by Becky Monson
“Well, what a small world.” She nods her head.
“I know. I couldn’t believe it.”
“Now, remind me, why is this the first time you’ve seen or heard from him?”
I sigh. “Well, things ended pretty badly.” I stare down at the shaggy carpet, as thoughts and feelings from that time swirl in my brain.
“Remind me.”
“He was going to London for an internship and wanted me to come with him. I didn’t think I should go; it was bad timing for me. He took that to mean I wasn’t as invested in our relationship as he was—”
“Were you?” she interrupts.
“I was. I think I didn’t do a good job of showing it at the time, though. I could have been better.” Way better, to say the least. I twiddle my hands in my lap remembering the rest of the story, not feeling like telling Gram all of it.
“So, what has he been up to?” she asks, tapping her fingers on her pink Kindle cover.
“I’m not sure. We weren’t able to catch up. Ursula caught me talking to him.”
“You were fraternizing?” She clicks her tongue, disapproving.
I give her a sarcastic glare. “Anyway, he wants to meet for lunch next week.”
“Well, that’ll be good for you to catch up.” She nods her head once.
“Yes, it will be. I can finally get the chance to apologize for everything.” I look down at my hands still twiddling in my lap.
“Hmm,” she says thoughtfully, tapping the Kindle case. “It’s always been my opinion that things like this happen for a reason.” She gives me a patronizing look.
I shoo her with my hand and say, “Oh, Gram.” She’s always going on and on about how there are no coincidences and everything happens for a reason. I’m not too sure I agree. Although, I suppose this is sort of kismet. I’ve been wanting to find Ian for so many reasons, most importantly so I could apologize for how things ended, but I could never find him. I looked off and on (more on, really), but then Adam came along, and I stopped. Even still, I thought of him often and hoped I would one day get the chance to see him again. I gave up a long time ago that it would actually happen, though.
“What are you reading?” I gesture toward the Kindle still sitting in her lap.
“Oh, you know, just the odd historical piece,” she says with a wink.
The “odd historical piece” usually means some type of smut romance. Before the Kindle was invented, Gram used to crochet book covers so she could hide what she was reading. She wasn’t fooling anyone. My sister and I used to sneak peeks at the books she read. All were filled with throbbing members and heaving bosoms. It was a little much, knowing your grandma read that kind of stuff. At least with the Kindle I don’t have to know exactly what she’s reading. I can pretend in my head that it’s the Little House on the Prairie series.
“Fancy some cocoa?” She pushes aside the foot rest with her house-slipper-clad foot and stands up from her chair.
“Sure,” I answer, thinking coffee sounds like a better idea. But Gram doesn’t keep coffee in the house. She’s been cut off by her doctor. I wouldn’t ask her to keep it around just for me. That wouldn’t be very kind, seeing as she fought with the doctor tooth and nail over the loss. It was one of her favorite vices, if coffee could be considered a vice.
I slouch back into the couch thinking about the events of yesterday. Crying over Adam, seeing Ian. On second thought, I need to be comforted. Cocoa actually sounds pretty good. Maybe Gram will have some marshmallows.
CHAPTER 6
Mondays are the pits for any employment, but especially if you work for Edelweiss Catering. Mondays are deemed “marketing days” by Ursula. Since catering can be rather slow on the first day of the week, except for the odd luncheon every now and then, we are asked to trade off doing street marketing. Today it happens to be my turn. Lucky me.
Street marketing consists of holding a sign on the street and passing out flyers to drum up business—in a German dirndl, no less. With my dark blonde hair in two braids, I basically look like Heidi. Well, a slightly slutty Heidi, as the top of this dress really emphasizes my chest area. Poor Justin is working with me today in lederhosen. His costume is worse than mine, by far.
Adam used to love it when I wore this outfit for work, the few times he saw me in it, at least. I tried to hide it from him for as long as possible, but it was inevitable he would see me in it someday. I had expected a horrified look, but instead he looked turned on by the getup and asked me if I would wear it for him later. I agreed at the time, but never followed through.
Justin and I paste on fake smiles as we stand out on the corner of Wall and Broad Streets, Justin twirling the fairly large rectangular sign and me passing out quarter-sheet-sized flyers.
“This is degrading,” Justin says through smiling, gritted teeth.
“You say that every time,” I say, keeping my smile intact as well. “If you hate it so much, then why not find another job?” I try to hand out a flyer to a passerby who completely ignores me.
“And miss seeing Ursula? What would my life be worth then?” he says with a cheeky grin.
I hold out a flyer, and a middle-aged woman dressed in all black grabs it, glances at it briefly, and then balls it up and throws it on the ground. New Yorkers do not do subtle. I had to learn that one the hard way—and also learn to not take it personally.
“How does Ashley always get out of doing this?” Justin asks as he spins his sign.
“She has an audition today, that’s how.”
Hopefully, this will be the part she gets. But it’s a long shot. Watching Ashley try out for all of these parts makes me anxious. I don’t know how she does it. So much scrutiny, so much rejection. I don’t know how she handles it all. I couldn’t.
“Besides, I think she tries to avoid working with you.” I give him a cunning smile.
“Why?” Justin stops spinning his sign, a serious expression on his face. “Did she say something about me?”
“No,” I say, scrunching my face at him for taking me so seriously. That wasn’t like him.
“Bridgette?” I hear a voice to my right. A voice I recognize. Oh, please, no.
I close my eyes, wishing him away, but then slowly turn to my right, and there’s Ian. Looking dashing in a suit and tie, holding a fountain drink in his hand. I cringe at my slutty Heidi outfit. Curse you, Ursula.
“Ian,” I say, with what probably looks like a pained expression. I’m feeling quite pained at the moment, for so many reasons. My heart has also decided to speed up and skip around like a silly little school girl.
“What are you doing out here?” he asks, not taken aback at all by my trampy German attire.
“Just some marketing.” I hand him a flyer, which he takes eagerly and scans.
“So we meet again,” he says, looking up at me after he tucks the flyer into his pocket.
“Yes, so we do,” I say, gesturing toward my outfit, saying without words that I know I look like an idiot.
“It’s hard to believe that I haven’t seen you or spoken to you in four years, and now I’ve run into you twice within the span of three days,” he says with a quizzical expression.
“It must be meant to be, I guess.” Or karma hates me and thinks this is the funniest thing ever.
“Must be.” He takes a sip of his soda.
“Ahem.” Justin clears his throat behind me. I quickly turn to him, telling him to shut up with my eyes.
“You’re busy.” Ian motions to Justin, who is now twirling his sign with more gusto than is necessary. “Can you do lunch tomorrow?”
“Um, yes. Yes, lunch tomorrow would be great.” I smile at the notion and also feel grateful that he will get to see me in normal clothing, for once, after seeing me in my work uniform and then in this hussy getup.
“Great. How about twelve thirty? You still like Japanese?”
“Yes, I do,” I say, surprised. “You remember?”
“Of course I do.” He gives me a wicked
little grin that makes my spine tingle.
I give him my cell number so he can text me an address, and we say quick goodbyes. I watch him walk away, and he turns around and catches me.
“I will try my best not to report to The Sea Witch your continuous need to fraternize,” Justin says as Ian walks away.
“It’s not fraternizing. He’s not the client,” I say, pasting the phony marketing smile on my face, as I go back to passing out flyers.
“Yes, but he could be a potential client,” Justin says, having to always have the last word. I don’t really care about having the last word, so I let him.
“Methinks he likes you,” Justin stage whispers to me, going back to his sign spinning and fixed fake grin.
“Did you really just say ‘methinks’?” I turn my head toward him.
“I did.” He stares straight ahead not making eye contact with me.
“Well, he doesn’t. Not like that. Not anymore, at least. Anyway, Ian is a long story,” I say, my mind racing back to the time I spent with him: the place we first met, the friendship that kindled immediately, the night it changed to something more, and then the night it all ended.
Justin doesn’t ask about the story, and I don’t offer. We go back to our flyer handing and sign spinning. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s in the past. And although seeing Ian has brought back feelings I had buried long ago, all I want to do is clear things up with him. I’m not looking for anything more than that.
We’ll have lunch, clear the air, and then I can get back to focusing on this weekend and how I’m going to get Adam back.
CHAPTER 7
“I can’t believe you remember that!” I exclaim over sushi in Midtown.
“Well, I don’t mean to brag, but I do have a pretty good memory,” Ian says, grabbing a piece of eel roll with his chopsticks. He’s got the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up and his tie flipped over his left shoulder to keep it safe. I actually hate it when Wall Street types do that, but on him . . . well . . . I don’t hate it.
“You have an amazing memory. I wish mine were better.” I swirl a piece of spicy tuna roll in some soy sauce with my chopsticks.
“Probably the tightness of that getup you were wearing yesterday. It’s cutting off the circulation to your head.” He winks at me.
So he did notice after all. Men.
Luckily, today he got to see me in normal clothing. I agonized over what to wear but finally settled on a pair of dark, slim jeans, a cream-colored top with lace details on the back that I found in Soho a couple of weeks ago, and my favorite pair of dark brown ankle boots.
“Do you remember the time you got us kicked out of the library?” I ask, changing the subject away from that obnoxious dirndl.
Ian throws his head back, laughing. “Oh, wow, yeah I remember. And it wasn’t me who got us kicked out, it was you.” He gives me a snide look.
“What? No way. It was totally you.” I eye him, not sure I’m right. Did I get us kicked out?
“Yeah, it was me,” he says, smiling slyly. “Well, it was mostly me,” he adds with a wink.
“How dare you use my poor memory against me.” I feign disgust. Ian laughs loudly.
My gosh, it feels good to hear him genuinely laugh. Adam is not a laugher. Not a boisterous one, at least. He mostly just nods his head and smiles.
Besides the laughing, there are a lot of things I’ve missed about Ian that I hadn’t realized. How he is so methodical about everything. Even sushi. He has a method to it. He mixes just enough wasabi in his soy sauce, and he always tops each piece with a slice of ginger. I also forgot what a gentleman he is. Opening the door for me when we walked into the restaurant, pulling my seat back for me at the table. I want to say Adam did those things at first, but now I can’t remember if he ever did them at all. It was never a big deal to me. I don’t need those things. I’m a big girl. I can take care of myself. It’s a nice gesture though, isn’t it? I guess I’d forgotten.
He’s also so complimentary. He even mentioned my Russian Red lips. Well, he didn’t know the brand, but he noticed the red and said he liked it. I have to admit, it’s been pretty freeing to be able to wear lipstick again, without getting a scoff from Adam.
“So, how did you end up in New York?” I ask, after eating some edamame.
“Work. You?” He mixes some more wasabi with soy sauce.
“I needed a change, and Gram was lonely, so I moved in with her.” I grab a little bit of ginger and put it on a piece of spicy tuna roll.
“So I take it Pops passed away?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say, feeling instantly sad. I miss him.
“I’m really sorry to hear that,” he says, his eyes full of empathy.
“Yes, well, life goes on,” I shrug. It’s a stupid thing to say, so clichéd. But it’s the truth.
“And Gram?” he asks.
“Spry as ever. Maybe a little worse, actually,” I say and roll my eyes just thinking about how crazy that woman is.
“I bet,” he chuckles. “What about your parents? Your sister?” He cocks his head to the side, inquisitively.
“All good. My parents moved down to South Carolina—Charleston area—about the same time I moved in with Gram. Ally went with them.” Ian closed-mouth smiles at that.
“So, how long have you been here?” I ask, wanting to get back to him.
“I moved here not long after London,” he says, looking down at his plate.
And there it is. A segue toward the elephant in the room.
“Ian,” I put my chopsticks down and place my hands in my lap. “I need to explain to—”
“Don’t. Really,” he cuts me off. “You don’t need to. It was four years ago.” He looks me in the eyes.
“No, but I need you to know I feel horrible about how everything . . . happened,” I say, woefully.
“Bridgette, please.” He shakes his head. “Water under the bridge, okay?” A faint smile plays on his lips. “Anyway, you got on with your life, I got on with mine—”
“And now we’re here,” I interject.
“Yes. And now we’re here.” He looks at me in a nostalgic kind of way.
Butterflies in my stomach start to rumble. Oh, no, this was not part of the plan today. I was supposed to apologize to Ian, get the gnawing guilty feeling that has haunted me for the past four years off my back, and then get back to fixing things with Adam.
But suddenly, sitting here, I’m feeling all sorts of things I was not planning on feeling. It’s like all of a sudden we’re back in college, settling back into our old Bridgette and Ian ways.
“You okay?” Ian asks. Apparently, my inner struggle was outwardly playing on my face.
“Yes.” I shake my head, blinking longer than necessary, trying to bring myself back. “Yes . . . sorry, I’m fine.” I take a deep breath. “I do need to ask you something, though.” I purse my lips together, slightly nervous to ask the question I’ve wondered about for some time now.
He puts his chopsticks down on his plate, giving me his full attention.
“How come you never called me, never tried to make contact?” I look to his face for an answer.
He looks away from me and then down at the table. “I don’t know . . .” he trails off, probably looking for the right words to say. “I guess I was hurt a little . . . or maybe a lot,” he says, looking up at me and giving a small, awkward smile. My heart sinks. I hate that I hurt him.
“I tried to find you, you know. I looked on Facebook. I basically scoured all social media.” I smile slightly, hoping he doesn’t see me as a stalker, but rather a concerned friend.
“Oh, I don’t do any of that. Don’t have time for it. But thanks for letting me know you were stalking me.” He smiles mockingly.
Damn.
“I wasn’t stalking you. I was just trying to see what you were up to, what you were doing. You know, making-sure-you-were-alive type of stuff.” Oh, yes, perfect explanation. That didn’t sound like stalking at all. Way to go, B
ridgette.
“Ah, Bridge, I should have called you.” He looks directly at me. “Sorry. I’m a prideful idiot.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, tousling it slightly.
We sit there in silence for a moment, looking at each other, not knowing what to say.
“So, we’re good?” he finally interjects, giving me a small smile.
“Sure, we’re good.” I reach across the table to shake his hand to show how good we are, but he doesn’t know what I’m doing and ends up giving me an awkward high five.
Okay, so we’re not exactly settling back into our old Bridgette and Ian ways.
“Now,” he says, picking up his chopsticks, eyeing the salmon roll. “Let’s be done with all this in-the-past junk.”
“Sounds good to me.” I pick up my chopsticks and grab another piece of the eel roll.
For the rest of the lunch, the conversation is more lighthearted. We both seem to relax, and old Bridgette and Ian make small reappearances as we reminisce more about college, avoiding topics that fall into the “in-the-past junk” category.
I don’t bring Adam up. I almost do, but then I decide it’s best not to. It’s probably not appropriate. And anyway, I don’t really want to talk about my current ex-boyfriend with my past ex-boyfriend. Relationships have not been discussed, except our own, and that was barely a discussion.
“It was really good to catch up,” Ian says, pulling me into a hug outside the restaurant. He instantly nuzzles his chin in my neck, just like he always used to. It feels so good, so comfortable. I’ve missed him.
“It was so great,” I say.
“Let’s not lose touch again,” he says as we pull out of the hug.
“Yes, let’s not,” I agree.
“I’ll call you,” he says, as we start to walk away from each other, heading to our destinations in opposite parts of town.
I don’t say anything. I just smile and wave at him. I do turn to look back at him as I get a few feet away, and I catch him doing the same thing. It’s kind of cute, like something from a movie, and we both smile at each other, knowing we were thinking the same thing. I find myself missing the days back in college when life was simpler. I miss having a simpler life.
