Purely Unconditional: A Romantic Tale of Snow Days and Second Chances

by Bethany Hensel

  5. Speaking of up…update your wardrobe! Buy stuff with colors and sequins. Buy an expression tee and wear it! Buy a push up bra and let the ba-zingas do the talking!

  6. Bake with tofu. Try something new.

  7. Watch a bunch of scary movies. Push beyond your comfort zone!

  8. Attend a ballroom dancing class. I’ve seen the many episodes of Dancing with the Stars on your DVR. You obviously love it, so give it a whirl (See what I did there?) And no, you cannot combine this challenge with number 2.

  9. Go to a bar and stay out until midnight.

  10. Walk around naked. I know this sounds weird coming from me, but get back in touch with your body and your sexuality. Hmm, even when I explain it, it still sounds so weird.

  11. Karaoke

  12. Volunteer somewhere, put yourself in a situation with lots of kids or people around. Expose yourself to more crowds. Not literally. Do NOT combine this with number 10.

  My list is in front of me, concealed by a folder, giving the impression to all my coworkers that I am reading work notes as opposed to my twelve challenges. And as they walk into the conference room for the usual Monday morning meeting, people are definitely looking. Paige Carter, the lead officer in the financial department, did a double-take so comical it should’ve been in an I Love Lucy episode.

  “Wow,” she had said. She leaned over the table and got real close, as close as she could, like she couldn’t believe it was me. “Your hair...and your make up…geez, you look so different. Incredible.”

  I blushed under her scrutiny. She asked if I was wearing false lashes, to which I replied no. She nodded, impressed, and let loose another stream of compliments. They were nice, of course, but it caused even more coworkers to stop and stare.

  “Nice hair, Glory!”

  “You look fantastic.”

  “That lipstick makes your eyes look so green!”

  “Where’d you buy that top? It’s beautiful!”

  I smiled and tried to accept their kind words without grimacing. It wasn’t that I didn’t appreciate what they were saying. I definitely did! It’s just hard to go from being practically invisible to being the center of everyone’s attention. Even my boss, Lana Guisey, pulled up short and gave me this demi-smile as if to say well done. Well, I suppose that’s what I get for dressing like I’ve never dressed before—at least at work. Gone are my black pants and beige tops, my beige pants and black tops. Now, I’m wearing a wedding-white button-down shirt with delicate gold buttons tucked into cobalt blue pants with a thin gold belt to match my thick gold bracelet and my small gold hoop earrings. (The color of the day is gold.) And as much as Layla wanted me to relax yesterday, I was feeling way too jazzed up to just sit back. Instead, I took myself to Nicolina’s on King’s Square and asked for the works: eye brows waxed and shaped; nails buffed and manicured; a crash course on how to apply makeup to best highlight my face. And when I told Nicolina to trim my split ends, she not only cut about seven inches, she dyed and highlighted my hair, too. When she turned me around in the chair to face the mirror, my own jaw dropped. I barely recognized myself. Gone was the mousy brown, wet-noodle hair that hung low past my shoulders. In its place was a crisp cut a little longer than chin-length. My natural curls bounced up as if they could finally move after so much dead weight had been hacked off. And the color…ruby, maroon, scarlet and wine. Every gorgeous shade I was always too afraid of using, Nicolina not only used, but used with gusto. I felt like a million bucks. If this was how these challenges would go down, I was ready and willing to try every single one of them.

  Discreetly as I can, I cross off the very first item on my list. It feels damn good. As the meeting is called to order, I quickly shove my list behind my legal pad.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  And just like that, the conference room, able to hold a mahogany table that can sit 16 around it, a coffee bar and a little buffet, is suddenly as tiny as an intern’s cubicle. Jack Brandes, simply by walking in, has taken up every square inch.

  “Traffic was hideous and—”

  His eyes widen as he meets my gaze. His hand, which is on the back of the only chair left (coincidentally right across from me), stills. In fact, though it sounds crazy, I think everything stills. I’m certainly not breathing.

  Jack Brandes. He’s like a teen heartthrob that grew up really, really well.. Brown hair, blue eyes, slender. He’s wearing a white button down with the sleeves rolled up (which I happen to know is his lucky court shirt), and black slacks (which I happen to know are his lucky court pants). His jacket is probably draped haphazardly over the back of his chair, like always. The thin straps of his black suspenders make his shoulders look broad as hell. He’s not the top attorney or even the oldest in the legal department (in fact, at twenty-seven, he’s the youngest) but he’s certainly the most popular. Judges, juries, clients and coworkers all love him. And he’s staring at me. Not breathing. Or is it me that’s not breathing?

  Lana says his name. I don’t think he hears her. It’s only after someone else clears his throat that Jack finally shakes himself out of it. With a dazed sort of expression, he pulls out his chair and sits. Sets his files down. Grabs a pen. Turns his attention to Lana as she goes over the usual notes. I focus on her too, but in my peripheral, I see Jack’s gaze return to me.

  My face heats. I quickly glance over at him. He quickly looks back to Lana. Damn, I should’ve cut my hair sooner.

  “Glory? Glory?”

  I snap my attention to Lana. She’s staring at me expectantly. My mouth goes dry as all eyes turn to me. Including Jack’s.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice hardly traveling in the cavernous room. “I was…I didn’t hear you.”

  Lana gives me a look. “Updates. I want your updates.”

  I nod, then I launch into the newest batch of clients that have signed up with us over the last few days. I then mention an ongoing case that now needs to be transferred to legal because his social security just isn’t getting approved. With almost shaking hands, I hand the file over to Jack. He accepts it with a small, secret smile. And when Lana moves on and everyone swivels in their chair to look at her, he turns his head just enough for me to know he’s looking at me. I look at him. And that’s when he winks.

  I nearly laugh aloud. I feel like a just got tickled, which makes me want to laugh even more because how corny can I get? Jack opens the client file I handed him. And that’s when I see it.

  Neon green paper.

  My lips press together; it’s my only recourse. It’s that or scream so loud that I’d put Luke Skywalker-just-discovering-Darth-Vader-is-his-father to shame. Oh kill me. Jack has my list.

  ****

  As with most traumatic things in life, you can only replay over and over what had happened, how you ended up in the situation you ended up in. As the meeting drones on for seemingly a trillion years, I think about how on earth I put my list in the client folder Jack now has. In my haste to hide it, instead of just slipping it beneath my legal pad, I must’ve somehow picked up the front of the folder along with the pad and slipped the paper in that way.

  Maybe it’s not as bad as I’m thinking. Maybe I’ll sound cool or—

  10. Walk around naked.

  I know this sounds weird coming from me, but get back in touch with your body and your sexuality. Hmm, even when I explain it, it still sounds so weird.

  I cringe as I remember that particular gem. He must think I’m big, fat prude. I should say it’s not mine. I should say that I have a friend named Glory, too. I should say it’s part of a short story I’m writing

  He glances over at me. I quickly glance away. Shit.

  The meeting finally ends. People pack up their stuff and start filing out. I’m heading straight for Jack when Paige catches him and asks if she can talk in his office. Without even a glance my way, he heads out, his files and my list, tucked under his arm.

  Shit.

  ****

  “Thanks for clarifying,” Paige says
as she opens his office door. “I’ll definitely ask Judge White.”

  She smiles at me as she goes and after a quick grin, I head into Jack’s office. Even though I do my best to keep it together, his door still slams shut. The sound makes me flinch.

  “Sorry, it slipped.” I clear my throat. “I need it back.”

  He bats his eyes. “What back?”

  “You know what back. The list, Jack, the list.”

  “I’m impressed,” he says with a grin. “You didn’t even try to claim this was your other friend Glory’s list.”

  He opens the client folder and holds out my neon green heart attack. I reach for it but just as I’m about to grab it, he moves his hand up high. He towers over me anyway, so even when I rise on tip toe, I still can’t touch it.

  “Jack,” I growl, “you are so immature. I don’t have time for this.”

  “Have to go karaoking, do you?” At my glare, he laughs. “Fine. I’ll give you back your list.” He lowers his arm. I reach out but before I can swipe it, it’s up high again. “On one condition.”

  “That I don’t punch you in your stomach?”

  “That, and I want to help.”

  I step back. “What? No. Why?”

  “Because it sounds fun. This list idea is awesome.” He lowers the list and starts reading: “Number one, wear high heels to work. And jewelry.” He grins at me. “You do look fantastic today.”

  My stomach dives and dips.

  “And,” he continues, “I know this great bar that has the best karaoke nights and—”

  “No, no way. You are not being witness to me doing anything on that list—”

  “Not even number—”

  “—so just give it back.” I hold out my hand and Jack grudgingly hands over my list. I fold it into a small square and tuck it into my pocket. As I begin to leave, I tell him to have a good night.

  “I don’t know why you’re so embarrassed,” he says, his voice light…too light. “I mean, I’ve already seen you half-naked.”

  I trip. I don’t face-plant, but hearing him say the word half-naked, hearing him bring up that night, causes me to lose my equilibrium. I turn back to him. He’s sitting on the edge of his desk, looking so devilishly boyish I can barely stand it.

  He adds, “Surely me watching you compliment ten people isn’t so bad? Hey”—he spreads his arms wide—“why don’t you start with me?”

  I take a breath. “First of all, it’s complimenting ten random strangers. And second”—I want to throw my shoe at his know-it-all grin—“I don’t have the imagination to come up with a compliment for you.”

  I pull his door open and this time, when it slams shut, I don’t apologize. Too bad I can still hear him laughing.

  Chapter Three

  Lunch Time Challenges

  I met him five years ago. Twenty-two, tall, lanky and so beautiful I could’ve cried, Jack and I were, in the ultimate of coincidences, moving into the same apartment building at the same exact time. In an even more spectacular display of cosmic forces and mysterious ways, we started working in the same office on the same day, a mere twenty feet away from each other. As new kids in a big machine, we bonded from there. We relied on each other, we commiserated and took lunch together. About three weeks in, Jack and I shared a taxi back to our apartment building because the rain was coming down too hard for us to make the short trek without drowning. That rain…it should’ve tipped me off…that was the first clue that the evening wouldn’t be like any other evening—flash floods, torrential downpours, near-tornado winds. The last time a storm hit that bad was when Dorothy got swept up to Oz. Well, I got swept up alright. I’m just still not sure where I landed. I think I may have broken my tail bone in the fall.

  Don’t think about him. Don’t think about that night.

  I watch as the numbers above the elevator door light up. By the time it hits the ground floor, I’m like a sardine jam-packed in the little car. But it’s lunch time and I’m on the top floor. What can I expect?

  The cacophony of the city pours over me as I leave the office building and head out to lunch. Cars honk, people chatter on phones, a swarm of kids in blue and white uniform walks past, yipping like little puppies at play time. A bus lumbers and hisses down Strait Avenue. The smell of exhaust and coffee compete in the air for ultimate supremacy.

  Born and raised in the suburbs, I was unprepared for the sheer volume of city living. I didn’t sleep well for a month; even the street lights seemed way too bright. But after five years as a city mouse, I have officially become immune to all of its belches and yawns and screeches and sighs.

  A woman walking four huge St. Bernard dogs is yelling for them to slow down. Another pack of students stare up and point at the different buildings, clearly admiring the chrome and steel architecture. A dozen Red Hats peck and chirp about the way the bare branches of the trees are draped with lights.

  The Plaza is jumping today, busier than usual. Comprised of a handful of skyscrapers (they can house anything from government jobs to law firms to tax offices to debt collectors and anything else you can think of that you wouldn’t want any part of) with a huge ice rink at its center, it’s one of four places in all of Silver Lake you can say without preamble and people will immediately know where and what you’re talking about. I work in Plaza Building Four, the main hub of all things non-profit. At fifty-three stories high with four gigantic spires atop it, it’s like a metallic rook on a chessboard. Smaller buildings—cafes, fast-food eateries, specialty shops—are dotted throughout, mere pawns amidst kings and queens and bishops.

  I begin the short journey to the bistro down the street but, to my surprise, I hear footsteps right behind me. I turn.

  Jack.

  “Oh my God,” I say. “I can’t believe you’re following me.”

  “I’m just out to get some lunch.”

  “Uh-huh. Sure. Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to lie during Christmas?”

  He has grace enough to smile. He easily steps up beside me. His black coat hangs elegantly on his spare frame, the collar turned up. His green scarf makes his blue eyes look like an ocean.

  “Alright,” he concedes, “maybe I did decide to take my lunch the minute you did. But I’m not following you. That has such a negative connotation.”

  “So what would you call it then?”

  “I’d call it a happy coincidence that I sort of forced. Okay, look.” He stops walking and I stop too. The wind shifts his hair in all sorts of becoming ways. “You want the truth?”

  “It’s always preferable.”

  Another smile. The first time I saw that smile, I nearly dropped my lamp.

  “The truth is,” he begins, “the truth is…” His mouth is slightly parted, as if he’s weighing whether to speak. I can practically see the wheels in his head spinning. But then his eyes alight on something in the distance. I’m about to ask what’s wrong when he stops a woman as she’s walking with a very polite, a much too polite, excuse me miss.

  “Hi. My friend here”—he gestures to me—“loves your hat. Isn’t that right, Glory?”

  I smile. “Yes. It’s very nice. Blue is my favorite color. It’s very flattering on your skin tone. It warms it, you know?”

  The woman gives me an unsure smile but says thanks before she starts walking. As soon as she’s out of ear shot, I hit Jack in his arm.

  “You idiot.”.

  “Hmmm, it was a bit clinical. I mean, you complimented her skin tone. A little too Silence of the Lambs for me. Take it down a notch.”

  I hit him again.

  “Okay, say something to him,” he says, nodding to a guy a few feet from us. He’s looking at the display window of Ellsworth’s Toy Shoppe. He’s holding a brown leather briefcase and is wearing a wool fedora. A scarf is wrapped around his neck so high that I can’t see anything except his eyes and a bit of his nose. Geez, he’s so covered up I’m not even sure what to compliment. You look like a really warm bank robber?

&n
bsp; I purse my lips. “And what exactly—”

  Jack shoves me forward. The man notices my sudden movement and looks over. No choice now.

  “Hello,” I say. “Do you have children?”

  His eyes widen. Even with the scarf, I can tell he’s started. I feel startled. Where the hell did that question come from?

  I clear my throat. “It’s just, Ellsworth’s was one of my favorite stores growing up. My pap-pap would take me here all the time. Does yours? I mean, do you? I mean, are you a grandfather? Or even a father?”

  From the corner of my eye, I see Jack wipe a hand down his face. He shakes his head.

  “Uh,” I say, scrambling for a compliment, “it’s just, I was noticing you and thought you looked very…um…very…uh…” Oh. My. God. It’s like my brain has gone on meltdown. I have lost all vocabulary except the words bank and robber, which is so inappropriate right now. I chuckle as I think of something to say. And just as a word springs to mind, the man shakes his head and walks away.

  Jack comes over.

  I sigh. “I was going to say distinguished.”

  “Why?”

  “It was better than the other word I was thinking of.”

  Jack claps a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t think I want to know.”

  “I don’t think you do, either.” I groan. “I sound like a crazy person. See? This is why I keep to myself.”

  “No, don’t think that way. You’re just rusty, not crazy. You just have to get used to talking with people.” He points me in the direction of a college-aged girl walking toward us, her books cradles in her arms. “Do not mention skin tone or children.” He shoves me forward and, after a final glare in his direction, I try again.

  It only takes forty-five minutes, but I finally manage to give my ten random people their compliments. The key, I learned quickly, was to only approach people I could actually compliment. When Jack tried to just point me in anyone’s direction, I could never think of what to say. But when I saw someone who genuinely had beautiful jewelry on or if I loved their hairstyle or if I thought the coat they were wearing was gorgeous and my mother would love it for Christmas, then I could not only compliment them, I could actually chat for a minute or two about it, too. Not only that, but after about the fourth person I spoke to, the tightness in my chest started to subside.