He lowered his head to the flower, breathing in deeply, closing his eyes to enjoy the fleeting scent of the delicate blossom. It must’ve been something about the daisy, or watching his complete reverence for something I loved so much, or possibly just that his eyes were closed. Or maybe it was the martinis. But who cares?
I kissed him, in one perfect moment of stupidity.
The very instant our lips connected, everything changed. The daisy was forgotten, Christian’s hands were in my hair, I was pressed up against the wall of the elevator as my own hands desperately found their way up into his tuxedo jacket. A willful force, driven by a thousand missed chances from the past, took over my body. I’d forgotten how soft Christian’s lips were, how firmly his hands caressed my skin that night in the pool. All the emotions I’d experienced in the ten years since seemed to erupt, a dormant volcano waiting for precisely this moment. I gave in to him, his hands, and his lips. All of it familiar and new at the same time.
When the elevator bell announced our arrival on the ground floor, we froze. Christian broke away from me, leaving me slumped against the wall and unsure how well my knees would support my body weight. He pounded a thumb into the Stop button before the doors opened.
“Tessie,” he said breathlessly, still plastered against the opposite wall of the elevator. “I’m sorry, I don’t know—I just—Wow. Tess, we can just—”
Oh God, what had I just done? “Christian, I—” We were stuttering together, neither of us making any sense. Things were going downhill quickly and I needed to get out of the elevator before I died of embarrassment. I hit the Open button and the doors sprung apart, which stopped Christian mid-stutter.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what happened,” I stood with one foot on either side of the door frame, half-in and half-out. I searched his face for the answer and found a man torn apart. I could read the grief there, the confusion, the pain. If I’d kept my lips to myself, we would have gone about our lives the way we always had. Now, I was doing to him what all those past women had done—breaking his heart. I saw it reflected in those perfect, blue eyes.
What a shitty friend I turned out to be.
“I shouldn’t—” A lot of words wanted to come out, but got clogged together in my throat. I turned on one heel, eyes glued to the floor, and walked through the lobby to the front door. He yelled after me a couple of times and while my heart leapt at the sound of it, my head told my feet to move on.
Whatever I could’ve been to Christian romantically, I was his best friend first. Best friends don’t rip each other’s hearts in half like I’d just done.
****
The chilled night air—because even May is cold in New England sometimes—evaporated any remaining alcohol in my system. Along with the cold, my body crumpled with crushing guilt. How could I have done this to a man I cared so much for? Who cares how I felt? It wasn’t fair of me to try to change things. I’d missed my chance a long time ago. And there Christian was, ready to start a new life with the perfect woman, and I throw a wrench into his plan.
I was so angry at myself, I could scream.
Instead, I caught a cab home. I walked into my apartment, switched on the light, and stood absorbing the silence with my eyes closed. It was particularly oppressive after all I’d been through. To chase away the demons, I locked up my liquor cabinet and headed to the bathroom for a long, hot bath in my cranberry-scented bubble bath. I tried painting my toenails hot pink to cheer myself up, a trick I used since high school, but that didn’t work. The memory of Christian once helping me pick out a new shade of hot pink in the drugstore when we were eighteen was a real killjoy.
So I tried eating instead, digging out the very last slice of my Cheer Up Cheesecake from Kendra. I’d been saving it for something truly catastrophic, something of this magnitude. Even though it was dry from sitting in the fridge too long, I ate the whole piece and pretended it was the most damn delicious thing I’d ever consumed.
Eventually, there was nothing left to do to keep my thoughts at bay. As usual, I was too late, the last one to know what was going on. I’d sworn off a family to avoid my mother’s mistakes, sworn off Christian because we wanted such different things. Instead, I tried to fill the empty space with a job. Look at me—I said to my reflection in the full-length mirror on my closet door—my mother wasn’t great, but I turned out okay. I had great friends, a good career, and a good ‘head on my shoulders’ as my grandmother would’ve said before she passed away. She’d been a good mother, so it was there, that maternal gene, somewhere in my DNA.
I thought about all those boyfriends that hadn’t fit what I was looking for. I’d been comparing them to Christian all the time, without even noticing. He’d been my standard, one no man could meet, an apple in a basket of oranges. None of them were right for me because they weren’t him. The realization sat like lead in my stomach—or maybe that was the cheesecake—and I suddenly wanted to go to the gym and run for three days straight. At least no one would look for me there.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
When Marty called me into his office on Monday, it was the ideal way to start my week A good screaming fit would be the icing on my crappy weekend cake, so I went in without reservation. Let him do his worst; it couldn’t make me feel any angrier, guiltier, or whatever, than I did already. At least if he was a total asshole to me, I could turn around and report him for all that sexual harassment. That would be kinda fun.
“Monroe, have a seat,” Marty said, pacing back and forth. It was his angry dance, reserved for special occasions because of all the calories it burned. “I’ve received some rather disturbing news that concerns you. News I’m not happy to report.”
Who knew declining a sexual advance in the workplace could incur so much hostility? I wanted to ask him to just spit it out already, but there was no reason to make him talk any faster. I didn’t have anywhere to be…ever.
“Stan Liske, Prime’s CEO, called about your little presentation,” he stopped pacing. I looked up at him, and the hatred in his eyes. “Stan’s offering you a Vice President position. If you accept, you’ll be running the magazine, which will be produced quarterly, and heading up your own team at the main office.”
Main office? But the main office was in…
“Of course, you’ll have to move to Chicago,” he smiled, as we’d finally reached the one piece of news he enjoyed. He was getting rid of me. Touché, Marty Bensen. Touché.
But, Chicago? What did I know about Chicago?
“I need to know if you’re taking the job or not by the end of the day.”
I nearly fell out of my chair. “Today?”
He nodded smugly. How was I going to make a life altering decision in three hours? I stopped then and thought about it. I’d miss everyone, but this was my big chance. A real opportunity for a new start, a new life. A life away from the love I couldn’t have.
I straightened in my chair, my mind made up, and stood up to face Marty eye to eye.
“I’ll take it.” My answer startled him, and he had to readjust one of his suspenders.
“Okay, then, Monroe.” He shook my hand. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”
I forced a polite smile and then turned to make my hasty exit. Just as I stepped outside the door, he called my name again.
“Yes?” I turned, gritting my teeth against my impatience.
“You’ll want to be in Chicago as soon as possible, so get packing. There’s an executive level meeting on the Friday after next and if you’re not there, you might as well forfeit the position.” I stiffened at his words and his grin grew broader at my discomfort.
Two weeks to settle all the tumult in my life, alert my landlord, pack my things. Two weeks to move my entire life—whatever was left of it—to Chicago. Super.
****
One of the first things I had to do before moving to Chicago was also one of the most unpleasant. If I was going to meet with CEO Stan Liske on my first day of my new job, I was going to
need that “big-time outfit” intact. Marcy wouldn’t answer or return my phone calls so I decided to drive to her apartment that night and get the jacket by any means necessary.
The lights were on when I pulled into the driveway of her little condo and I was immediately relieved that breaking and entering wouldn’t be on the evening’s agenda. I firmly affixed my polite, professional attitude and got out of the car.
Marcy opened the door when I rang the bell, stepping back immediately. She was dressed rather conservatively for herself and without that ugly belt. I wondered if it had all been an act, not really her.
“Please don’t slam the door in my face,” I said. “I just want my jacket.”
She crossed her arms and considered me. “What jacket?”
“Don’t play with me, Marcy. I know you have it. I don’t care if you took it on purpose or by accident, I just need it back. Can I have it please?”
She opened the door wider and let me into the living room. “Stay here and don’t touch anything. I’ll see if I can find your dumb jacket.” Marcy disappeared into her bedroom, leaving me alone. The television blared with some obnoxious commercial about maxi pads and I tried to tune it out. My eyes wandered around the room, taking in the hospital-like cleanliness and white-on-white décor. Only people without pets and children could get away with homes like this… unless they were as prone to spilling spaghetti sauce as I was. She had a white Ikea-like desk in one corner, her mail neatly organized onto of it. Her laptop was open but turned off, a single envelope tucked underneath one corner of it. Instantly, I knew it shouldn’t be there, I knew it didn’t belong to her.
I crossed the room in three steps and snatched it up, ignoring Marcy’s request not to touch anything. This letter wasn’t hers anyway, not with the name Tessie scrolled across it in Christian’s handwriting. The letter I’d found on my desk over a month ago. I’d forgotten all about it.
“Here’s the jacket,” she said, stepping into the living room. I raised my eyes from the letter and they connected with hers. She dropped my jacket onto her white carpet. “Oh.”
I stared at her, mouth open, for a full thirty seconds before I remembered to breathe again. She’d read my letter. I’d forgotten the letter. She’s read my letter that I hadn’t even read yet. Whatever was in that letter, it made Marcy jealous enough to keep it from me.
“It’s open,” I said. “Not by me.”
“I can explain…”
“Why do you have this?”
“I was going through the pockets of your jacket, trying to figure out who it belonged to, when I found it.” She picked up the jacket and dusted it off before stretching it out at arm’s length. Marcy looked too scared to get any closer to me, and for good reason. I snatched it from her, not satisfied with her answer.
“And it didn’t occur to you that it might be private? Or that I might like to read my unopened mail?” I was getting ready to throw punches any minute, squeezing my hand into a fist.
“Do you know what it says?” Her voice softened. “If you read it, you’ll understand why I couldn’t bring myself to give it to you. It was wrong for me to keep it, but I was so crazy with jealousy over what you and Christian have. I just—Tess—read it.”
Part of me didn’t want to read the letter with a recap like that. It couldn’t possible make me feel any better about things. I felt the tears sting my eyes and I bit my tongue to keep them lodged there. I would not cry in front of Marcy, sincere or not, so I walked out. I didn’t say anything—what would I say? Instead, I just turned on my heel and bee-lined it straight to my car.
I drove all the way home and walked all the way into my own apartment. I changed into my pajamas, curled up on the couch with a box of anticipatory tissues, and opened the envelope. When I couldn’t stall anymore, I made myself pull the paper from the envelope. The note was written on a single piece of white printer paper, scrawled in large cursive letters. A ticket fell out onto my lap. A ticket to a Red Sox game back in April, dated for the week after Marcy and Christian called off their engagement. Hands shaking, I unfolded the letter and read.
Tessie –
I’ve let so much time go by without telling you this that the words seemed to strange to say aloud. I’m hoping you’ll understand, as I try to collect my thoughts on paper.
Marcy was a big mistake. I thought I knew what I wanted for my life, but every time I tried to go after it, something held me back. Now that Marcy is in my past, I realize more clearly how I feel about you, about us. I think we might’ve been onto something back in college, that night in the pool. I’ve never felt anything like that since and I can’t ignore it anymore.
I’ve enclosed a ticket to tonight’s game. I’ll be in the seat next to it. I think you may have feelings for me too, feelings you haven’t been able to express either. If this is true, please use this ticket and meet me in the grandstand tonight. Who knows? Maybe there’s something here to explore.
On the other hand, if I’ve romanticized things in my mind, then I’m extremely embarrassed. If you don’t share my feelings, just disregard this letter and rip up the ticket. Please don’t let this change anything between us. I love you no matter what and I don’t want anything to come between us or our friendship.
I just have to know for sure, one way or the other, before I can move on for good.
With all my love,
Your Christian
I wept for a very, very long time that night.
In fact, I cried myself to sleep three nights in a row. I tried to talk it out to Finn, but the tears kept gripping my vocal chords and I just sputtered high-pitched nonsense. Eventually I did fall asleep, but it was restless and agitated. I dreamt about horrible things like car accidents and dead puppies, burning churches and the Salem witch trials—because that’s where my brain goes. Once some of the crazy gets unleashed, it’s anyone’s guess what my brain will do next.
I lived and worked like a hermit for the next couple of days, skittering to and from the office without making eye contact or engaging in conversations. I successfully skirted Savannah, who returned to work from her illness on Tuesday. Thankfully, she seemed only too happy to avoid me as well—did she know what I’d done?
I’d sent a few text responses to Christian here and there, but only so he wouldn’t get worried and knock down my door looking for me. Honestly, if he showed up on my doorstep, I couldn’t be trusted not to do many depraved things to him. Or possibly emigrate to Moscow. He was probably afraid to show up, given what had happened last time, when I’d tried to rip off his clothes in an elevator. For this reason, I was forced to cancel Coffee Wednesday, feigning a relapse of my stomach virus.
I talked to Kendra, but only in one-word responses, and promised to visit her on Friday night. I knew it would be good for me to vent and also to share my exciting news about my promotion. But the thought of saying all this stuff out loud wasn’t as reassuring as a normal Kendra consult. I prayed she’d be in a good mood on Friday and not yell at me about screwing things up with Christian. Or running away to Chicago.
The days lurched by, their endless monotony creating the perfect excuse not to enjoy anything at all. Not even Gordon Ramsey or Anthony Bourdain could break my zombie-like trance. I watched their shows, but took no joy in them. Chef shows were dead to me too, it seemed. My world was crumbling, piece by piece.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
All my rationale about new beginnings sounded like bullshit when I explained it to Kendra. I braved the torrential rains to drop by and made two mugs of hot chocolate—the only thing I was allowed to make in her kitchen. We sat at the table together, leaving Grant to put Riley to bed, and I told her the whole story.
She steadied her voice with one deep breath. “Tess, I’ve supported you every step of the way in your career, you know that.” Another deep breath. “But I can’t let you throw everything else in your life away for this one job. There will be other jobs, other openings. Maybe even here at home. Can’t you just wait
and see?”
“It’s not that simple.” I set down my hot chocolate. “This job is a direct response to my presentation. I’m getting the chance to run the publication that I started. I can’t let someone else take over. Besides that, who says Prime will offer me something else if I refuse this job? You take what you can get.”
“Why do you have to stay there? You’ve built one hell of a resume at Prime. You could walk into a VP spot at any other firm. Or even go into business for yourself…”
I didn’t have an answer ready for her, so I thought a moment. Leave Prime… passing up the opportunity to stick it to Marty Bensen and all those sexist corporate jerks? I earned this job based on merit alone and I wanted to shatter that glass ceiling for myself and all the other women at Prime who deserved more recognition. “I need to do this. You just don’t understand, Kendra. No one treats you badly because you’re a woman.”
“Ha! How about Baby Daddy Raoul and his constant commentary on how women should wash dishes, not run restaurants? Or maybe the entire kitchen staff, who thinks I can’t understand Portuguese and talks about my ass? Don’t even get me started on the number of male customers that call me ‘Sweetheart.’ Sexism is everywhere, Tess. But fighting it in one place, sacrificing yourself in the process… is that really worth it? Why not make a clean break and do the work for yourself, just because you love it, not because you need to prove something?”
I sat in silence, swirling the last bit of hot chocolate sludge around in my mug, pointedly not looking at Kendra. I heard her sniffle before she started talking again.
“You can’t do this to me.” Her eyes filled with tears as she gripped my wrist. The whipped cream melted in her hot chocolate, untouched.
“I’ll come back and visit all the time. Chicago’s not that far.” I stared at her hand, unblinking, as her fingers loosened their hold one by one.
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