Making a large gesture like Heath Ledger publicly serenading his leading lady in Ten Things I Hate about You would just embarrass Taylor and turn her away.
She wished there was a romantic comedy where Jennifer Lopez and Sandra Bullock fell in love, fought, and one lady did a perfectly reasonable and selfless act to win the other back that wouldn’t seem creepy, over-the-top, or cringe-worthy if it were to be duplicated off-screen. To her knowledge, no such film existed for her to use as a model.
Her next best option was advice from Amanda, but there was no way she was going to interrupt her friend’s honeymoon with her personal problems. From the looks of Amanda’s Instagram, she was having the time of her life taking too many selfies on the water at Hyde Park and wearing out her espadrilles pounding the pavement around Piccadilly Circus and Leicester Square. Good. She deserved it.
It made Eva wonder where Taylor would go if she had the means to travel. When Taylor was still on probation, she’d lost the ability to have a passport. Now, she could apply and go wherever her heart desired.
That’s when it clicked. Eva’s idea for winning Taylor back.
19
Taylor
Her life had been full before Eva. It could be full again. That, she was sure of.
What she was fuzzier on was how she could be angry—no, incensed—and still miss absolutely everything about the woman that had her seeing red. She loved the way Eva looked when she finally let her hair down at the end of each workday, unpinning her bun so that her locks cascaded over her shoulders and framed her body like some kind of golden aura. She loved that a woman busy running her own company had agreed to lend her professional skills and supplies to help a teenage girl she’d never met pull off a surprise with no expectation of compensation. She also loved that she could quote anyone from Jane Austen to Haruki Murakami and Eva would know exactly who the author was and which novel she was referencing without cheating and looking it up.
It had been incredibly hard to resist responding to Eva’s texts when she tried to reinstate their name the author game as a part of her apology, and even harder still when it seemed like further confirmation that they loved all the same books. She deleted all the texts, but still added Bridget Jones’ Diary to her staff recommended reading shelf at work the next day.
There were other things she missed. How endearing it was when an obscenity flew out of Eva’s prim and proper mouth. How Eva was barely tall enough to reach Taylor’s lips for a kiss when she was without her signature high heels. That when they went out to eat or ordered food, Eva always insist it be from a minority-owned local business and that she tipped well.
Taylor knew that she, too, was a catch despite her checkered past. She just couldn’t fathom finding another partner as full of conviction or class as Eva had been.
But maybe that was a part of the problem.
Something she’d seen in countless movies and romance novels was a play off of the opposites attract trope—how once in a blue moon, a person like Eva would be drawn to someone from the wrong side of the tracks. It was an easy thing to romanticize when you weren’t a part of the story.
If you were in it, you wanted to be the lady—not the tramp.
Until the night of Amanda’s wedding, Eva had never made Taylor feel that way. Not even the night Taylor talked about the theft and the probation. In a matter of minutes, she felt like she’d gone from being Cinderella—perhaps still poor but beautiful and adored—to a felon worthy of putting to work but not loving.
Taylor tried her best not to think about those things. When she did, she slipped into a full body cringe, her face contorting into a sour expression she couldn’t quite work her mouth out of. While she was on the clock, she busied herself with shelf reading, making sure none of the books in the fiction section were amiss or out of place. During her lunch break, she sequestered herself in an empty corner behind the religion section and studied flashcards from class.
Religion was a safe place to hide. Maybe not in life, but in the library. The books on Christian apologetics, New Age guides to astral projection, and nonfiction about the secret lives of celibate monks all sat dusty on the shelf. On the days her preferred hiding spot was occupied, she moved on to the tables in the poetry section. Slam poetry and the Instagram poets were making poetry cool again, but Yeats and Keats and Dickenson didn’t draw as many casual browsers as Taylor believed they warranted.
She couldn’t tell if it was a blessing or a curse that she had both a test in her Discrete Mathematics class and a major project deadline fast approaching for Programming Concepts. In theory, it provided plenty of work she could use to keep herself distracted. The problem was that every time she cracked open her textbook, the words seemed to jumble together in an indecipherable heap. There were free tutoring sessions once a month led by the Teaching Assistant for her math class, but they overlapped with her volunteer work at the community center. If she was going to demystify the Markov chain, she was going to have to do it on her own. That meant snapping out of her funk.
She tapped her eraser against her mouth and tried not to chew on her pencil as she got down to work.
Taylor wished she could write a line of code that would patch the part of her that was malfunctioning, eradicate thoughts of Eva as easily as she wiped malware off of the library’s public computing stations. Instead, she used the last couple of minutes of her lunch break to put on her headphones and pull up a website for mindfulness she’d shown her students at the gym. When the guided meditation started, she looked around to make sure she was still alone before settling deeper into her seat and closing her eyes.
The soothing voice instructed her to visualize a beach with white sand, scalding hot below her feet. To imagine herself taking slow, intentional steps toward the water where it met the shore, where she could seek relief from the punishing sun and fully immerse herself in the ocean.
Taylor did what she was told with one addition—she pictured Eva emerging from the water, hair soaking wet and rivulets of water running down between her clavicles. Gorgeous and unadorned just like she’d been that night in the bathtub.
* * *
It was always a scramble running out the door on a Tuesday to get to class on time. There was only a seven-mile distance between work and school, but five o’clock traffic combined with overcrowded campus parking meant that she was often sliding into her seat at the back of the auditorium with only a minute or two to spare.
Her coworkers knew that, so she was surprised when Jenny stopped her on her way out. Taylor paused but pulled her car keys out of her messenger bag to signal that she was crunched for time.
“I meant to give this to you earlier today, but it slipped my mind,” Jenny said, handing her an envelope.
“Thanks, Jenny!”
“Go on now—enjoy your class tonight.”
She threw her things in the passenger seat and set her car in the right direction. Even when she was in a hurry, she never allowed herself to go more than three or four miles over the speed limit. Being a model citizen was a part of her campaign to keep accruing good karma so that maybe the universe would be a bit kinder. Clearly, she had a lot more work to do in that department before it started working.
At a stoplight, she reached over to grab the envelope. When she got mail, it was usually a bill or an application for a credit card company that would probably just deny her. Neither of those things had ever made their way to her workplace before.
She was taken aback when she realized the label was handwritten, not just neat script printed onto the envelope. The penmanship was unmistakable. It was Eva’s. She tore it open to see two things—a note and a check made out to her for $100.00.
This was just adding insult to injury. Further proof that Eva hadn’t listened to anything Taylor had to say. Two could play at that game.
Taylor crumpled the note, unread. Not wanting to give herself an opportunity to change her mind and revisit the note later, she dunked it into a campus trashcan on
the way into class.
She kept the check, unsure about what she wanted to do with that.
20
Eva
Going through the bookbinding workshop a second time without her good hand wasn’t going to work. The Craft Corner had a collection of handmade books and journals for purchase, but after going through them, none of them seemed quite right for the project she had in mind.
Buying a plain photo album from the store seemed worse. Not special enough.
Eva went downtown to a small used bookstore that Taylor had told her about the night they’d met at book club. There, she thumbed through well-worn copies of novels she knew they both loved.
The one thing they didn’t have in common was poetry. Taylor seemed to know everything there was about poetry, from how to structure a sestina to who the major players were for every century and whether or not their current poet laureate was worth the hype. Eva had been embarrassed by her lack of knowledge on the topic. Her expertise with poetry ended with the psalms people chose over again and again for weddings— apt but overused verses about love being patient and kind. That, and the Where the Sidewalk Ends collection she remembered an elementary school teacher reading to the class from Shel Silverstein. As a former English major, it made her wonder if the required curriculum hadn’t been missing a class or two she maybe should have taken.
Taylor had told her about a writer named Elizabeth Bishop, a woman who wrote in guarded language about being in love with another woman. Eva slipped a thin collection of Bishop’s poems off of the shelf and took it to the cash register.
* * *
Eva’s hands were covered in decoupage when her phone buzzed to let her know she had a text. It was Wednesday night, so it was possible Taylor was texting because she’d finally gotten her snail mail. It was right around the same time she’d generally be wrapping up at the gym. When it was an unknown number that flashed across the screen instead of the one she wanted to see, Eva sighed and returned her focus to her project.
The night of the bookbinding class, Taylor had told Eva she was going to use her book as a bucket list where she’d store ideas for all of the things she wanted to do. Eva’s idea was similar: a bucket list of the things she hoped they’d do together. She just hoped that Taylor would find it charming and hopeful instead of presumptuous.
Eva photocopied images from the travel guides she used for work, collecting images of destinations she knew would be of mutual interest. In Bath, they could reenact their favorite scenes from Jane Austen novels, gender roles be damned. In London, they could take in Much Ado About Nothing or A Midsummer Night’s Dream at The Globe Theater and visit the famous book stores were even the rarest of editions could be found.
Eva had accrued so many travel points helping other people plan their honeymoons that she’d nearly lost count. She could hop on a plane or book a hotel without it costing her a penny, but all of the possibilities sat neglected because she’d never wanted to travel by herself.
A trip across the world was a lot to spring on someone. She knew that.
So she also included other things she wanted to do with Taylor that were a bit closer to home. The owner of the food truck that made the pot stickers she’d seen Taylor devour taught a cooking class. She printed out a registration form for the course and cut it down to size so that it would fit inside the book of Elizabeth Bishop’s poetry and then glued it down.
The book was 110 pages in total, but she had no shortage of ideas for how it could be filled.
There was only one page that she didn’t intend to cover—the one with the poem “One Art” where Bishop wrote about the art of losing things and people. Instead, in the margins of that particular poem, she wrote, “Please don’t let this be us.”
They’d known each other only a short time, but Eva knew the permanent loss of Taylor would be crushing, too imaginable to bear. Her antics and her silly humor—like that epic fail of a Flashdance impersonation—made life more fun. Her volunteerism might have been court mandated, but that didn’t negate the fact that she had a heart for people and a personality built for servant leadership.
Plus, Eva loved the way Taylor was around Erica and the pride that gushed out of her every time she talked about the boxing ring kids. Taylor was the kind of woman Eva could imagine having a family with.
Eva knew she was getting ahead of herself thinking about a future with kids and a white picket fence. She just couldn’t help it. She’d had a happy childhood, a family that laughed around bowls of cereal in matching pajamas in front of Saturday morning cartoons, that had spent time together at church picnics and school fundraisers and neighborhood block parties. It was so easy to see her creating a family of her own like that with Taylor, the only person capable of making her feel laid back and casual. She’d need someone like that to help her keep laughing through late night diaper changes and mortgage payments and life’s inevitable tragedies and crises. Taylor would be worth fighting her workaholic tendencies for, make her enjoy the things she’d worked so hard to build and acquire.
So she had to win her back. Failure wasn’t really an option.
21
Taylor
Wednesday was a big day for the students in her boxing program. It was the last week before their graduation ceremony. For most of the students, starting the program had been something they’d done against their will. Court-appointed anger management training wasn’t exactly an alluring concept. Taylor prided herself and the other instructors on making it both meaningful and fun for students. While some of them might have tried to make it seem otherwise, she’d felt buy-in from nearly all of them by the second or third class. She had sneaking suspicions that for many of them, the boxing ring was the only place they were able to get attention for the good things they did instead of the bad. She could empathize with that.
It was difficult to keep the tears out of her eyes as she watched the students practice their moves for the final time, readying themselves for the graduation ceremony. They’d have a chance in front of their family and friends to showcase their new skills and then compete in their first public match. Afterward, each student would have a chance to speak a few words about the things that they learned. Taylor and the other instructors would speak at the end, bringing each student up one-by-one to share positive words about their character and aptitudes, wishing them well before sending them out into the world.
Taylor had decided this would be the last time she’d commit to co-leading the program. Her coursework at State was only going to get more strenuous as she advanced toward her upper-level courses and she knew she couldn’t continue to stretch herself as far as she had. She also wanted to make room for other things. If nothing else, Eva had taught her that.
When they were on a five-minute water break, Erica found her by the punching bags.
“You look great up there today,” Taylor said, nodding to the ring. “Next thing I know, you’re going to be calling me to tell me to tune into Monday Night Raw and you’ll be the one body slamming folks on my television screen.”
Erica beamed.
“Do you think Eva would come to my graduation?”
Taylor tried to plaster a smile on her face even though the mention of Eva’s name felt like a gut check, like someone had missed a nearby punching bag and clocked her a good one instead.
“I think it would mean a lot to her if you asked her to come,” she said. “Remind me when practice is over, and I’ll write down the number for her cell.”
There was no way in hell Taylor was asking Eva herself.
“Thanks,” Erica said, nearly flinging herself onto Taylor in a hug but then stopping at the last moment with just enough time to avoid covering Taylor in post-bout sweat.
“You got it, kid.”
22
Taylor
Taylor spent twice the time she normally did to get ready. She didn’t care much for makeup beyond tinted gloss and mascara, but her nails were painted in the same turquoise shade as her
signature rings and her jeans were pressed with a perfect crease right down the middle. She applied some eucalyptus oil to her wrists and her throat. It had been a gift from one of her coworkers when she enrolled in her first class at the university. It was suppose to help with mental clarity.
She was going to need it today to stay focused on the graduation ceremony if Eva was in the audience. She told herself she only hoped that Eva would be there for Erica’s sake, but lying wasn’t her strong suit even when the only person she was trying to convince of an untruth was herself.
It didn’t take long for her and the other instructors to set up for the graduation. They filled the space in front of the ring with rows of fold-out chairs, set up a small table in the back of the room with refreshments, and made sure they had all of their graduation certificates printed out and alphabetized. Taylor gave the room a once over and found it to be disappointing. She wished she could do something more than this for the kids, but the grant that funded their program only covered necessities—things like boxing gloves and safety equipment. All of the refreshments had been paid for out of pocket.
What was more disappointing was the turnout. There were twenty teens in her program, but it was clear that not all of them had people show up to support them. She was happy to see that Erica’s parents were there front and center, holding hands from their spot in the audience but also wished all the other teens had a cheerleading section of their own. Lord knows they needed it. Taylor made a mental note to herself to sing their praises a little louder, to spend more time on their goodbyes when the program was over.
Erica’s parents weren’t the only people she recognized. Eva was in the last row. Given her obsession with etiquette, she was likely trying to leave all of the other seats for family members. When Eva caught her eye and waved, Taylor returned the gesture but tried to keep her face as blank as possible so it wouldn’t seem like she was encouraging any continued communication later. The least she could do was be civil. It was also the most she felt she could do. This wasn’t the time or the place to get emotional. Today was about her students.
Forgetting Chuck Taylor Page 9