Never Got Over You

by Whitney G.

  I tried to think of the perfect words to say, but the only sentence that settled on my lips was, “Why the fuck are you marrying him?” Well, that and “Please tell me this is some type of joke.”

  “Sir?” A white suited security guard approached me. “Sir, are you on the guest list for this wedding?”

  “I should’ve been.”

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave if you don’t have a name on the list, sir.” He pointed to the path. “Otherwise, I’ll have to call the cops.”

  “I’m an old friend of Bernie’s,” I said, remembering her old security guard’s name. “You know, the guard tower manager. He said he would let me into this, to see how the other side lives.”

  “Ah, that sounds like him.” He smiled and pulled a red card out of his pocket, handing it to me. “He should’ve given you one of these. Guest entry passes for the buildings and the reception. When you see him around here, tell him he’s slipping in his old age.”

  “Will do.” I took the card and headed inside the main hall, stopping as I caught sight of the all-white ballroom. I moved in between the white clothed tables that were set with massive ice centerpieces, all ridiculous and completely over the top.

  I counted the number of chairs and tables.

  Eight hundred and ten.

  I walked over to the cake and picked up one of the sliced pieces, carrying it around the gallery where pictures of Kate and Grant were hanging high in the hallway. I bit a piece of the cake and immediately spit it out.

  It was dry as hell. Just like this wedding.

  As I was approaching the garden, Kate and Grant stepped into the courtyard―a bevy of photographers and guests right behind them.

  I stood still as they took their places in front of the water fountain, as Kate pressed her lips against Grant’s. The photographers’ cameras shuttered amidst the small crowd’s applause, and I waited to gauge Kate’s reaction.

  When Grant finally pulled away from her lips, I didn’t see a hint of regret or sorrow. Only happiness.

  She smiled her perfect set of pearly whites, and gave Grant a kiss on his cheek.

  My heart finally collapsed in my chest. I was too stubborn to cry, but I felt tears threatening to form, if I didn’t walk away.

  I took one last look at her—eyeing the gaudy-ass diamond ring on her finger, and forced myself to turn around.

  She was always bound to marry someone wealthy and established...

  I needed to get the hell out of here, and I knew, now more than ever, that I was never coming back. With my heart reeling, I vowed to get over her faster than she’d gotten over me.

  But before I left, there was something I needed to do.

  It was the one thing I’d always sworn against, something my pride had prevented me from doing since I was sixteen years old.

  I hailed a cab and headed straight for the bank. The second it opened, I took a seat at the first teller’s chair.

  “Um. May I help you with something, sir?” A woman in glasses and a pink sweater tilted her head to the side. “I personally know all of our members, and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you before.”

  “I’m here to claim my inheritance.”

  She gave a me a blank stare. “Sir, I’m not sure what type of game you’re trying to play, but I’m not authorized to sign off on that type of thing without significant proof. Typically, people who have unclaimed inheritances bring in an heirloom and documents, and no, I won’t tell you who has unclaimed inheritances. That’s fraud.”

  I felt my blood boiling as she subtly signaled for security.

  She gave me a fake smile, one I’d seen Kate use on other people several times before. “Are you sure you’re at the right bank?”

  “Yes, I’m at the right fucking bank.” I rolled my eyes. “This is the one my late father once owned.”

  Her eyes went wide. “You’re the son of Sean Holmes?”

  “The illegitimate one, but his son all the same.” I took out the copy of his signed will that I carried in my wallet, and unsecured the watch on my wrist—handing it over to her, per his ill-timed instructions. I also handed over a copy of my legal name change to James A. Garrett. A change I’d made the moment I turned eighteen and cut all ties to The Holmes Estate.

  While The Kensington and Harrison Estates were “royalty” on the south shore, The Holmes ruled the north shore, and they had far more money than those two estates combined.

  My mother, one of the estate nannies, had made the unfortunate mistake of sleeping with her boss, so I was the product of an affair. No matter how hard I tried to be like his legitimate sons, I failed miserably. I wasn’t the prep school type, and I got bored of piano, even though I’d shown natural promise.

  When I turned sixteen, I ran away and decided to make a life on my own terms.

  Two years later, when my father died, my mother realized that he’d only left money to his sons, so she begged me to claim my share of his money when I turned eighteen.

  I refused to take any of it, and it formed a rift between us.

  She disowned me, and we hadn’t spoken since.

  I was honestly happier living life on my own terms without being controlled by an estate, but Kate had just made it very clear that those aren’t the type of people who win in this life.

  “I’ll need the entire fifty million in a cashier’s check, please,” I said, looking up at the teller. “Make it out to Sean A. Holmes III.”

  It was me, too

  Kate

  SEATTLE’S SOUNDS WERE some of the softest and sweetest notes I’d ever heard, but just like all the other cities I’d listened to over the years, I had no desire to hear an encore for another day. It was long past time for me to bring this piece to an end.

  I’d officially accepted that James and I would never be able to coexist without pain lingering under every word, hurt festering beneath each and every one of our egg-shelled conversations.

  My heart couldn’t take being around him anymore.

  “You know, sometimes I really wonder if our mother is related to the devil.” Sarah Kay shook her head via video chat, pulling me out of my thoughts. “I should’ve known something was up when she hosted that handwriting tea party. Like...Who the fuck goes through all that trouble to make their own daughter unhappy?”

  “It wouldn’t have changed anything,” I said, sighing. “James and I just weren’t meant to be together—her stupid mail games or not.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to give Seattle another month or two, Kate? You just got there.”

  “More than sure.” I looked over the pier. “I’m done.”

  I MADE IT TO PIER AUTUMN Coffee headquarters at nine o’clock, wearing my favorite red dress and grey blazer.

  When I made it to the elevator, I looked over my resignation email to my team, changing one word in the subject line before hitting send.

  Subject: Sorry, I’m Done. (I No Longer Work Here)

  I took the elevator to James’s office and pushed the door open. He was sitting behind his desk, with his back turned.

  Blue rushed over to me, barking and wagging his tail.

  I bent low and patted his head a few times, smiling as he licked my hand. “Wish I could’ve gotten to know you more,” I whispered.

  “Is there something wrong, Miss Kennedy?” James turned around to face me. “If this is about you being two hours late today, don’t worry. I’ll let it slide this one time.”

  “Fuck you, James Garrett,” the words came out harsher than I intended, and he immediately stood to his feet.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Fuck. You.” I repeated, my resolve long gone. “Do you need me to say it one more time, or did you catch it?”

  He narrowed his eyes at me, his face reddening by the second.

  “I just let my staff know that I’m no longer an employee of Pier House Coffee, but since I don’t feel like submitting my resignation letter to HR, I’ll let you make up whatever you wish.” I g
lared at him. “Thank you for the half-assed opportunity to work under you and your pettiness for the past several weeks. Thank you for reminding me exactly why you need to remain in my past and stay out of my future, and thank you—oh so much, for treating me like shit.”

  “I’ve never treated you like shit, Kate. Ever.”

  “My words aren’t up for debate.” I refused to argue with him. “I can no longer live my life with you in it, and since you’ve already ruined the previous nine and a half years of my life, I won’t let you ruin the next.”

  “You don’t think that you ruined my life?”

  “No.” I shook my head, pulling an envelope from my bag. “I don’t. But now that I’m gone, you can tell your next girlfriend your sob story a million times, and maybe she’ll believe you.” I slammed the envelope onto his desk, looking into his green eyes one last time. “Here’s a list of numbers for you—with my side of things, since that’s how you prefer to talk.”

  “You’re just going to leave?” He crossed his arms. “Just like that?”

  “Yeah.” I walked toward the door. “Except this time, I won’t bother waiting for you.”

  I CHECKED MY PHONE for the umpteenth time, kicking myself for not picking an earlier flight. For actually believing that James would immediately read my letter and run after me.

  It’s over Kate. For real this time...

  Sighing, I walked down to Pike Place Market and headed to the flower stands. All of a sudden, a sweet scent I hadn’t smelled in years wafted past my nose and I recognized it instantly.

  “Mom?” I took a few steps forward, tapping the shoulder of a woman dressed in a beautiful pink blazer. “Mom, is that you?”

  She froze at the sound of my voice.

  “Mom, it’s me. Kate.”

  She stood still for several seconds before slowly turning around to face me.

  With a bouquet of white roses tucked into her bag, she lifted a pair of shades onto her head and looked me up and down.

  “Kate,” she said. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

  “I have been. It’s been a rough—”

  “I sure hope it was all worth it.” She interrupted me. “Everything you gave up in Edgewood and left behind for this.” She waved her hand around and shrugged. “Sure doesn’t look like it was worth it, though.”

  “I’ve always wanted to reach out to you and see if we could go over some things.”

  “Kate, please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” I felt my heart aching all over again. “Try to have a conversation with my own mother?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “That. What we had is over, but I do wish you the best. Take care of yourself and be well.”

  She turned away without another word, and I continued to watch her every step. Hoping she would look over her shoulder just once, but she never did.

  “Miss Kennedy?” a deep voice said from behind me. “Miss Kennedy?”

  I didn’t move. I just stared straight ahead.

  “Um, Miss?” He moved in front of me. “I don’t mean to come off like a stalker, but Mr. Holmes has insisted that I drive you to the airport this evening.”

  “Tell Mr. Holmes that I don’t want anything else from him.”

  ...

  Kate

  ~August 1, 2009~

  TO: KATE KENSINGTON

  The Kensington Estates

  Edgewood, Nevada

  DEAR KATE,

  2, 7, & 19.

  There are only two ways to get to my apartment, so I spend most of my time avoiding the traffic to get there. Last night, I thought about at least seven different ways that I want to devour your pussy the next time I see you. And per your suggestion, I’ve tried coffee (nineteen more times since arriving, by the way) and I’ve consistently failed to enjoy the taste.

  I’m now convinced that people buy it in expensive cups, just because they want to look like they can afford it. (Interesting business model, if so. I may need to pursue that when I finish this program ...)

  Hope you’re still waiting for me,

  James Garrett

  TO: KATE KENSINGTON

  The Kensington Estates

  Edgewood, Nevada

  Dear Kate,

  100, 32, and 1.

  I’m not sure why I never told you about the shipping pier that sits directly across from the river here. I’ve watched at least one hundred people stand in front of a dilapidated “Welcome to Penn” sign instead of getting the city’s skyline in their background.

  My new roommate is thirty-two years old and “miserably married.” He says he got married too young and both he and his wife have cheated on each other, but it costs too much for them to consider a divorce. (My other roommate, interestingly enough, is his wife ...)

  I almost bought a one-way ticket home the other day.

  We take our first international trip next week. Make sure you download Skype.

  I miss you, Kate.

  P.S.—Did you know that Starbucks makes billions of dollars in profit selling their brand of liquid dirt? I’ve been studying them in my free time for the past few weeks, but I don’t know if I’ll like their coffee either. What do you think?

  Hope you’re still waiting for me,

  James Garrett

  “I just got your latest letter.” I laughed as I curled under my blanket. “I don’t think coffee will ever be for you.”

  “I’m starting to think the same.” He laughed. “How was your first day of graduate school?”

  “Good, but it was unfortunately cut short since my professor recognized me.” I groaned. “He led the entire class over to the theater building and asked me to play Chopin.”

  “Did you play it well?”

  “No. According to him, I was quite phenomenal.”

  He laughed. “How is Sarah Kay?”

  “She just snuck back in an hour ago, but other than that, she’s tired of me talking about you every day.” I smiled. “She avoids me more often these days.”

  “My roommates feel the same way about you.” He asked me more questions about my week, told me he missed me, and ended the call the way he’d always ended it since we’d been apart.

  “This is only temporary, Kate,” he said. “It’s all going to work out. I love you, and I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Love you, too.” I ended the call, and felt my heart at ease.

  This is only temporary. It’s all going to work out ...

  ...

  Kate

  ~September 26, 2009 ~

  THE FUNNY THING ABOUT the word “temporary,” is that the definition could vary between two hours, two months, two years. It meant something different to every person who said it, and I had yet to fully understand James’s definition.

  I was accustomed to our routine, but it was falling apart with each passing day. I stayed up until three o’clock every morning, just to hear his voice, but some nights he didn’t call. And sometimes when I called, he didn’t answer.

  His postcards continued to come like clockwork, but instead of at the quick ‘I’m constantly thinking of you” rate, it was at the “You happened to cross my mind this week” rate. From seven days a week to five days a week, to two days a week, to once every two weeks.

  Our exciting calls became drab catch up sessions, rundowns of a week’s worth of information. Sometimes there were too many words to say and he’d say, “I love you. Let’s catch up tomorrow,” but tomorrow was never the next day in this unstable world of long distance. It was always several days later. What originally started as some form of communication with him once a day, was now once a week.

  “I’m just saying that if you know that you’re not going to call until six in the morning, you could give me a heads up.” I snapped one night via Skype, staring directly into his eyes. “Like, I wait until three o’clock for you all the time, and if I’m waiting for nothing, I’d appreciate it if you let me know.”

  “I’m working two jobs outside of school, Kate.” H
e sighed. “It’s not like I’m trying to piss you off on purpose.”

  “You’re not pissing me off, you’re just making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

  “You don’t see me getting upset about you never writing back or taking hours to respond to a text message.”

  “Because you know I’m not allowed to bring my phone into any of my professor’s classes.” I rolled my eyes. “I believe it was you who said, text me whenever you get a chance. And I do.”

  “Kate ...”

  “You used to say that I could come visit you, but now when I ask you about it, it’s never a good time. Is this weekend a good time? Next month, perhaps?”

  “You know it isn’t ...”

  “And your reasoning is still because I’m too big of a distraction?”

  “I don’t think we would be talking about my exams when you got here.”

  “It’s better than talking about the nothing that we spend our hours talking about now ...”

  Silence.

  He let out a long sigh. “Kate, I’m sorry.”

  “I didn’t say anything.” I was still upset, my face still red as hell on the screen.

  “I don’t want you to waste any more of this year,” he said, giving me a faint smile. “You should be living your best life.”

  “I am, James.”

  “If you were, you wouldn’t be spending every weekend arguing with me about things neither of us can control.”

  “I’m not arguing with you,” I said. “I’m just pointing out the obvious.”

  “Me, too,” he said. “I don’t want to make you this unhappy ... I think we need some time apart.”

  “What are you saying, James?” I looked into his eyes. “You want to end things?”

  “Yes,” he said, pausing. “Not forever, though. Just for now.”