Wooing Cadie McCaffrey

by Bethany Turner

  I heard frantic footsteps—more than one set, if I wasn’t mistaken—and then his more distant voice called out, “We’re not.”

  The truth is, all of this has made me realize that maybe you and I haven’t been on the same page for a while now. Look, I don’t really understand all of this romance movie stuff. To me, a big, bold declaration of love involving a marching band and a stadium sound system isn’t as romantic as the way you used to ask me about my day and then genuinely listen as I prattled on about a thousand sports details you didn’t care about.

  The daisies in You’ve Got Mail I could get behind. That was just a simple matter of him listening to her—although when he brought her the daisies he was in the midst of a stalker-ish kind of con, but I’m willing to overlook most of that. (Side note: I didn’t have daisies delivered to you because they were Meg Ryan’s favorite. I chose daisies because I know they’re your favorite. Sometimes I actually paid attention.)

  What matters, though, isn’t that I don’t want that stuff. What matters is that I think you do. Or I thought you did. I don’t know. Honestly, as I write this, I’m not too sure about anything.

  Did your parents tell you about our lovely chat? Yeah . . . that was fun. It was great to catch up. (How did people survive before emojis? I wish I could insert the eye roll one there.) Just in case they didn’t fill you in, I’ll just tell you that I made a fool of myself. I don’t know what I was expecting. For it to play out like Love Actually? Maybe. (Although maybe not like that storyline of Love Actually, since that would involve you running in to your husband/my best friend before he grew suspicious that there hadn’t, in fact, been carolers at the door.) But I wasn’t expecting your parents at the door, and I sure wasn’t expecting to find out you hadn’t been happy. That you hadn’t wanted to spend your life with me. That you meant it when you said you weren’t in love with me.

  That changes things, doesn’t it?

  “No!” I shouted to the defenseless papers in my hands. “No, no, no, no, no.” I stood and began pacing around the tiny space, the hope slipping away as quickly and unexpectedly as it had first appeared.

  “Cadie?” my mom called from the other room. “Do you want me to come in there?”

  “Do you need anything?” my dad asked, once again too close to the door. “There’s plenty of bacon left—”

  I shushed them. “I’m still reading. Can you guys please stop listening?”

  I’m sorry I kept pushing. Somehow I got it in my head that, at the end of the day, it would be you and me. I’m so disappointed in myself that I got so sidetracked, so disconnected, that I didn’t even realize I was losing you until it was too late. I promise you, I never wanted this. I never wanted to lose you.

  On top of a very long list of regrets is the fact that I took your love for granted. I’m so sorry, Cadie.

  I probably shouldn’t have shown up at your apartment last night. I guess I just never have known when enough is enough. I had nothing planned the night we went to Staten Island—I was just thrilled to be able to spend some time with you. When things began taking the turn they began to take, I assure you I wasn’t thinking, “Everything’s going according to plan.” No . . . all I could think was, “How did I ever get lucky enough to love her?”

  After that, I couldn’t imagine ever watching you walk away again, so that was that. I really didn’t know how weak I was. I didn’t know that all it would take would be the sight of you for me to get right back in the fight.

  But I guess all it took was understanding that your picture of forever doesn’t include me for me to finally be strong enough to admit defeat.

  So, I’m done. I need you to know that. If you and I somehow end up at the top of the Empire State Building together, or having a fight in the rain, or if we’re forced to be partners in a dance contest, or you wake up to “I’ve Got You, Babe” and you’re forced to relive the same day until you get it right . . . just know that it wasn’t my doing.

  But also know that if I thought it was what you wanted, I’d climb however many flights of stairs I had to climb, watch The Weather Channel obsessively and pick fights with you as necessary, learn how to tango, and change every calendar to February 2nd for the rest of my life.

  Yours forever . . .

  in spite of it all,

  Will

  Tired of pulling off squares of toilet paper, I resorted to dabbing my eyes with what was left of the roll. I stuffed the letter back into the envelope and pulled my phone from my pocket.

  “Pick up, pick up, pick up,” I muttered as it rang.

  “ASN, this is Anna Alvarez.”

  Seriously? “Anna, it’s Cadie. Did I call the accounting line by mistake? I meant to call Darby’s direct line . . .”

  There was a long pause, and when her voice returned, her tone made it clear we were no longer on friendly terms—though I thought we had been as recently as the evening before.

  “She has your old number now, remember?”

  I slapped my forehead. “Sorry. Old habits die hard. Would you mind transferring—”

  “She’s not here.”

  I waited for her to give me a little more to work with, but that was all I was going to get. I could call Darby’s cell, but if she wasn’t at ASN, that wouldn’t do much good . . .

  “Is there anything else?” she asked.

  Yikes. I understood why I wasn’t an Anna fan, but I couldn’t imagine what had changed for her since yesterday evening.

  “I guess not. Actually, hang on! Could you please transfer me to Kevin?”

  “You know we don’t just transfer calls to—”

  “Okay then.” I was out of patience. “I’ll call him on his cell and explain that you wouldn’t put me through.”

  She sighed. “Please hold.”

  “Kevin Lamont,” he answered three seconds later.

  “It’s Cadie.”

  “Hey, kid! You doing okay?”

  “I need a favor. Can you tell me if Will is there? Or, more accurately, I need to know if he’ll be there in about . . .” I looked at my watch and did a quick computation of traffic and rail schedules. “An hour or so.”

  “McCaffrey,” he growled. “No more. I want out. You want to avoid him, he wants to make an idiot of himself for you, and I just want to go back to being the happy, successful man I was before the two of you turned my life into this depressing reality show version of itself.”

  I smiled. “Actually, I’m hoping to make an idiot of myself for him this time.”

  There was another growl, softer this time, and then a slow exhale of breath. “He’s in pretty rough shape today, Cadie. Unless you’re completely sure about this—”

  “I’m sure. I’ve never been so sure about anything in my entire life.” I wiped away a renegade tear. “You don’t think I’m too late, do you?”

  “I’m pretty sure that when it comes to you, there’s no such thing for him. But he won’t be here in an hour. He’s taking some time off.”

  “Is he leaving town, or—”

  “Here’s a thought. Rather than ask me these questions, why don’t you two talk to each other for a change?”

  “I’m trying, Kev. I promise I’m trying.”

  He grumbled some indecipherable words of frustration and then sighed heavily. “I convinced him to take a few days and go up to the cabin in the Poconos.”

  Oh, the blasted Poconos. How they vex me!

  “Has he already left?”

  “A car’s supposed to pick him up in a few hours—”

  I pulled my phone away from my ear and looked at the time. “Okay, please, do me one last favor and then, if all goes well, the reality show will be over. Please?” I begged.

  He grumbled and groaned but finally said, “Fine. But I’m not watching any more movies.”

  “No more movies,” I agreed and then cleared my throat. “I just need you to help me get Will to the top of the Empire State Building.”

  Five minutes later I was running towa
rd the door. I grabbed my coat from the hook and said, “I’m going to try and get Will back, you guys. Pray I’m not too late.”

  My mother stopped me before I could walk outside. “Cadie, honey, I think that before you go—”

  “There’s nothing else you can say, Mom. It doesn’t matter, and I’ve wasted enough time.”

  “I was just going to say you might want to clean your face.”

  I looked in the mirror on the wall and had never been so grateful that my mother had always been just a little bit vain. Twenty-four hours of Syosset, Brooklyn, and at least three independent emotional breakdowns were written all over my face—mostly in mascara and eyeliner.

  I kicked off my shoes. “Time?”

  “Just past ten!” my dad replied, his urgency equaling my own.

  I had to be at the top of the Empire State Building at 12:00, and in Manhattan midday traffic, I knew that if I took too much time I would be pushing it. But I also knew that I couldn’t show up looking like Cruella De Vil and Norma Desmond had begun giving makeovers at Sephora.

  By 11:15 I was in a cab on Sixth Avenue heading toward Midtown, looking and feeling much better than I had before my quick shower. I had been so tempted to put yesterday’s dress back on—since I would be willing to do just about anything to have him look at me that same way again, now that everything had changed—but I had a sneaking suspicion it didn’t really matter what I wore. Also, sleeping in the dress all night had resulted in some creases nearly as set in as those under my eyes from all the crying. I had time for concealer, but I most assuredly did not have time to iron.

  By 11:50 I was looking at the sheer magnitude of cars outside my window, not moving, and wondering at what point I needed to be like Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle, jump out of the cab, and make a run for it. Why had my romantic, impulsive self insisted on taking a taxi? If I’d taken the subway, I would have already been at the top, enjoying the view and probably a cappuccino, which I could have bought with all the extra time I would have had. Instead I’d chosen relative comfort and solitude, both of which should have gone against my best Manhattanite instincts.

  “Did you know that Sixth Avenue is officially named Avenue of the Americas?” my driver asked.

  “Yep,” I replied dismissively as I mentally calculated how many blocks there were to go.

  “This very avenue is the inspiration for the song ‘6th Avenue Heartache’ by the midnineties rock band the Wallflowers.”

  I looked at him, confused. I couldn’t remember the last time a taxi driver had spoken to me beyond asking, “Where to?”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  He shrugged. “Interesting tourist tidbits.”

  “Well, thanks, but I’m a New Yorker.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “Locals don’t usually have that sort of wonder and merriment in their eyes on the way to the Empire State Building.”

  “It’s a romance movie thing,” I said with a sheepish grin.

  “Ah.” He nodded knowingly. “I don’t see as many of you in the winter. Traffic’s been backed up all day because of some construction up near Bryant Park. What time are you supposed to be there?”

  “Noon.” I looked at my watch. Eight minutes to go.

  He sighed. “I hate to say it, but I think you need to pull a Meg Ryan.”

  My eyes flew open. “I was just thinking that! Thanks.” I handed him my money and took off running.

  I felt so victorious as I ran into the lobby at 11:58, but I had completely forgotten the reality of the Empire State Building. Of course locals don’t have wonder and merriment. It’s a total tourist trap, with lines for days. I pulled out my phone and found the website to buy a VIP Express Pass so I could skip the line.

  “Are you kidding me?” I grumbled as I paid the $65.00 fee. Did Meg and Tom have to pay $65.00? What about when Tom had to go back up because his son forgot his backpack? Romance was simpler then, I guess.

  “Will’s up there, Will’s up there, Will’s up there,” I repeated to myself as I hurried to the elevator.

  I took a deep breath as I stepped off at the 86th floor and braced myself—for what, I wasn’t quite sure. At the very least, breathtaking views of my favorite city in the world. Also likely: a passionate kiss or two.

  And, of course, the wind.

  My super cute hat went flying—it was probably to Jersey by the time I turned around—and I was fairly certain that what my mother had been telling me my entire life was actually true. If you go out with wet hair, you’ll catch your death of cold. I reached up and covered my damp head with my hands to prevent icicles from forming. Will had gone to a lot of trouble to recreate romantic movie scenes, and I was going to be very disappointed in myself if the best I could pull off was Jack and Rose’s goodbye in Titanic.

  I hurried around the observation deck, expecting every man to be him. Every corner was my last obstacle to seeing him, I knew. I looked in front of me and behind me, knowing he was there. I was absolutely certain.

  But I walked the entire deck and didn’t see him.

  I was torn between standing by the door, so I didn’t miss him, and making another lap, convinced I had already missed him, but suddenly I was too scared to move. Not scared that I’d miss him, but scared that he wasn’t there. I looked at my watch—12:10. He wouldn’t have left. That wasn’t even a possibility. The plan Kevin and I concocted was foolproof. Or at least it was Whitaker-proof. And he wouldn’t have been late. Kevin would have called me back if for some reason the time wasn’t going to work out. So there was only one other explanation.

  He got there, saw me, and walked away. Probably ran, more like.

  “Cadie?”

  I gasped at the sound of his voice behind me and turned to face him. I grew weak and yet empowered at the sight of him. “Hi.”

  Our eyes met for a brief moment and then he began looking at anything else—everything else—besides me. “I’m . . . I promise I didn’t arrange this. I’m meeting someone. For work. It’s um . . . you haven’t seen Hank Aaron and Willie Mays around here, have you?”

  Yep. Absolutely Whitaker-proof.

  I smiled, enchanted by him. “Yeah, sorry . . . that was me.”

  He looked confused for a moment and then he shook his head and looked down at his feet. “What do you mean, it was you?”

  “I needed to see you. I’m sorry I blurred the lines and used a work thing to get you here. Believe me, I know how ironic that is. But I just didn’t know how else to make it happen.” Wow, the expression on his face made me feel guilty. I guess in my head I’d thought he’d be happy to see me, and all would be forgiven. I guess I hadn’t really considered how excited he’d be at the thought of meeting two of his heroes. “I’m sorry if you’re disappointed . . .”

  “It’s not that. I admit, it seemed a little fishy that two octogenarian baseball legends, one of whom lives in Atlanta, the other somewhere in California, I think, happened to be passing through Manhattan together, and really wanted to meet me. Here. In December.” He looked around and took in the view and the crowd. “I’ve never been here before.”

  “You’ve never been—”

  “Never saw the point, really. So when everybody talks about ‘the top of the Empire State Building,’ I thought they meant the top.”

  “Oh! You mean—”

  “I’ve been waiting for Hank Aaron and Willie Mays on the 102nd floor. Yeah. So, um . . . what’s up?”

  A smile overtook my lips. “I got your letter.”

  “Look, Cadie . . . I can’t . . . I mean, I said all I needed to say, and I really can’t . . . I don’t know if I can . . .”

  I took a step toward him and grabbed his hands, and I think every muscle in his body froze. But his eyes met mine.

  “Will, I need a chance to say some things now. Is that okay?”

  He pulled his hands away and lifted the collar of his coat to pull it around his jaw as a gust of wind blew past. “Did you know the 102nd floor is enclosed? Wa
nt to go up there instead?”

  “Seriously?” I laughed—though the sting of his hands abruptly fleeing from mine certainly clouded the humor. “After I paid $65.00 to get to the 86th?”

  “Why in the world did you pay $65.00?”

  I shrugged. “I was running late. They sure make it all look easier in the movies, don’t they?”

  “You’re telling me. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to pull off a Say Anything moment in West Village traffic? Not to mention tracking down a boom box . . .”

  I thought about the words he was saying and tried to make sense of them, but I had nothing. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your parents didn’t tell you about that?”

  “No. It’s safe to say they didn’t.”

  “Eh, well.”

  “Will, I owe you an apology.” I stuffed my hands in my pockets and stepped closer to him. “Actually, I owe you a few apologies. My parents told me—”

  “You know, at one point I was considering doing something from The Lake House,” he said, completely disregarding my attempt to make amends. “I thought about mailing you letters from the future, or the past. Whichever.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think I know that one.”

  His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? It’s pretty good. There’s this magic mailbox, or something. I don’t know. I didn’t fully understand it.”

  “When I read your letter, I—”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to go inside?”

  “Will, stop!” I shouted as I grabbed his arms. “What are you doing? Why won’t you let me talk?”

  A sharp intake of breath was followed by, “Because I don’t know what you’re going to say.”

  I couldn’t help but wonder if my face conveyed all of the sadness I was feeling. How much pain had we inflicted on each other?

  “My parents told me. About you going to Syosset. Twice,” I added sheepishly. “I had no idea. I promise I didn’t know. And I know they told you why they said no the second time. I can’t even imagine how that made you feel. I’m so sorry.” I shivered, and he led me closer to the building, out of the wind somewhat. “It’s like, for a long time, I think I was looking at everything through this lens of what I thought was missing, and what I assumed you were feeling.”