“It’s avocado egg salad,” she says, nudging me.
I take a bite and nod approvingly. As lumpy green paste goes it’s not half bad, even if I would never in a million years have ordered it for myself.
“What are you having?” I ask, looking down at her as she watches me.
“Oh, nothing,” she says. “I’ve been getting some pretty bad heartburn since we went to that barbecue place, so I’m just taking it easy. I had some peppermint tea.”
“Are you ok?” I frown at her with concern.
“It’s nothing,” she says. “Just not used to it after months of green tea and salads.”
I take another bite of my bagel and accept the bottle of water she offers me. “We’ll have to get you used to the opulent life again,” I say, watching for her reaction.
To my delight, the joke elicits one of her elusive secret smiles. She only gives that particular smile every so often, where the end of her nose crinkles a little and her dimple turns into a crater on her cheek, and I’ve convinced myself that she saves it just for me.
I make quick work of the rest of my bagel, and then we sit and chat. Inevitably, she brings the discussion back around to the letter. This time, however, she’s much more practical about it, and much less distressed.
“...And I was only saying to you just the other day that maybe a place further out would be nice, wasn’t I? I guess the rent would be a lot cheaper. Sure, I’d have to travel to see my friends, and you…”
She goes on, but I’m left dwelling on her statement that she’d have to travel to see me. If that’s on her mind, then maybe she can see a future for us the same way I can. Which makes it even more important that I find a solution to Mr. Ling Jr’s letter. I’m not sure I could stand by and watch her leave all over again.
“I have options, anyway,” she says eventually.
“Yes, you do,” I agree. I’m holding her hand, trailing the tip of my forefinger up and down as she talks. When she stops, I bring her hand to my mouth and kiss it. “You going to be alright if I go back to the office?” I ask.
She smiles and nods, looking much brighter than when I arrived.
“Yeah.”
“Good,” I say, with a decisive nod. I get to my feet and brush the bagel crumbs from my pants, then hold out my hand to help her up. “Where shall I pick you up tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?” she asks, looking confused.
“Are you busy tomorrow?” I ask.
“Uh. No,” she says, shaking her head. “I don’t… think so? We didn’t arrange anything, did we?”
“No,” I reassure her. I lean down and kiss her forehead because I have to. Because she looks so fragile with her blotchy cheeks, but so strong with her shoulders pushed back, as though she’s trying to force herself to face the world head-on. “But I’d like to take you out for the day. I need to do some Christmas shopping. You can be my guide, since you know the city. And I’ll take you ice-skating to show my appreciation. There’s nothing you can do about Ling until Monday, anyway. Sound good?”
I see her mind ticking over as I speak, and when I mention ice-skating she looks at me and grins. For just a moment, she looks like she hasn’t a care in the world.
“Sounds good,” she says. “You remember which street my apartment’s on?”
“I do,” I say, nodding.
“Okay, what time shall I come down?”
“Ten,” I say, decisively.
“Ten, then,” she says.
I lean down and kiss her on the mouth, gently at first, and then more deeply, pulling her closer to me. I can taste the salty tears lingering on her lips and smell a hint of peppermint on her breath.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her, as we break apart. “See you tomorrow.”
I turn to walk out, then stop.
“Here,” I say, turning around. I reach into my pocket and fish around for a business card, forgetting that my new cards aren’t back from the printers yet. I reach for my inside pocket instead and pull out a pen and a small notebook. I scribble down my number and hand it to her.
“You don’t have to look at it,” I tell her, a somber look on my face. “I just want to know that you have it. In case you need me. Any time, alright?”
She glances at the paper and her lips twitch with a smile.
“Thank you,” she says, quietly pocketing the paper.
I kiss her forehead one last time and head out, reluctantly, to the waiting car. It’s only now that I glance at my watch and realize that the driver has been waiting for thirty minutes, and I have a meeting soon. A meeting, I realize with a touch of surprise, that I would have gladly canceled in a heartbeat if she’d asked me to stay. I had fully intended to ask her to join me for Christmas today, but now that will have to wait.
“Afternoon!” says the driver. He sounds chipper, but I can’t tell if it’s sarcasm.
I give him a curt, apologetic nod, and climb in.
Pippa
December 15, 2018
When my alarm goes off on Saturday morning at 8 am, I peel my eyes open groggily and stare at the ceiling above my bed. Ten whole, blissful seconds pass before I remember Ling’s letter. In a matter of weeks or months, I’m likely to have no studio to work in. I grab my pillow from behind my head and hold it over my face. Petulantly, I lift my legs and kick them back down into my mattress repeatedly, screaming into the pillow. Though I’m slightly embarrassed to admit it, this little tantrum actually does make me feel a bit better, like some of the tension I’ve been carrying since yesterday morning has been eased out of me.
Don’t get me wrong, it was great to talk to Aiden about it, and he was really supportive. But Valerie was out for some Christmas drinks with family friends last night and won’t be back until tomorrow. Usually I’d have poured out my heart to her and listened to her calling Mr. Ling every name under the sun, but instead, I’ve been left inside my own head, and all it seems able to do is worry.
I’m debating whether to roll out of bed onto the floor and crawl to the kitchen to get some tea, when I remember why my alarm clock is going off on Saturday.
“Aiden!” I say out loud, sitting bolt upright in the bed. My heart is suddenly soaring, and even the weight of Ling’s threats can’t keep it down.
Within a couple of minutes, I’m standing in the shower, letting the hot water run down over my back as I brush my teeth and think about the day ahead. I try not to let my imagination run away with me, but things have been going so well since we met again. It’s been less than a week and I already feel like there’s this unspoken agreement that we’ll see each other regularly. If I can stop crying all over him all the time, maybe we’ll actually make something of this thing. It feels so strange now that I held back from getting involved with him, especially since the heartbreak I felt after that week in the snow was far heavier than any I’d felt before it.
When I’m dried and my hair is pulled up into a messy bun that takes me almost half an hour to get right, I pull on a pair of blue skinny jeans with brown, knee-high boots, and select a chunky, cream-coloured pullover with an asymmetrical off-shoulder collar. It’s not the most practical thing to wear in the middle of winter, but I’m already smirking at all the “cold shoulder” jokes I can make, and I really don’t hate what I’m seeing in the mirror.
I stand there for a couple of minutes, turning this way and that, and it’s long enough that the press of the waistband against my tummy becomes uncomfortable. I dig a pair of jeggings out of the darkest recesses of my closet and put them on instead of jeans. They don’t look quite as good as the jeans, but at least I can move in them. Since there was mention of ice skating, I consider that a win.
By the time I’m done putting on my makeup, it’s 9:15 am. I have enough time to make tea and eat breakfast, so I put a couple of eggs on the stove, some bread in the toaster, and flick on the TV.
I almost drop my tea when I look up and see Lexi on the screen, in all her pristine glory, sitting elegantly on a couch in
some TV studio and smiling to the hosts. I grab the remote to turn up the volume. It’s some sort of weekend breakfast show, and they’re talking about her magazine.
“And after all that struggle and hard work, you now find yourself right at the top,” says one of the hosts. “More traffic than any of your competitors last month, some of the biggest celebrity interviews of recent years under your belt, and you’re favourite to be voted E-zine of the Year at the end of the month. How does it feel?”
“Damn,” I say, realizing I’ve missed most of the interview.
“Wonderful, of course,” says Lexi. Her smile is warm and humble, and she looks every bit the consummate professional. “I could never have dreamed of all this when I started out blogging from my bedroom all those years ago. But I’m never satisfied. All of our readers should look forward to bigger and better things next year!”
“There you have it, folks,” says the other host, looking to the camera. “The wonderful Lexi Coleman.”
He goes on to talk about the next feature. Something about the perfect makeup tips for this season’s parties, but I’m not listening.
“Coleman,” I say, feeling the word in my mouth. That’s probably Aiden’s last name, too. “Coleman,” I say again, lingering my tongue around the back of my teeth. I reach for my laptop to unleash my meager web searching skills, but then I hesitate. That week in March was so perfect, and things with Aiden are so good now, that I don’t want to find out anything that would bring it all crashing down. But if there is something I should know, wouldn’t it be better to know now? Just as I’m about to really get into an argument with myself, the egg timer pings and the toast pops up from the toaster. I take it as a sign from the universe, leave my laptop where it is, and spend the next half an hour watching strangers paint other strangers while I eat my breakfast.
I hear a horn honk outside at exactly 10 am, and when I lean over to look out the window, I see Aiden standing outside a black car, looking up with a squint against the morning sky. I quickly wipe the corners of my mouth and drain the last of my tea. I brush the crumbs from my lap, grab my purse and coat, and head down.
As I head out into the frosty morning, I’m surprised to see that Aiden is not driving himself. Instead I’m greeted by a driver in an expensive suit, who walks around the car and opens the back door for me to get in. I don’t know what sort of car it is, but I know it’s fancy. And I’m getting the distinct feeling that Aiden is a little further along the career path than Valerie, with her subway tickets and ridiculously long hours. I’d probably find all this off-putting if I didn’t like him so much already.
When I slide into the back seat, Aiden is sitting there in all his glory, smiling at me. He looks more like Aiden from the lodge in his sweater and jeans. Gorgeous from head to toe. I can see his eyes working their way down my body and back up, taking in the outfit I’ve picked. His gaze lingers on my face. If anyone else inspected me like this, I’d probably collapse in on myself, but Aiden manages to make me feel beautiful with a glance.
“Hey, Pip,” he says, and as I settle nervously into the seat, he reaches over, grabs my wrist, and tugs me towards him. The fact that he does this and doesn’t seem to care that his driver is there gives me a little thrill. He leans down to kiss me on my lips, and I feel sparks of electricity where our bodies touch.
“Hey, yourself,” I say. I’m smiling at him so wide I can feel the tension in my cheeks. “I just saw Lexi on the TV!” I tell him as he tucks me under his arm. The warmth of his body envelopes me.
“Ah, yeah. She does that a lot. It’s hard, you know? Being the downtrodden, nobody brother of such a superstar.”
I hear the sarcasm in his voice before I look up to see his grin.
“I mean,” I say. “You don’t seem to be doing too bad yourself. Unless you stole this car… and the driver?”
“You got me,” he says, his hands coming up in surrender. He reaches forward and pushes a small button on the arm rest. “Isn’t that right, Dev?” he says.
“Sir?” comes the driver’s voice, tinny and electric through the car’s intercom. I see his eye flick up to the rear-view, and focus briefly on me, then on Aiden.
“I was just telling Pippa here that I stole the car and kidnapped you. You live in dire circumstances now, isn’t that right?”
“That’s right, Sir,” says Dev, looking to me in the mirror and nodding. I can see crinkles at the corners of his eyes that give away his smile, and then the crackly background sound of the intercom is gone.
“See?” says Aiden, looking at me as I shake my head, chucking. “I’m a bad man.”
“Well, I was never in any doubt about that,” I say, snuggling in to his side.
“Dev just arrived from Boston,” he explains. “He’s been my driver there for a few years and it worked really well, so I asked him to join me here.”
I look back up at the rear-view, but Dev’s eyes are on the road and his expression is neutral. I’m a little impressed, I admit, that Aiden has apparently inspired such loyalty in his driver that he’s uprooted his life to continue working for him.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask.
“Shopping,” he says, without hesitation. “And ice skating. And food. That alright?”
I nod.
“I need to get something for Lexi,” he says. “Something special, because she’s been so good, helping me with the move from Boston. But she’s so hard to buy for, be—”
“Because she has everything?” I interject.
“You’d think,” he says, shrugging, “but no. I mean sure, she does have everything. Everything she needs, anyway. But gifts for her are hard because she’s just not about the money, you know? She can buy herself whatever she wants. She values sentimental gifts over anything. Thoughtful things. Something she can open and it’ll bring a smile to her face because it will remind her of a memory we shared or a conversation we had.”
I consider this for a moment. I liked Lexi from the moment I found out she wasn’t Aiden’s date, but I definitely made some assumptions about her - the fashion-first, glamorous, maybe slightly superficial It Girl - that are being challenged by this conversation, and I’m a little embarrassed that I jumped to those conclusions based on nothing more than her killer outfits. I quietly resolve not to make that mistake again.
Outside, the Christmas lights and decorations pass in a blur, before we hit city traffic and slow down. I swear I spot ten Santas every block, each surrounded by at least a dozen children clamoring to tell him their deepest wishes for Christmas morning.
“So what sort of things have you got her before?” I ask, eventually.
“Well, I guess I should tell you about the original and best,” he says, pulling me in a little closer, like it’s story time.
“When we were kids—I was about eight, so she would have been ten—we were at the ski lodge a bit before Christmas. Lexi, Dave, Anna and I were messing about just off the slopes, throwing snowballs and all. Dave threw a big one over at Lexi and she lost her footing and fell over, rolled down the hill and ended up colliding awkwardly with a tree.”
“Oh, no!” I say. “Was she alright?” I’m enjoying the glimpse into his past. I can still feel the worry of potentially losing the studio, lingering there under the surface, but I’ve resolved to let myself relax today, to try to forget about it and just enjoy myself. And that seems to be Aiden’s plan as well.
“She was alright. No serious injuries, but she’d fractured some important little bone in her elbow. So they had her in a cast from her hand to her shoulder, all through Christmas.”
“Man, that must have sucked.”
“Yeah. So anyway, I bought her a Barbie doll and Dave, Anna and I spent hours one day making papier mâché and giving this doll a matching cast to Lexi’s. Man, she was so stoked when she opened it. Seriously, her face lit up like nothing I’ve ever seen.”
“Aww, that’s really cute,” I say, looking up at him. He’s grinning from the memory, and h
is cheeks are pitted with gorgeous dimples.
“Yep. And I mean, this was a girl who had the biggest collection of Barbie dolls you’ve ever seen. But broken arm Barbie was her instant favourite. And since then, I try to get her something meaningful for Christmas.”
“Any idea what you’re going to get her this year?”
“Nope!” he says, shaking his head. “Not a damn clue. And I have Dave to buy for, too, but he’s much easier. Some techy gadget will please him well enough.”
“So it’s just the three of you on Christmas day? At your place, or at Lexi’s?” I ask.
There’s a moment of silence and I look up to see him staring over the top of my head and out of the window with a blank expression on his face.
“Aiden?”
“Hmm?” he asks. And then he seems to be back in the car with me all of a sudden. “Oh, yeah,” he says, nodding. His smile comes a little slow, making me wonder what he was thinking about, but I let it go and nod.
We spend the rest of the journey in relative silence. I assume he’s racking his brain to try to come up with the perfect gift for Lexi, and I’m more than happy to stay tucked under his arm, pressed against his firm body, watching the seasonal city roll by outside.
“I’ll call later, Dev,” says Aiden, when we reach our destination. “Take some chill time. I’ve got the doors.”
Dev nods in the rearview, and Aiden slips his arm from around my shoulders to get out. I scoot over, about to follow him, when suddenly the door slams shut a couple of inches from my face. I can feel the slack-jaw expression on my face, and my shocked brain is trying to decide which expletive I should yell first, but a moment later the door on my side opens, and I see Aiden standing there, holding out his hand to help me out of the car. I feel a flush of embarrassment rising up under my coat as I reach for his hand and pull myself out. Dev probably thinks I’m an idiot, but I’m too wrapped up in the magic of being treated so chivalrously to give it much thought.
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