by Daisy Allen
He reaches his hand out to me, his face unreadable.
"’Isabella,’ was it? I'm Xavier. Nice to meet you."
"Ahem, yes. Y-you, too." I manage to get out, taking his hand. I’m not sure what I expect when our fingers touch, but it’s just like any other handshake, and I wonder how that can be.
"Well, I'll leave you two to it. I'm actually really glad Xavier won the auction. He really could use help with the barren space he calls his apartment." With that, Jade rushes off before I can beg her to stay.
I’m not sure how long we stand there gaping at each other. Ten seconds, ten years. Time whizzes by, backward or forward, I can’t tell.
"Is it really you?” he finally says, his hand still grasping my hand, and his eyes searching for something in mine. Those emerald eyes. How could I have forgotten those eyes?
"W-what do you mean?" I say, the lightness of my own voice surprising me.
"Malynda..." He says, and it’s like I haven’t spent the last twelve years trying to forget the name. Something in the way it pricks at my brain makes me remember who I am today.
"No. I’m not Malynda. Anymore."
“You are. Your name is Malynda!” he says, a little more forcefully, his forehead furrowing, deep, intense frustration plastering all over his face. I pull my hand out of his, taking a step back.
“My name is Isabella,” I say as firmly as I can.
"Not to me, it isn't!” There’s a huskiness in his voice that wasn’t there twelve years ago. And it’s only one of the many changes in him that I’m forcing myself to ignore. He leans in, his lips inches from my ear and I can smell the Scotch on his breath, the cinnamon in his aftershave. “My god, where have you been?”
I can feel my head shake left to right. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was never supposed to happen. "I can't do this, Xavier." I take another step back but he just follows.
"You can’t do this? What about... hey, don't walk away from me. Don’t you dare."
I can’t stand the confusion filling up his eyes and I turn to run. "Xavier, please. I can't...”
"Isabella!" The sound of a man's voice cuts through the tension sphere enveloping us and we spring apart, as if shot through a time portal. "There you are, darling. I was looking all over for you. Jade pointed me over here."
"Oh, wonderful." I can barely speak. I take the glass he hands me and take a sip, hoping he will think the flush on my cheeks is because of the champagne.
"Hello, I'm Cameron,” my partner says to Xavier, offering his hand.
"I'm... um… I’m..." Xavier sounds just as flustered as I do. I can’t blame him.
"Oh, yes, you're the guy who bid on Isabella's services here. Thanks for doing that by the way, created some buzz. That won't hurt our budding business, will it?” Cameron winks at me.
I just nod, recovering my breath.
"Well, um, I heard she's the best,” Xavier says.
"That she is. She's made our place pretty much the envy of everyone."
I feel Xavier’s eyes still on me, and I can’t focus on anything else.
"Well, darling, we’d better be going. I have an early plane to catch tomorrow morning." Cameron lays his hand in the small of my back, and I try not to push it away when I notice Xavier watching.
"Nice to meet you, um, I'm sorry I didn't catch your name…"
"Xavier. Nice to meet you.” He turns back to me and I have no choice but to meet his look. “And um, Maly-er, um... I will be in touch, very soon."
"I'm s-sorry?" I stutter, I can’t think of a reason I would put either of us through this again.
“For his apartment design, darling," Cameron says, shaking his head at Xavier and rolling his eyes as if to lament over my forgetfulness.
"Oh, um, yes, of course." No. There’s no way. I’m going to have to find a way out of this.
Xavier locks his eyes with mine for one last moment before he flings himself into the crowd, and it’s only seconds before he’s swallowed up by the bodies in tuxedos and silk.
My breath doesn’t return as fast as I hope, but Cameron’s hand on my back is now a source of steadiness.
"Hey, he was kind of a strange guy. What were you two talking about?" he asks as we step out into the night.
I take a breath before answering.
“He just mistook me for someone he used to know.”
But she doesn’t exist anymore.
six
Him
“I’m not Malynda anymore.”
Her voice loops over and over in my head. The same voice I remember, saying words I don't understand.
What is happening? How did the day turn out to end like this? I lean back, as far as my leather recliner will let me, staring out into the moonlight-washed Manhattan skyline. Has she really been out there this whole time?
I down my drink and reach for the decanter for another.
The burn as it cascades down my throat only gives me a temporary respite from the torturous thoughts in my head.
Where have you been, Malynda? What have you been doing?
And with whom?
She can't really be with that... that suit.
My involuntary chuckle surprises me as I catch my own reflection in the glass; as suited up as a man can get.
God, she looked so beautiful.
More beautiful than I could have ever imagined her. More beautiful than I remember.
More beautiful than that first day at the lake.
More beautiful than standing in front of that paint chipped wall, eyes full of possibility.
More beautiful than all the ways I've imagined her since.
"Hey." A deep voice startles me out of my musings. I look up and Kaine is standing there staring down at me, no doubt not too happy with the scene of me hugging a scotch decanter
"What the fuck, man? How did you get in here?"
"Please. Why do you think I co-bought this building with you? So I could come and check on you when you go off brand, like tonight. What the hell was that all about, Xave?"
I empty my glass down my throat before I answer. "It's Malynda," I finally say, emphasizing every syllable.
"What's Malynda?"
"Her. She. It is Malynda." I don't want to say the moniker she's hiding behind. I refuse to. "The interior designer." It takes him a moment, but the pieces finally fit together in his brain.
"Shit. Isabella is Malynda? Are you sure?"
I catch his surprised gaze and let him read my eyes for a moment.
"Shit," he says again and reaches for the scotch decanter in my hand.
"Yeah."
"But... How… Did... Why..."
"Exactly, I've been asking myself the same questions. I don't have the answers yet, if you come across them let me know."
He pours himself a glass and tops mine up. He knows now isn’t the time to be curtailing my alcohol intake. "What are you going to do?"
"I could stand up in the middle of a fundraising dinner at the Plaza and declare a woman mine by outbidding everyone else by 300%."
"Well, you've already done that."
I just shrug. I don’t know what I’m going to do.
"Don’t give me that, you know what you’re going to do,” he responds to my silent answer.
I laugh into my glass. He wouldn't be Kaine if he didn't know me so well.
"Don't be stupid,” he continues. “You don't know what happened to her before and what's brought her here. Give her some time and space. She's probably as freaked out as you are, but she’s not going anywhere."
I watch my reflection shake its head.
"I believed that once before. And she did. She disappeared off the face of the fucking earth, man! I don’t want to give her time or fucking space! That's all she's had for... for... FUCK! I want here her. Right now! Telling me what the hell happened!" The recliner screeches against the floor as it’s pushed back when I jump to my feet, a white-hot rage suddenly rushing through me. Before I can stop myself, my scotch glass f
lies across the room, smashing against the window. We watching the crystal shatter and fall onto the floor in a pile of glittering shards. “Fuck,” I say again, dropping back down into the chair, head in my hands.
"Xavier," Kaine says, I think, but I can barely hear him. My mind already rushing back to the past. "Xavier," he says again. But I'm already lost to my memories.
***
12 years ago
On a perfect late spring day in Maine, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world.
The sun dissolves the clouds that crowd the sky during most of April and May, and the sky hovers like a pristine royal blue canvas over our heads. The rivers and lakes come alive with the awakening of nature around it, refreshed from the deep winter sleep.
There is a scent of hope in the air.
Like today. Today was a perfect late spring day in Maine.
With her.
It's early evening by the time I'm walking home after spending the afternoon after school with Malynda. I’d gone to the basketball courts, not knowing if I’d see her, but there she was, already working on the mural when I showed up.
"Want to see?" she'd asked, after about two hours, coming over to sit by me.
"No. I'll see it when it's done."
"Might be awhile. I don't know if it will ever be done."
"That's okay. I'll keep coming here with you until it is," I’d told her, a promise to myself as much as to her.
She’d given me a hug as we’d separated at Main Street. As always, she’d gone toward the manicured lawns of the west of the city, and me back to my own crowded house, but not before watching her walk away. Until her thin figure was so small, even my squints couldn’t bring her back into focus.
She’d hugged me.
Like I said; a perfect day.
I can hear the chaos three houses away before I get home. The door creaks on the hinge as I open it, trying to sneak in without being noticed.
"Xavier! Where have you been?!" my mother yells, barely two seconds after I've entered the kitchen.
I look around, the twins are sitting at the table with their crayons and butcher paper. Brian is lying on the floor in front of the TV.
"I was, er, studying at the library, Mom. Why?"
"I just got called in for an extra shift. I need you to watch the kids." She rushes around, grabbing her bag and the cardigan hanging off the back of the chair.
"But-..."
"Please, Xavier. I'm already late. I didn't have credit on my phone to call you."
"When will you be home?"
"I don't know. It's crazy at work, I might even get a double shift. Oh, and Dairy Joy called, they want you to open for them tomorrow."
"But – Mr. Pritchard said he was going to help me study for a test we have on Friday."
She stops for a moment, looking at me, shoulders dropping.
"I'm sorry, Xavier. I need the help. Look." She points to the letter with the big, red bold writing on the fridge.
"Your choice, honey. You take the shift and we pay the electricity bill, or you… you go study. I’m not going to make the decision for you." She gives me a weak smile and a kiss on the cheek and rushes out the door.
"Where's Mom going?" Michael, the older twin looks up from their mess on the kitchen table.
"Just to work, buddy," I say, sitting down and grabbing a crayon, drawing a sun on the sheet of paper.
"I'm hungry," Brian says, finally looking up from the TV.
"Okay, my specialty?"
"I guess. Not too much peanut butter this time, it makes my mouth feel funny."
"You got it."
My feet drag on the way to the kitchen and I grab the bread and a knife from the drawer. As much as my body feels imprisoned in this house, in this role of big brother, my mind is somewhere else. On a lake, by the water's edge, with a pretty dancer with long blonde hair and hazel eyes.
***
"Hi!"
I look up from the sink the next afternoon, elbow deep in suds and floating puddles of melted ice cream. It's her. Dressed in pink tights and her grey leotard poking out from under the long black tunic loosely wrapped around her body. I'm suddenly more aware of the region just below my stomach than I've ever been. And I'm glad I have a sink to hide it.
"Hi," I say back, feeling my face curl into an involuntary smile. She gifts me with a smile back. "Dance class?"
"Yep, my partner finally decided he can't give up yet. I'm exhausted. I must look a mess!" she sighs as she runs a hand over her messy topknot, pushing back the little wisps of hair escaping the bun.
I want to, but I can't tell her that she looks more delicious than all the tubs of ice cream here put together. I want to bury myself in the crook of her neck and breathe in the scent of her skin. I bet she tastes delectably salty after her workout.
Again, thank god for this sink in front of me.
"Anyway, I was wondering, would you mind going with me to the basketball court after work? I had an idea for my mural I wanted to work on."
"Oh, sure. That's great. But I don't get off until four,” I say, shrugging apologetically.
"That's cool, I can wait!" She does a little shuffle on her feet and gives me a grin. There's something so light about her today. I feel like I need to take her hand to stop her from floating away. "I'm going to go sit over there, okay?"
I watch as she bounces away, wishing I could follow her. I give my body a few minutes to settle down and bring a bowl over to her.
"Oh, I can't,” she whines, pouting at the sundae I’m holding out to her. “I'm watching my diet for one more torturous week. Then this place better watch out!"
I put it down on the table in front of her. "It's, um, it's just frozen yogurt and some raspberries. Very dancer friendly."
She looks down at the bowl and then back up at me, her eyes round and wide. Her look of appreciation makes me heady. "How did you know...?" A soft breath escapes her nose. "I should stop asking that, shouldn't I?"
"You can ask me anything. At any time," I say, and then return to my station before I say something else as trite and lame.
I can't stop watching her over the next two hours. It's no different to how it was before, my obsession with watching her. The only difference is that now sometimes I catch her watching me back. When I catch her looking she just smiles and gives me a wink. Where does she get that confidence? I could use some. But she already has given me a little; sometimes when we’re alone, she makes me feel like I could conquer the world.
"Hey, I dreamt of these ones last night," she says, holding a few paint swatches out like a fan when we're walking to the basketball court later. "It was amazing, I felt like I was floating through an infinite cloud of swirling color. I could touch them, almost taste them. I wish I could recreate it."
I just smile as I listen to her talking, her voice high with excitement, her elbow occasionally bumping up against mine as she waves her arms around, describing her dream.
"What do you think?" She stops chattering for a moment to ask me.
"Oh. Um. I don't know much about art."
"You don't have to, just tell me what you think.” Her smile is so warm; as unsure as I feel about giving my opinion about something I know nothing about, I know I can’t refuse her anything.
"Well, I think you should stop worrying about re-creating it and just create. That dream came from you, those images are inside of you. So maybe stop thinking so much, and just trust your instinct. I bet you’ll make something that elicits the same feeling you had in your dream."
She doesn't say anything and for a moment I'm worried I've offended her. Then she just sighs and slides her hand into mine, swinging it between us as we arrive, too soon, at the wall.
Then, without needing to talk, we fall into a routine. She gets to work on her mural as I find my spot against the wall, where I can read my books and watch her without reserve.
Her hands work, cutting and pasting shapes onto the wall, her face running the range of express
ions, from a furrowed brow in concentration, to excitement at a new idea, to contentment at a square of color placed just right.
Her hair untangles from the elastic holding it up on her head, and the fading sun catches the tips as they whip around her face from a passing breeze. I watch as she absentmindedly runs a finger along the curve of her cheek, pulling at a hair stuck to her lips. Every move she makes entrances me.
I don't know if it's all the years of dance training that has her body moving in shapes and angles designed to capture your attention, or if it's just instinctive to her.
To command every ounce of my attention.
I catch myself holding my breath as I watch her.
She curses at something on the wall and it reminds me to stop staring, at least for a moment and I force my gaze down to the open textbook in my lap. I tell myself to count to ten before I let myself look up but only get to eight before I'm watching her again.
Two hours later she slides down only the ground next to me, pulling her knees in close to her chest, lines of goosebumps jumping up from her arms due to the plummeting temperature.
I take my jacket off and throw it around her. She gives me a look of thanks, pulling it tight around her and then lays her head on my shoulder. It takes everything I have to not lay a kiss on her forehead.
“Thank you,” she whispers after a few minutes as a pink hue starts to bleed all over the horizon. And I’m the only one there to hear it.
I don’t say “you’re welcome” because what I really mean to say is “my pleasure.”
"I better be going home,” she says once the moon and sun are almost equally visible in the sky, and I’m glad to hear she’s as sad about it as I am. “I didn't realize how late it was getting.”
I nod and gather my things. "Do you need me to walk you home?" I ask, hoping for an answer I probably shouldn’t be hoping for. I'm not sure what this all means to her. Us. Not that I really care, as long as I get to keep spending time with her
"No, I should be alright, it’s not too far,” she says, fiddling with the zipper of my jacket and pulling it closed all the way up to her throat. "Or, hey, do you need me to walk you home?" she teases, nudging me with her shoulder.