by Ana Simons
This week has been the most difficult and demanding in my life. I’m struggling to adjust to this new reality, to the heavy weight that hangs on my shoulders. And I miss her so much. How I wish she could be around to help me through this.
And, damn it, the fact she’s on call this weekend is making it even harder!
Millie, my father’s trustworthy assistant and the other-worldliest woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life, knocks on the door, waits for no answer whatsoever, and enters. No smile, no words. Only a stack of documents and correspondence she drops on my desk.
My eyes follow her movements, my eyes transfixed by the scruffy ensemble and her hair, today, a total fashion calamity. Shorn on top, long in the back, in the front a bang that looks like a sculptural masterpiece. Jesus.
“New hairdo, huh?”
She glances at me with her scary Gollum’s eyes and the usual expressionless face, emits a sort of growl – no bloody idea if it’s a yes or a no – and pads out of the office. Suffice to say, she takes the meaning of ‘small talk’ to its most literal sense and her people skills aren’t really her best asset.
Help me, God. How I’m going to make this work between the two of us is still a mystery to me.
But then again, she works her ass off every day, and she was the only one who knew what was going on with my father, who supported him during the diagnosis stage, so it can’t be this bad all the time.
I can only hope.
“Brian?” Olivia’s voice breaks me from my inner digression.
“Hey, already started packing?” I ask, the thought that she’ll be moving to London at the end of the month the only positive thing I have to comfort me these days.
“Boxes everywhere. You’ll see, October will pass in a blink of an eye. In no time, I’ll be there with you. Got to go now, my shift starts in twenty minutes.”
*
Josephine | Friday, October 2 | 11:05
I’m just across the street, at the Penderel’s Oak. Why don’t you come down for a coffee?
Friday, October 2 | 11:08
Sorry. Really busy. Maybe some other time.
Josephine | Friday, October 2 | 11:09
Come on, let’s catch up a bit.
Friday, October 2 | 11:10
I can’t.
Josephine | Friday, October 2 | 11:11
If you don’t come down, I’m coming up. Got something for you.
No, you’re not!
Enough is enough and I’m in no mood for pleasantries anymore. I’ve already asked her politely to stop texting me but, apparently, she didn’t get the message. She’s been doing this the entire week now, it’s getting completely out of line, heading into crazy territory, and I’m about to lose my patience.
And, besides, I never got the chance to tell Olivia about her, so if this goes on, or worse, if she begins to accidentally bump into us, chances are things could easily go to hell in a hand-basket.
I put on my jacket, button it up quickly and make my way out as fast as possible. This has to stop, and it has to stop now, I keep telling myself as I cross the busy street and enter the pub in simmering fury.
“Hey, what are you playing at?” I blurt out as I pull up a chair at the table. “I’m sorry if I’ve given you false hopes or whatever, but you have to stop!”
“I just wanted to have a coffee, that’s all,” she says softly, laying her hand on top of mine. “And also, to know how you’ve been doing.”
Pulling my hand away, I cast a glance around to see if anyone has heard me. Staring at her gravely, I force myself to calm down and ask for a coffee. “Okay, but it has to be quick. I’ve got tons of work to do.”
“Thank you.” She smiles, a gentle, warm smile. “Please, don’t look at me as though I’m a needy and desperate woman. I’m only trying to reach out to a friend.”
I drag a hand through my stubble, irritation gnawing at me again. “Listen, this isn’t the best time and–”
“Brian?” She takes a sip of her coffee and remains silent for a while, looking at me with the same tender expression and graceful attitude, one that couldn’t contrast more with my agitation. “You know that feeling, that is so powerful it almost suspends time and makes the whole world seem still? It’s so strong you’re able to tear down your walls and let yourself be vulnerable? When you know you’ve found your other half? That after a crappy day, just the mere sight of that person will make it all better?”
“Oh, you met someone? But that’s wonderful!” My heart begins to jump with joy.
Actually, it’s relief.
“You know the one-month no-contact rule?”
I shrug. No idea what she’s talking about and, honestly, she’s sounding so zen I suspect this is about to become weird.
“You hadn’t heard from me for a month because I thought it was important to give myself time to breathe, to meditate on a few things.”
“Good. Feeling better now?”
“I tried to put things into a logical perspective. To understand how I feel about us, about our relationship.”
“And?”
“I know, I’ve always said I’d never want anything serious with anyone, only a few casual dates here and there, and to have fun. But then something changed, and I didn’t find the right way, the right words to tell you about it. That I miss you. That I really like you and hope I can make you like me as much. What I want to say is… it would mean the world to me if you’d consider giving us a–”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I told you already, I can’t give you that. And, besides, I’m seeing someone else.”
Her face hardens into an expression of coldness, anger even, maybe, her eyes squinting in disbelief. “Seeing, what does that mean? Like, a hit-and-run thing?”
“No.”
She stares at me for a long moment before her eyes widen. “When did that hap–”
I hold her hand tightly. “Jo, listen to me. I’m sorry, but you should move on and try to find someone–”
“Who truly deserves me?” she completes my sentence, shaking her head, her whole face a portrait of near despair. “Is that what you were about to say to me?”
My stomach twists with unease and I stand. “I should go now.”
“No, wait. I’ve got something for you.” She grabs a red paper bag hanging on the back of the chair.
“What’s this?”
“Just a present.”
“I can’t take it.”
“Please.”
A few seconds of hesitation and I do take the bag, out of sympathy and unjustified remorse.
“Take care, Jo.” I say goodbye with a slight nod.
Moments later, already sitting at my desk, I open the gift bag, peek inside and fish the content out with a pen. “You fucking kidding me?!” The words escape my mouth almost on their own.
I keep pulling the strap of the totally foxy black lace teddy and stare at it with my jaw dropped. Hell no, this is not for a trip to the grocery store! Then, I read the card that accompanies the unexpected gift:
‘Already made a reservation at Fidlie’s. Be there at 7. This is just the dessert topping.’
No, thanks. I’m having dinner with my moron of a new roommate instead. Someone has to assist Jake while he gets drunk, and listen, again, to the epic story of how he got dumped twice in the same night. To that and to his ramblings about his mistress, who went from being the sexiest, most desirable woman on earth to being the bloodiest stupid cow in the universe.
Anyway, I dump the undergarment into a big brown envelope, seal it, and ask Millie to have it sent back to Jo’s address. A quick text with some polite version of ‘forget about it, I don’t ever want to see your face again’ and that’s it. Hopefully, the problem is resolved.
29 TGIF
IT WASN’T. APPARENTLY, I underestimated the situation.
Jo didn’t appreciate either the gesture or the avalanche of unanswered text messages that followed. Eventually, I blocked her number and the last
time she tried to call me at the office, it was obvious she was done with meditation and that one or two of her chakras must have gone out of alignment.
Telling Millie to go fuck herself, when she refused to put her through?
She obviously doesn’t know my commando-secretary.
“Everyone has the right to be stupid, even bitchy little tarts like you, but you’re abusing the privilege!” Millie spat before hanging up on her.
But that was two days ago. There’s been radio silence since then.
It’s Friday again and I’ve just returned from my fourth construction site visit of the day. Letting out a long exhale, I throw my hardhat on the table and fall into my swivel chair.
With eyes closed and hands cupped behind my head, I spin back and forth for a few moments, feeling the tiredness seeping through my bones.
Though eager to call it a day, I make a quick mental check of the people I still need to talk to. Jake about the Warrender Park conservation project drawings. Patel about the Fulham feasibility report. Has Scott already emailed those visit reports? Millie, any news from the surveyors?
I glance around the office, through the glass walls.
Everyone is wearing that face. The welcome-back-bitch-we’ve-been-looking-forward-to-meeting-you-since-Monday face.
I lean back and close my eyes again. Olivia is arriving in a few hours and I still need to think of a plan B for this weekend.
Maybe we could go out and watch a film. What was that musical she wanted to see? What a shitty weather… otherwise, we could spread a blanket in Hampstead Heath and have a picnic. Oh, maybe I could take her to Columbia Road market on Sunday. She loves all things vintage and we could have lunch at the Royal Oak. Yeah, that would be nice…
Damn it, plan A is so much simpler! We don’t get out of bed at all. I make love to her until we collapsed in exhaustion.
Several images of her writhing body invade my mind. I’m cradling her in my arms and she’s quivering under my touch, biting her lip and arching her back off the bed. Her fingers are tangled in my hair, her mouth urging me on, screaming my name. We’re on a free ride to heaven and it’s epic, and I’m near insane too and–
And, shit, my body is stirring to life!
I’d better go get a coffee.
“All good, Millie?” I ask after I’ve refilled my mug. “So, did you know the world was supposed to have ended last Wednesday?”
“Uh-huh.” She doesn’t move her eyes off the monitor.
“Just heard about it on the radio. Some American pastor predicted a nasty end for all of us in the flames of God’s wrath!” I chuckle. “It boggles my mind how many people still believe in these stupid doomsday prophecies.”
“Uh-huh.”
“If we’d known that, we’d have indulged ourselves a better last meal, right?”
Last Wednesday, we both went home particularly late. We had set ourselves to finish an important proposal on a very tight deadline, so we were here from the crack of dawn until almost midnight. A lousy sandwich and a coke were all we had for dinner.
“Uh-huh.”
It’s like getting blood out of a stone.
“However, all appears to be normal. Nice, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, off to see Jake now. As always, it’s been a huge pleasure chatting with you.”
She raises her head and mutters, “Damn it, if the world’s still spinning, I guess I still have to pay my taxes, don’t I?”
Oh. A miracle. The woman has a sense of humour.
“I’m certain if God had such plans, He’d organise a proper end of the world. He’d schedule it for a Sunday, not in the middle of the sodding week.” A tiny flicker of a grin curls up on her lips. “Why wouldn’t He allow His children to let loose on one last Saturday night? Besides, it’d suck terribly to make us work two or three extra days for nothing.”
Oh. And she can giggle too.
She finally looks at me over her glasses. “Hey? You’re doing everything right, don’t worry. Your father will be proud of you,” she says, tenderly, right before the smile vanishes off her face and her eyes narrow at me. “Did you know it takes less than twenty-nine seconds for a woman to decide if she wants a man or not?”
I frown, confused.
“I’ll take it from here, go home now. Do something about that hair. And have a shave before your girlfriend sees you and changes her mind about you. You look like a caveman!”
30 EVERY PIECE OF MYSELF
I REACH ACROSS THE TABLE for her hand and look into Olivia’s eyes. A gentle smile plays across her lips.
Knowing I’m the reason behind that smile is one of the best feelings and I’m not afraid anymore to tell her that. That I need her. That I need her to be part of my life, that I want to give every piece of myself to her.
Caught up in the moment, I get up from the counter stool and leave a long kiss on her forehead.
Olivia leans into me to nuzzle her face against my chest. Her smiling eyes seek mine, to soothe me the way only she can, to tell me without words that sure, life sucks sometimes, but she’s here, with me, to be my anchor, to reassure me everything will be all right. And it fills me in the most profound way, this feeling, the feeling that I love her, that I love her with all that I am.
Before I start collecting our plates, I throw a quick glance at my mobile to check the time.
It’s late. Almost eleven.
We’ve finished dinner a little while ago, but we lost track of time while catching up, cosy and relaxed, chatting away about life, these past weeks, about our future.
“…I was betting he’d run screaming out of the door, but no, the poor guy just fainted in the middle of the room, imagine that! His wife was so angry she could have jumped off the delivery table and strangled him right there!” Olivia tells me about the highlight of her day and lets out a loud laugh. “I’m fully convinced if men had to give birth themselves, civilisation would have already been extinguished. You can be such wusses!”
I shake my head, amused, but keep my thoughts to myself.
The idea of seeing your child getting out through a spot where you have already had so much fun – basically through the main attraction of the whole playground – is a bit disturbing. And when one day I’m in that position, I do plan to hold Olivia’s hand, talk gently to her, take all those slow, deep breaths – but, for the sake of my own mental health, I’ll be watching it from the headboard side.
From the other angle, with a full view of the event? No, thank you.
“Dessert?”
She crinkles her nose.
“You sure?”
Nodding, she smiles, loose and entertained, one finger absently circling the rim of her glass, one leg stretched over another stool, her body swaying to the music floating from the sound system. “Thank you for the late dinner, it was great.”
Everything is quiet and perfect, just perfect.
She glances at me, with bright eyes, her lips slightly curled to a naughty smile. “Hey, you know what? You’re a pretty damn good cook with a dangerously charming smile… That will get you a lot of extra cookies.”
The sly, playful innuendo almost stops me in my tracks. I’m taking a little surprise I prepared for her out of the freezer.
“Hey, sexy. What do you think of this?” A bowl with two scoops of vanilla ice-cream with cherries and walnuts. Her favourite.
Her eyes light up. “Where’s the spoon?”
Waggling one, I lean over to tease her a little by just barely touching my lips against hers. “So you do want dessert after all?” I watch the mischief flicker in her eyes, which are fixed on mine.
I scoop up a spoonful of ice-cream and hold it to her mouth. She tastes it slowly, rolling the cream on her tongue, and I kiss her lips, which feel cold and taste sweet.
I’m almost sure I’ve just heard a tiny, little moan.
The fire that’s been brewing inside of me since this afternoon flares to life. I want her so badly that
if she kisses me back, I’ll be damned if I don’t take that as an invitation and in less than one minute, I won’t just be kissing her lips, I’ll be kissing every inch of her body. On this very counter.
No?
“Thank you, that was so sweet of you. Now give me that spoon! Four minutes of pleasure in the mouth, four years on the hips, but who cares?” Quite enthusiastically she takes another spoonful to her mouth.
I guess no...
“Why do you always do that?” I dip my spoon into my own bowl.
“Excuse me?”
“Always refusing dessert, but then end up stealing it from us, little by little! Today I’d be lucky to get half of mine!”
She narrows her eyes at me, in a feigned menacing stare. “Okay, so if we really want this relationship to go somewhere, we might as well get all these things straight now. Tell me, what else annoys the hell out of you?”
I enter her game and pull up a stool next to her. After taking a few seconds to gear up, I point my spoon at her.
“For starters, why do you always spend so much time getting ready? Men need to have the patience of the saints sometimes.”
“It’s a lot of work to look good – for you, sweetheart!” She winks. “Hair, make-up and other secrets you don’t want to hear about – like waxing down there – do require some time. So get over that one, darling. Next!” she prompts, amused.
“When you ask us if you look fat in an outfit, what am I supposed to say? My sister, for example, drives me crazy. Always asking me that.”
“Most times we’re just looking for a compliment. Say something nice.”
“I should lie, you mean?”
“Say something like ‘that dress is lovely, but, I don’t know, you don’t look very comfortable in it’. That sounds much better! And it will likely be true, anyway. What else?”