine loving any more. He was my everything.
We’d met four years too late in college, during our graduation party put on, in tradition, by the university’s student association. Our eyes had met across the room, we’d had a date, then a couple more, and before either of us knew it we were smitten. We’d only been together for a few months, but I just knew that our relationship was going to top all the others.
Being with Brandon made me feel like I was the only woman in the room. He made me feel beautiful and special and loved. I knew things had just begun, but I won’t lie—I couldn’t wait to see where they’d end up. I was fairly sure Conner was going to propose to Claire soon. I mean, they’d been together for four years! And, you know, I may not have been far off. Okay, okay, that’s definitely jumping the gun, but maybe in a year or two…
***
One Summer Later (Five Years Ago) in Santa Barbara, California
“You think they’ll like me?” Brandon asked, holding both arms out in front of him. He was checking to make sure the rolled sleeves of his cream button-down were even. “I mean, I am shacking up with their daughter, and I’m what’s keeping you from coming home to Santa Barbara after being away at college.”
I waved a dismissive hand at him, then smoothed out the shoulders of his shirt.
At six-foot-five, Brandon towered over me, which is hard to do at my height; I found it so becoming. I stood on my ballet-clad tiptoes, careful not to scud the cream, lacquered tips of the new Lanvins my mother had sent me for my birthday a few months earlier.
“It’s a cream shirt, silly.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m just fine-tuning. You look fab. Don’t worry.”
“Yeah, well.” He held his arms back out.
“They’re fine,” I groaned. I tried to push his arms back down to his sides. “I don’t know what you’re so worked up about.”
“Meeting your girlfriend’s parents in their home for the first time is something to be worked up about, Soph.”
“Oh, you’re being ridiculous.” I pulled my handbag higher up onto my shoulder. “They like you. What’s to worry about?”
“Like I said,” he fixed me with a taut gaze, his jaw nearly locked, “I’m the guy you’re shacking up with, and I’m keeping you in Seattle.”
“Don’t flatter yourself so much,” I said, half-joshing. “I’m in Seattle for Claire. For Robin, for Jackie…the whole gang.” I gave him a sly look. “And for you, too, I suppose.” I leaned up and into him and gave him a quick kiss.
Brandon timidly approached the front door of my parents’ immaculate Santa Barbara home, a two-story beauty nestled in the foothills of the Santa Ynez mountains, with magnificent views of the harbor, Pacific Ocean, and surrounding, glittering city that lit up in a foggy glow each evening.
“Relax.” I took his hand in mine.
“You sure they don’t mind us living together?”
I groaned, a little louder than I’d anticipated. “No. It’s been a year, anyhow.”
He shrugged.
“Of course, I wouldn’t bring it up as a topic of conversation at the dinner table.” I tittered. “But no, they’re modern, they’re hip, they don’t give a flying flip.”
“They’re Catholic.”
“Yeah, not much more than Creasters, really.” This wasn’t entirely true, but my parents were not diligent Sunday morning mass attendees. Always the big holidays, yes, and perhaps a mass every few weeks, confession when the mood (or guilt?) struck. Brandon really had nothing to worry about.
“Still,” Brandon protested. “I want them to like me.”
“They’re cool. They’re forward-thinking enough that they don’t mind. They have no opinion of my living situation, if I know my parents. I mean,” I pursed my lips for a second, “they’ve never mentioned it to me. Maybe deep down my mother wishes my Catholic guilt would push through and I’d be an honest woman and get married, start popping out babies, but—”
“Oh, god.” Brandon nervously rubbed at the side of his face.
“Stop it.” I gave a pitiful, puppy-dog smile. “Don’t you worry.”
He pressed his lips together tightly and looked off into the distance, near the side gate of the house that led you through a small rose garden and eventually spilled out onto an impressively sized back lawn. “Oh, Soph…”
I stopped halfway up the winding path to the front door and tugged on Brandon’s hand. His eyes met mine, and they were filled with anxiety.
“Dear god,” I said. “You’re really worked up, huh?”
“This is a big step, coming to meet the girlfriend’s parents on their turf, staying at their house, going away for the weekend here.”
I couldn’t help but take in a deep and calming yoga-esque breath, and smile. “So long as you brought a bottle of champagne you’ll have no problem being welcomed into the Wharton family.”
“Wha—” His face went long.
“Just kidding.” I poked him in the stomach, and he lightly winced.
“Not funny, Soph.”
“The flowers are a sweet and polite gesture,” I said, holding up the colorful bouquet we’d picked up at one of my favorite florists on State Street. “My mother will swoon over the sweet thought, and my father will appreciate the classy move.” I lightly pulled him along as I resumed our approach to the front door.
“All right,” he said at last, the confident and relaxed Brandon beginning to reappear.
***
“He’s darling,” Mom said as she rinsed the fine China in the kitchen sink while I dried. “You really found yourself a keeper, Sophie.”
“You think so?” I said, giddy.
I knew my mom was a fan of Brandon, but so taken? I was never that comfortable with getting down to girl talk with her about relationships. At least not the nitty-gritty kind of stuff. There are important tips and helpful relationship advice mothers can provide, and they’re the person you’d hope you could turn to if you wanted to ask for an honest, heartfelt opinion about the man who’s stolen your heart. You want to be able to share an anecdote here and there about how he said he loves your new haircut, or how he thought of you when passing the chocolate shop and picked you up a little something, or how you think he’s “the real McCoy.” She’s also the one you want to be able to go to to say you had a bit of an argument and wanted advice on what to do or say when neither is willing to concede fault about the DVR failure.
Your girlfriends, though, are the ones you run to to gush about the mind-blowing make-up sex you had, to giggle over his habit of mimicking Pavarotti in the shower, and to swap “where’s the craziest place you’ve ever done it?” stories. The girlfriends are there to impart advice when you think your boyfriend’s cheating on you, or to tell you that you’re too good for him, or to tell you that, yes, you two are without a shadow of a doubt going to get married because fate wouldn’t have it any other way!
Hearing Mom say that she was already taken with Brandon was all the reassurance I needed from her. In the recesses of my mind I had some fear that she and Dad thought I could do better. I felt like maybe they had hoped to see me with someone who wasn’t so content with keeping our lives in Seattle somewhat private from our parents, like maybe they’d wanted someone a little more family-oriented. Brandon was a private kind of guy, full of confidence and very laidback, but he was never one to bare his soul to anyone. I guess I’m special in that way. We just…clicked, baring it all to each other.
“I’m so glad to hear that, Mom,” I said. I took a large China plate from her and began to dry it.
“I think your father’s a fan, too.” Mom gave me a warm wink with those wide, cool blue eyes of hers, a perfect color to complement her rich, silky, auburn hair cut into a neat bob. “I know your father is very impressed with Brandon’s work in IT. Seems like he can provide a fine future for you.”
“Means he may always be located in Seattle, Mom,” I pointed out truthfully. “I know how much you and Dad would love for me to come back down to Santa Barbara…”
“We want for you to do what you want to do.”
I knew if my parents had it their way they’d have me move back home in a heartbeat, try to set up a bakery or café in their small, elite Southern Californian community. It was tough for them to have their eldest, John, living up in San Francisco, and with his legal work requiring international travel, the chance of him being able to move down the street from Mom and Dad was slim to none. I think they’d secretly hoped I’d be the prodigal-daughter-come-home.
“I like Seattle, Mom,” I said honestly. “It works for me, and I really think I can open up a café there some time.” I set the dry plate on top of the small stack and took another wet one from Mom.
“And Brandon?” She kept her eyes focused on her rinsing task.
“Brandon loves his job, and IT work is everywhere over there—”
“Your café plans,” she cut in, correcting me. “What does he think of your café plans? Say his work moves him elsewhere; would you go?”
“Oh, goodness.” I momentarily paused my drying.
I honestly hadn’t given this any thought before. At the time it was all about trying to do well at Katie’s Kitchen, gain more experience in the industry, and save every penny in hopes of opening up my own shop. Brandon seemed fine with his career, and the topic of moving to anywhere other than Santa Barbara, only when discussing how my parents missed having their children close by, never came up.
&n
bsp; “I just want to make sure you’re doing what makes you happy, Sophie,” Mom said. She pulled off one yellow-and-white polka dot rubber glove and touched my arm. “If Brandon makes you happy, then wonderful. And if opening up your own café makes you happy, then you go for it.” She squeezed my arm encouragingly. “Your father and I support you.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, resuming my drying. “I don’t really talk with Brandon much about opening the café, to be honest.” I glanced at her quickly. “It’s just an idea right now. I don’t want to get all in a fantasizing mood and give up my hopes.”
Mom nodded sweetly, quietly, understandingly.
“There are the busy bees,” Dad’s deep voice boomed from behind.
“You boys doing some manly bonding?” Mom asked, peering around to look at her approaching husband.
Dad placed his hands on Mom’s dainty shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. He looked to me and smiled, his white mane of hair, coiffed in a very businesslike manner, his crystal blue eyes sparkling, the light wrinkles around his mouth from years of joy and smiling (and a skosh stress, too, thanks to having a teenage daughter who could be unruly at times), creasing deeper with his smile.
“Brandon and I are certainly doing some ‘manly bonding,’” he said, walking over to me. His slick, black loafers clicked against the cobblestone-styled kitchen flooring.
Always dressed his best, my dad, a very successful CTO, exuded confidence and poise. I didn’t have to look far to see from where I’d gotten the determined and hard-working genes. Mom, too, who dabbled as a local art dealer and had worked tirelessly making the house a home and made sure our family was taken care of, was a prime example of why I had the confidence and determination to go after my dream job and make things work.
When Girlfriends Find Love Page 4
