Chasing Romeo

by Sarah Ready

  “Please, don’t do this,” I say. “You don’t mean it.” He can’t mean it. Not after last night, or the last week. He can’t.

  He turns away. “What you’re feeling are endorphins. From sex. You’re confusing lust with love.”

  I step back, shocked at the bitterness in his voice.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Wrong? I’m the same person I’ve always been. Remember? ‘Love’s just a chemical cocktail prepping you for the inevitable hangover.’” He turns and gives a sardonic smile. “Welcome to the morning after.”

  Pain bursts in my chest. My hand flies to my heart and I press against the ache there. But I still fight him. “You don’t believe that anymore,” I say.

  “Of course I do. People don’t change.”

  The expression on his face scares me. Is this it? Is this another moment where I give my heart to someone just for them to break it?

  “People don’t change,” I repeat.

  “No. They don’t.”

  I remember how he left Romeo all those years ago. He left and he never looked back. “You’re always running away,” I say, suddenly angry. “You’re scared. It’s not me who’s afraid, it’s you. You’re leaving again. Don’t do this.”

  He steps closer and looks down into my eyes. At first I think he’s going to kiss me, his mouth softens and he leans forward. I think he’s going to forget the stupidity of leaving and kiss me. Instead, he slowly and deliberately says, “I don’t want you. It was just sex.”

  “Liar,” I say.

  “No. I’m just proving you right. The only person who won’t let you down is your soul mate. And that’s not me.”

  “You love me,” I say.

  He looks down at the floor. “I don’t,” he says.

  “You can’t look at me and say that.”

  I see it in his eyes before he says it and I know that I was wrong. About everything.

  “I don’t love you,” he says while he stares into my eyes. “I don’t love you and I’m going back to New York. I want to be left alone. You’ll be happy with Matt.”

  I don’t say anything. I can’t. I was wrong. Again. I should’ve listened to Aunt Erma and I should’ve remembered that I can’t trust myself.

  “I’m sorry I misunderstood,” I say. “You’re right. You aren’t who I thought you were.”

  He nods, and then, “Bye, Chloe.”

  “Goodbye,” I whisper.

  I reach out and take his hand. I memorize the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the callouses on his fingertips. “Be happy. Be happy, Nick.” That’s my greatest desire for him.

  “Send me a wedding invite,” he says.

  I shake my head. “I’m not letting you within a hundred yards of the church. God knows, if you show, the wedding will fall through. Except this time, there’ll be no cake.” I try to smile, but this time, it’s really not funny.

  I want to tell him I’ll miss him, but I can’t. There’s so many things I can’t say. Finally, after a long silence, Nick pulls his hand from mine.

  He leaves. And this time I don’t run after him.

  29

  Nick

  * * *

  I stop in Vegas for Shelly. She’s at an impound lot, burned, busted up, undrivable and unfixable. Shelly’s dead. I rest my hand on her hood.

  “Hey girl. Sorry I let you down.”

  I run my hand over her blackened metal. Pieces of her frame are melted. Her windows are shattered. Her front bumper is gone and half of her body is caved in and twisted. She’ll never be able to drive again. She’s a blackened shell. I look at the charred and torn backseat. The backseat. I remember the night Chloe and I finally made love. We were so young, but it felt like I’d waited forever for her. That night, I was on top of the world. I believed that things could only get better. It’s funny that less than twelve hours later that belief was shattered. I turn away from the backseat, there’s nothing left of her. She’s gone.

  I head back toward the impound office. If I leave Shelly here they’ll crush her for scrap. They’ll tear her apart and stamp her into a ball of metal. There’d be nothing left of her at all. I pay the money to break her out of the car graveyard, then I hire a truck to haul her home. The entire trip back feels like a funeral procession.

  Back in Romeo, everything returns to the way it was before. I eat, I sleep, I’m left alone. I pick up a few infidelity cases and take photos of people proving to everyone that love isn’t real. I contemplate getting out of this field, it’s too depressing, even for me. Reed is talking about starting a security firm in Romeo and keeps asking me to partner with him.

  Beyond that, there’s not much to look forward to in life. Not much at all.

  I eat, I sleep, I’m left alone.

  After a few days back, Erma calls to settle her bill. She invites me to swing by, so I drive over to the retirement home.

  When I arrive, I head to Erma’s suite. She’s in another kimono-style robe. There’s a pot of tea and oatmeal raisin cookies on her table.

  “Come in, Nick, come in. Tea, coffee? I know you love my oatmeal raisin. Always a rascal.”

  She sits down and I perch on the edge of a wooden chair.

  “Ah…um…” Huh.

  “Eat,” she says. Her eyes are sharp and it’s clearly an order.

  I grab a cookie and take a bite. It’s dry and I force the scratchy oats down. She pours coffee and I take a grateful swallow.

  “Thank you,” I say. “Delicious.”

  Her eyes narrow and I’m reminded of her hawk like gaze and her uncanny ability to pull secrets out of me when I was a kid. I shift in my seat. I finish the cookie and then end the long silence.

  “There’s no need to settle,” I say. “I’m not submitting a bill. There’s no payment needed, no reimbursement, no cabin, no land. We’re all set.”

  I move to stand.

  “Sit down,” Erma says in a firm voice.

  I sit.

  “I heard from Chloe,” she says.

  The dry cookie I just ate kicks around in my stomach. I want to ask if Chloe’s coming back to Romeo, what she’s doing, how she is. I want to know anything and everything, and also, nothing. Because no news is good news. I take the safe approach and stay quiet.

  Erma takes a sip of tea and watches me over the rim of her china cup. After she sets the cup down she studies me with a shrewd gaze.

  “You don’t want any payment?”

  “No.”

  “Not even the land? Isn’t that what you always wanted? A bit of land to yourself?”

  I get the feeling she’s watching me like a hawk watches a mouse right before it swoops down and grabs it.

  I shift in my seat. “Miss Erma, with all due respect, I’m not taking any payment. The job’s done. We’re all set.”

  She picks up the tea pot, it’s in a purple cozy, and pours more steaming tea into her cup. Then she adds milk and sugar and stirs it all with a tiny silver teaspoon. She takes a sip and sets the china down.

  “Chloe’s doing well,” she says. “This Matt Smith seems like a perfect gentleman.”

  This time, I’m ready to hear Chloe’s name, and I barely react. I don’t think Erma can hear the thundering of my heart.

  “I’m glad,” I say. My voice comes out hoarse.

  “Are you sure you don’t want any payment? Anything at all?”

  “I’m sure,” I say. A drop of sweat falls down the side of my face. I wipe it away. Autumn is here and Erma has her heat cranked high.

  “What about a soul mate?” she asks. There’s a grandmotherly smile on her face.

  “No thank you,” I say. Erma’s a loose cannon, even if I say no, she may decide to tell me that my soul mate is Brandy, the bully who gave me a wedgie on the first day of kindergarten.

  “Ah, I see. You helped Chloe find hers, but you don’t want your own.”

  I look down at my hands. “That’s right.” My heart gives a hard, jarring thump in my chest.


  Erma stands, so I stand too. She sends a brisk smile my way and ushers me to the door.

  “You call me when you change your mind,” she says.

  She holds open the door. That’s all? I’m let off this easy? There’s a tight heaviness in my chest that’s telling me this can’t be it.

  “We’re all set?” I ask.

  Erma looks up at me and cocks her head like the hawk I imagined earlier. Then, she swoops in for the kill. “Of course, dear boy,” she says, “you did your job. I’m expecting wedding bells this week.”

  The room tilts and I grab the door handle. I stumble out of Erma’s suite. The scent of the retirement home—bleach, air freshener, and cafeteria lunch—hits me and I think I’ll be sick. I rush toward the exit and throw open the door. I’m blinded by the harsh sunlight, so I stop and pull in hard breaths of cold air. A crow caws in the tree above me. It sounds like the discordant ringing of wedding bells.

  30

  Chloe

  * * *

  I lean over the edge of Matt’s third-story deck and watch the ocean crash over the shore. It’s been three days since Nick left, and every one of them I’ve spent at Matt’s house party. I spend my nights at the hotel, but the days…those are spent talking about art, lounging by the pool, and taking walks on the beach.

  When the party started, Matt introduced me to all his friends as the woman he was going to marry. He said it in a joking way, but I could tell there was serious intent underneath. He would look at me each time that he said it and his eyes would lift as he smiled. I always forced myself to smile back.

  All the single women at his party looked at me with envy. No one had been able to catch Matt’s eye, and here I was, after only a few days, the woman he wanted to wed.

  I lean farther over the glass railing. It’s a long way down and my stomach rolls as I imagine the fall. It would kill me. And isn’t that what I’ve been afraid of? The fall and the crash? Yet, here I am with Matt Smith, my soul mate, and it hurts. Maybe, even more than tumbling down this cliff and falling to the rocks below.

  I want Nick. I want him more than I want my “soul mate.”

  But he doesn’t want me. It’s funny how life works out. I guess my aunt was right after all. The slider door opens and I turn to see Matt coming out onto the deck. He’s wearing what I’ve come to think of as beach casual, and carrying two glasses of white wine.

  “I wondered where you got to,” he says.

  “Sorry. Is it okay that I explored? I was taking a break from the party.” Honestly, everyone’s curiosity about me and his constant attention is a lot.

  I take the wine glass from him and ask something that’s been bothering me for days. “Why do you like me?”

  Matt lets out a loud laugh. Sometimes his laugh reminds me of the barking harbor seals that I saw by the beach the other day.

  “You say the funniest things,” he says.

  I frown. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. Remember your joke about Cubism? I’m still laughing.” He takes another sip and moves closer. “Listen. How can I not like you? You’re talented, beautiful, you understand art. We connect.”

  I make a non-committal sound. “But why?” I ask. I haven’t mentioned my Aunt Erma yet and he doesn’t know that she predicted we’re soul mates. For some reason, I haven’t been able to bring it up.

  All this interest and solicitousness is all him. He really likes me. A lot. The fact that I argued passionately that it would be like this doesn’t elude me. But I guess Nick rubbed off on me more than I realized, because I wonder what his ulterior motives are. What’s his angle?

  I set the glass down on the flat edge of the railing.

  “Why weren’t you suspicious of me?” I ask.

  He sets his glass down next to mine and tilts his head. His blonde wavy hair falls over his eyebrows. “What do you mean? You’re awfully serious.” He’s still laughing at me.

  I scowl and feel like I’m channeling Nick. “I mean, why didn’t you question me more? You’re a bachelor multi-millionaire and I show up out of nowhere and claim to be a random girl from your childhood. I could be a con-artist. A serial killer. Some sort of insane stalker.”

  His eyebrows get higher on his forehead and then he barks out a laugh. “But you’re not. It’s obvious you’re not. I mean, look at you.” He gestures at my lacy pink dress and my flower-print high heels. His gesture says, you’re so cute and innocent.

  I deepen my scowl and fold my arms over my chest. “But I could be.”

  “Listen, I’m going to be straight with you.”

  “Please do.”

  He takes my hands in his. He has long, tapered artist’s fingers. Nothing at all like the rough callouses on Nick’s hands.

  Matt clears his throat and a blush spreads across his cheeks. “Have you ever had the experience where you make eye contact with someone and there’s a zing?”

  “Zing?” I say stupidly.

  He nods. “I didn’t want to say anything, because it all sounds metaphysical and hokey. But when I saw you, I felt like you were the one.”

  My mouth goes dry and suddenly I feel faint. I blink at the dizziness and try to pull myself together.

  “You think I’m crazy,” he says. He lets go of my hands. “I knew it was too soon. I knew you’d think I was crazy.”

  My vision starts to tunnel and there’s a roaring in my ears. I lean against the railing.

  “Are you okay?” Matt asks.

  “I just need a minute.”

  He stands next to me and looks out over the water. “Is it that other guy? Your friend?”

  “No,” I say. My head clears and I feel steady again. “No. He doesn’t want me.”

  “Is that what he said?” asks Matt.

  “Do you really want to know?”

  “Of course. It concerns the woman I’m going to marry.” He winks and pushes his blonde hair out of his eyes.

  Well…”Yes. He said he doesn’t want me.”

  Matt laughs. “Listen, he was lying. But it’s my luck, because I do want you and I’m not afraid to admit it.”

  “Even if I’m an ax murderer?”

  “So cynical,” he says.

  “What’s wrong with you that you trust me so easily?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with trusting,” he says.

  “I don’t know,” I say. But if I trusted, I’d be back in New York right now, knocking down Nick’s door, no matter how hard he tried to push me away.

  “Can I kiss you?” he asks. He steps closer and looks down at me.

  I clench up and have to stop myself from looking away. “O-okay,” I say, even though it feels wrong.

  He bends down. His lips are cold and dry. I try to relax, but I can’t. His hands move to my shoulders and my skin itches under him. He smears his lips across mine and tries to get me to open my mouth, but I’m too stiff. All I can think is that his lips feel like sandpaper and he tastes like raw fish. Finally, he pulls back.

  He studies me. “Nothing?” he asks.

  I shake my head.

  “Well,” he says, “it took Michelangelo four years to paint the Sistine Chapel. A masterpiece takes time.”

  He picks up his wine glass and settles into a comfortable pose looking over the water.

  “Speaking of art, what’ve you been working on?”

  I think about my ideas for the new card line. “I’ve been designing this new series called Dog loves Cat. It’s about these two critters that are complete opposites in every way, but eventually they realize they’re a perfect match. They complement each other so well that they realize their lives work best when they’re together.”

  He clinks his glass against mine. “That’s a spectacular idea. Opposites attract. Listen though, real life doesn’t work that way. The best lovers have things in common. But the idea’s neat in fiction and art.”

  “You think?” I ask.

  “I do. Will you come by tomorrow? It’s the last day my guests are here. I�
�m sure some of them would like to say goodbye.”

  I consider it, then, “Okay, yes.”

  “Good,” he says.

  I swallow the rest of the white wine. The sweet late harvest Riesling tastes bitter as it goes down. I think being here is one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. It feels wrong. While being with Nick, which was wrong, felt unbelievably right.

  31

  Nick

  * * *

  I’m on a job. It’s down near the border of New York and Connecticut. It’s a long haul for a job, but it’s paying well and is a good distraction. My client told me her “mate” was meeting other males on the side. When confronted, he denied it. Hence, my hiring. I’m at the address she provided at the time she suspected, sitting in my car waiting for someone to show. It’s a small upscale boutique shopping mall with expensive restaurants, designer stores and a pet spa. Because it’s nearly eleven at night, there are only a few cars in the parking lot.

  I sink lower in my seat and lift my camera as a red Maserati pulls in.

  “Bingo,” I say.

  A man gets out of the driver seat. He’s wearing sunglasses at night. Of course. He pulls up the collar of his coat, hunches his shoulders, and quickly glances around the parking lot.

  “Not suspicious at all,” I say. I lift my camera and take a few shots from my car. I zoom in on his face. The guy looks strangely familiar, but I can’t place him.

  Headlights flood over the parking lot and a Porsche pulls into the spot next to the Maserati. A tall narrow-shouldered man in a red blazer gets out. I snap another photo.

  The two men shake hands then step apart. Huh. Not exactly the behavior I’ve come to expect from cheating spouses. Then, the first guy, the one that looks familiar, goes to the passenger door of his car and pulls out a box.

  I zoom in my camera. “Holy…”

  That’s not a box.

  It’s a cat carrier. And now I remember where I’ve seen this guy before. It’s Matt Smith Number One. And he’s not the one cheating. Cauliflower is.