Sour

by Jennifer Woodhull

  “Wait, in the middle of her date with another guy?” I laugh. “Dude, that’s kinda badass.”

  Of course, an unexpected proposal didn’t go nearly as well for me.

  “Yep, and for some reason I still don’t understand, she said yes, and the rest is, well, about three hundred grand in college expenses I have to look forward to.” He cocks his thumb in the direction of the kids’ playroom.

  I polish off my beer and head to the kitchen to toss the bottle into the recycling and I grab another cookie out of the bag on the counter.

  “A-hem!” I hear a little voice clear her throat behind me.

  I turn, mid-bite, to see Jane standing there with her hands on her hips and damn if she doesn’t look just like what I picture Elle to have looked like as a kid.

  “You aren’t supposed to be eating those before dinner, mister.” She nods to the bakery bag.

  “Well, I’ve had kind of a rough week, so I thought I’d treat myself.”

  “Nutrition doesn’t take a holiday!” She turns her nose in the air and I have to hold back a laugh.

  “You’re right, Doctor Jane. I tell you what…suppose we split one? Then I promise not to eat any more until after dinner.”

  I lift her up onto the kitchen counter and she promptly sticks her hand into the bag, retrieving a cookie and examining it thoughtfully. “I better have my own. I don’t know where you’ve been.” She takes an enormous bite and rocks her head back and forth in blissful approval.

  “Where are your kids?” She asks it so innocently before taking another bite.

  “I don’t have any.” I shrug. “I’d feel pretty lucky to have a little girl like you, though.”

  She smiles sweetly, clearly loving the compliment. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “She broke up with me, unfortunately. She didn’t think I was the kind of guy you settle down with.” I can’t seem to keep my mouth shut tonight and talking to Jane is like a free session with a tiny little therapist.

  “Oh. Well, don’t worry about it. She’ll come back.” She takes another bite of cookie, swinging her legs as they dangle from the counter, and nodding her head from side to side.

  “What makes you say that?” I chuckle.

  “Well…you’re nice, you’re as handsome as my daddy, almost, and you bring cookies.” She shrugs.

  I wish I lived in Jane’s world where being nice and bringing cookies were all the criteria, I needed to get Elle to want me. I’d buy her every cookie in America if I thought it would help.

  She’s not in America, though, and that’s the problem.

  As I look at her miniature doppelgänger, her pale cheeks covered in chocolate and bits of cookie, I can’t help but wonder what Elle’s doing tonight. I wonder if she’s safe. I wonder if she’s lonely. Much more than that, though, I can’t help but wonder if she really was just afraid of everything changing, like she said, or if she was just saying no to me.

  Chapter 29

  Elle

  My airline app is a damned liar. It swore to me that my travel time from Charlotte to Sydney was thirty-one hours and twenty-three minutes. I’ve been on that plane at least four and a half days, though, by the time I walk through bright, airy Sydney airport toward the baggage claim area. After wrangling two huge suitcases off the belt, I quickly realize that free luggage trolleys, so have back home, are quite possibly one of the greatest things, ever.

  When I leave the secured part of the airport, a see a tall man in s smart black suit holding a sign that reads Elle Bailey. Ian’s assistant, Sara, booked a limousine service to pick me up even though I insisted it wasn’t necessary. If I crash and burn at this new job, I figure the less of a taste for luxury I’ve developed, the better. Still, seeing someone holding a sign with my name on it at the airport makes me need to hold in a giggle and suppress the urge to take a photo of him holding the sign up.

  I am astonished at how incredibly bright it is here. Of course, part of that could be due to the painfully swollen state of my eyes. Even behind oversized, dark shades, the sun seems to sear my retinas. My spacious, business-class seat was bigger than my first apartment. On the window side, I was able to sit, undisturbed by other passengers. When I reclined the seat back fully, it was easily long enough for me to stretch out completely. It was perfect for sleeping. That is, it would’ve been, if I were someone who slept. Instead, I laid there, tears pouring silently down my cheeks, trying desperately not to sob and disturb the other passengers. I replayed every moment of our last few days together in my mind. Then I turned our strange goodbye over and over in my mind. I’d spent days successfully dodging Noah’s calls, determined to tell him in person about the colossal decision I’d made. Then, we he found out on his own, and I saw him at the airport, he didn’t seem angry as much as completely defeated which was infinitely worse.

  Every time I closed my eyes, Noah’s wounded look after that sweet, perfect, desperate last kiss fills my mind. I can’t help but wonder what I’ll see in his eyes the next time we’re together.

  Wait, will we even be together again? It dawns on me that I don’t even know what we are anymore, let alone when or even if I’ll see him again. He might simply move on, away from all the years of everything we’ve had together, and it will be because I was too paralyzed by fear to take a chance on losing things I could barely fathom were even possible. That thought—the idea that Noah might not ever want to see me again—squeezes my heart until it feels like it might burst.

  The car pulls up in front of The Pier Hotel and the drier can barely get my bags out of the trunk before a doorman is whisking them off inside. Two more doormen open the unassuming brass doors as I approach. When I step into the lobby, I realize that this place may not look so special in the front, but this baby has definitely got one beauty of a backside.

  I cross an expanse of carpet that looks almost like Moroccan tiles as I head toward the check-in desk. I glance to the right and have to swallow a gasp. There is a wall of windows, floor to ceiling, that looks out onto the shimmering water of Walsh Bay.

  I wish Noah could see this.

  The thought causes a lump in my throat, and I instinctively know it’s just the first of many times I’ll have the thought in the coming days and weeks.

  Considering that my request for something simple has already gone unheeded by Ian’s assistant between the limo and booking this hotel, I’m not entirely surprised when the hotel clerk hands me the key to a suite instead of a regular room just big enough for one compact person like me.

  When I get to my room, I find a small sitting area, a bedroom and a magical, brilliant white bathroom with a glass stall shower, a high window through which I can just see the harbor, if I tiptoe, and a massive, deep, white soaker tub in which I could easily do laps. Outside the sitting room is a small balcony, and when I put my hands on the handles of the French doors to open them, my heart skips a beat as I’m transported back to the last balcony I stood upon—the one in Las Vegas.

  Stepping out onto the balcony, I snap a few photos of the view. When I open my messaging app my fingers try to send them to Noah. Clearly, they haven’t gotten the message that we don’t send him every picture we snap or every random thought that pops into my head anymore. Instead, I send the photos to Andy and my parents, letting them know I’ve arrived safely, and promising to call once I figure out the time difference.

  I refrain from the urge to send Noah photos of the view from the hotel to which I fled to try to curb the temptation to take him up on his offer, even knowing he’d break my heart even more later if I didn’t break it myself now. Instead, I keep my word and send him a text letting him know I made it safely. His reply is almost instantaneous and my heart leaps when I see three dots dancing on the screen. To my disappointment, though, his reply is just one word: Thanks.

  I’m not sure what I expected, but I damn sure know it’s all I deserve. I am the one who chose to walk away, after all.

  Emotiona
lly drained and starting to feel physically annihilated, I decide a soak in a warm tub full of bubbles might do me some good. I fill the bath and grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge. I turn off the water, and step in, then turn, and sit, letting the warmth envelope my legs, my bell, and my chest. I grab the clean washcloth I had placed over the edge of the tub and douse it with a healthy splash of cold bottled water, then place it over my hot, swollen face as the suds work their magic.

  The bath seemed to do the trick because after wrapping myself in one of the plush cotton robes from the closet, because apparently that’s a thing in fancy hotels, I lay on the bed and am stunned to find it’s almost two when I awaken. I’m a little more refreshed than I was, and my stomach is growling, so I change into some jeans and a tee, and decide to venture out in search of food and to familiarize myself a little with the neighborhood around the hotel.

  Sydney Harbor is breathtaking. The wind coming off the water smells crisp, and in every direction, masterpieces of architecture are each more impressive than the last. I amble through The Rocks, an area of quaint shops and markets near the hotel and am charmed by the Hodge-lodge of buildings, shops, and the mix of locals and tourists, accents from around the world, the mingle there.

  I grab a pork baguette from one of the vendors in the market and find a seat at a table with an umbrella to protect my skin, at least a little, from the unrelenting sun. As I’m eating, I look over and see the sign for the Sydney Harbor Bridge Climb. Tourists strap themselves into jumpsuits and harnesses and climb to the top of the bridge which, apparently, offers some amazing views. I smile, knowing that Noah would be dragging me over there if he was here.

  Jesus. I can’t go an hour without thinking about him. How did I think I was going to just move away and leave him behind completely?

  I finish my lunch and poke around the shops, picking up a pair of earrings for my mom, and a boomerang for my dad. I decide I’ll find something for Andy later. A boomerang is totally out because the last thing I want is to outfit my kid brother with weapons.

  I try to be excited as I explore. I’m in a beautiful, amazing city in a foreign country that is also a continent. I mean, I should be having the time of my life. Still, every happy feeling that tries to rise from my heart like a helium balloon returns, tethered by a tiny weight upon which is inscribed the initials, N. A.

  When I return to my room, I find a huge bouquet and a massive basket filled with chocolates, cookies, and tea on the table in my little sitting area. My heart leaps, rattling around with anticipation. When I pull the card from the flowers, though, I see they’re from the Banshee team, welcoming my to Australia. On the basket is another card that reads, “Elle, we’re so excited to have you on board. I’m sure the jet lag is a real killer, but if you’d like to grab some lunch on Saturday, I’d be happy to take you on a look round. Just call my cell. Looking forward to working with you.” The card is signed, Amelia, and inside the envelope is a business card that tells me she’s the head of the real estate department for Banshee. The gifts are an incredibly kind gesture and deciding I should probably get acquainted with my new co-workers sooner rather than later, I type out a quick text thanking Amelia and telling her I’d love to take her up on her offer. We make plans to meet in the lobby of my hotel at noon on Saturday.

  L

  When I get to the lobby of the hotel just before noon, I see a tall, tanned blonde sitting, legs crossed, in a pair of jeans and a thin sweater on one of the oversized ottomans. “Elle, is that you, then?” She asks when her eyes land on me.

  “It is. You must be Amelia.” I stick out my hand to shake hers and she waves me off.

  “We can do better than that!” She pulls me into a warm embrace. “I’m so glad you’re here. Come on, let’s head out.”

  Amelia’s smile is warm, a single dimple dancing on her cheek. She asks me what I’d like to see, and I tell her how I’ve explored the area around the harbor. She tells me that Surrey Hills is an up-and-coming neighborhood with a trendy vibe, and we decide to go there to grab some lunch and chat.

  I’ve always heard about how charming Australians are, and Ian is certainly proof of that, but by the time Amelia and I finish lunch, I feel like we’ve been friends for years. She’s newly divorced with no kids and has worked for the company for five years. We swap funny dating stories and share our favorite things from nail polish colors to brand of handbags.

  “Come on, then. Let’s go to the shops and have a poke around for bargains, shall we? I know all the best places.” She nudges my arm and flashes an easy smile.

  I am beyond glad that I decided to spend the afternoon with Amelia who is becoming such a fast friend. When she drops me back off at the hotel, I have more shopping bags than I intended, but I suppose a little retail therapy couldn’t hurt given my current state. I had fun relaxing and chatting mindlessly with someone that I clicked with so instantly.

  Back in my room, though, being alone means thoughts of Noah immediately start to creep in. I putter around my room, organizing clothes for the week and contemplating what to do for dinner. Around six-thirty, I realize it’s morning back home and Noah should be up.

  I decide to text him, to check in, like we agreed. I tell him I went to lunch with one of the girls from my new office. Then, I ask how he’s doing. I want him to be doing well because the thought of the happiest, most optimistic guy I know being sad is too much for my heart to take. On the other hand, a selfish, hateful little part of me wants to know he misses me and is a little miserable without me.

  Three dots flash and then disappear as I wait for his reply. Then, to my surprise, they disappear and my phone rings.

  Chapter 30

  Noah

  Elle texted me when she landed in Australia, just as I asked her to. I had to know she made it safely. Since that brief exchange, it’s been radio silence from her. It’s the first time in years we’ve gone forty-eight hours without texting each other if we weren’t together. When I see her name light up the screen of my phone, relief washes over me.

  I immediately think she has come to her senses and is texting to say she’s coming home. Instead, she tells me she spent the afternoon with one of her new to-workers. She says she’s safe, she’s well, but she misses home.

  Not me, home.

  I’ve run the gamut of emotions from hurt to hopeful and back since she left. Something about this text, though, lights a fire in my gut that I can’t extinguish. I’m hurt, true enough but more than that, I’m angry. Everything we’ve been through, everything we’ve meant to each other over the years, and when I finally realize the best thing ever is right in front of me, when I finally tell her how I feel, she leaves the fucking country. Now, she’s telling me how she’s making new friends, but she misses home.

  I don’t even realize I’m dialing her number until the phone is at my ear.

  “Noah?” Her voice is unsteady when she answers.

  “Come home, Elle.”

  A nervous half-chuckle escapes as she responds. “Noah, I can’t…”

  “I’m serious. I don’t know what you’re playing at, exactly, but I don’t like it, and I want you to find a plane, or a boat, or a fucking hot air balloon, or whatever it takes and get back here where you belong.”

  She pauses for a long moment, then her words are measured. “That’s not a decision you get to make.”

  “And you do? That’s what has happened here. You’ve made the decision for both of us without so much as discussing it with me.”

  “You bought a house without talking to me about it, and you just assumed everything could change just because you wanted it to, or have you forgotten about that?”

  That may be true, but it’s not at all the same.

  “I asked you to be with me. I asked you because I love you, and I thought you loved me too. I thought I had felt it, something on your side, for a while, but the night we kissed…the night I held you and touched you and made you come…I felt
it, Elle. I thought I knew how you really felt about me that night.” I tip my head back and blow out a hard breath. “But some rich asshole waves a good job under your nose and you just throw me away like I meant nothing to you. Shit. Maybe I didn’t mean anything to you and that’s why it was so easy for you to walk away.”

  “You know that’s not true.” Her voice cracks and it chips at the stone that has started to cover my heart. “You’re angry, I get that. Why don’t I call you…,” she tries to say something else through the tears she’s trying to tamp down, but I don’t let her finish.

  “I can’t do this, Elle. Being at the fringes of your life…it hurts too much. I don’t think I can talk to you anymore.”

  I hear her stifle a pained gasp and it almost breaks me. Now, I’m the asshole that made her cry.

  “Are you sure?” Her voice is strained. “You might feel different in a few days.”

  I might, and that’s why I can’t waiver. I lean back against the doorframe for some sort of support.

  “I’m sorry, but I just…I can’t do this. I love you too much to let you go. That’s exactly why I have to. Goodbye Elle.”

  Maybe I was too hard on her, but I just don’t think I’m strong enough to endure these glimpses of her happy new life—the life without me in it.

  L

  It takes about an hour and fifteen minutes to get from my place to my parents’ home in Spartanburg. It’s my brother Peter’s twenty-eighth birthday. Since he just got a new job in Atlanta, my parents wanted a family get-together before their precious baby boy is gone.

  I pull into the driveway of the brick colonial with the perfect perfectly manicured lawn and neatly trimmed privet hedge out front at around eight on a Friday evening. I pull my car in next to my dad’s Mercedes and my mom’s Cadillac SUV, grab my duffle bag, and walk around to the back patio door to let myself in. As the door clicks shut behind me, I’m nearly knocked off my feet as about ninety pounds of collie mix comes bounding toward me for attention.