If certainty is what she needs, I will find a way to give her it. I can’t face her again until I figure it out. Because if I go to her before I have enough to convince her, I may not get another chance.
I guess now I’m getting a taste for how Katy feels. The constant hurt crawling under your skin, urging you to try, to push, to hope beyond all reason. Because love makes you crazy. We become fools that think love, in and of itself, is enough to fix broken things, broken people.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” William asks me over the phone.
“I’m sure. You even said it was a smart move.”
“I mean, it generally is.” He pauses, then sighs. “Leo, listen, I’m not going to tell you not to do it, but it seems to come out of nowhere and, honestly, it feels impulsive.”
I get it. I get why William is concerned. Even if I had the energy to explain why I need to do this, the fact remains that I barely talk to William these days. I never had the chance to even mention Alexis to him before. Bringing her up now will really cause him to question my decision. He will never understand and might even refuse to help me.
“Are you going to help me or not? Everyone I call tells me they can’t do anything until after the holidays.”
“Yeah, of course. I’ll set you up with McMillan, he’s really good. But the truth is—Christmas is barely a week away and this is probably the worst time of the year for this. I recommend you wait until after New Year’s. You’ll be better off.”
“No. It needs to be now.”
XXXV
Alexis
I don’t know how a few days can feel like years, weighing on my bones as though gravity is working double time. I’m lucky to come home to Emily. She makes me dinner and doesn’t guilt me when I crawl into bed early.
It’s crazy how the roles reversed, how my little sister is now the one taking care of me. I let her, because she’s the only person I can truly trust to be vulnerable around.
There’s a guilty throb in the pit of my stomach when my eyes flash toward her. I know she is going through something, too. But regardless of how I phrase the questions I ask, she never tells me what it is. That’s Emily. She isn’t one to pour her heart out. She’s stronger than me and always has been. Still, I keep the door open to the topic and wait for her to decide to tell me when she is ready.
Wednesday night, I feel like shit. I come home and fall right to sleep. Being this close to Leo all day drains the life out of me. I spend the day hating myself for ever letting anything between us happen. Hating myself for wanting him. I tell myself it was best it ended when it did. That if he could make me feel this way in two months, he would’ve destroyed me beyond repair by three. I was with Jeremy for years and the hardest part of him leaving was the loss of everything I thought I wanted to have. I was mourning the death of an ideal. But now? Now I’m mourning the death of a person, someone that managed to crawl into spaces of me I swore were closed off forever.
Emily comes into my room and tells me to get up. I’m certain it’s the middle of the night.
“Why?” I groan, my voice rough from sleep.
“It’s almost time for dinner.”
“Dinner?” I breathe into my pillow. “What time is it?”
“It’s six thirty. Come on, I’ve got a surprise for you.”
At the word surprise, I prop my head up and see her in the dim light of my room. Oh no. I know that expression. She’s fighting to remain neutral. A smile dances across her eyes.
“What’s going on?”
“Just come on.” She pulls on my arm until I sit up on the edge of the bed.
“I’m tired.”
She eyes my appearance critically. “Go wash your face. It’ll help wake you up. And for the love of God, brush your hair—it offends me.”
I go into the bathroom. In my reflection, I see my eyes are slightly swollen from sleep. My hair is a nest over my head. I wash my face and brush my teeth, instantly feeling better. Following Emily’s instructions, I brush my hair and tuck it behind my ears. There. I feel a little less pathetic now. I don’t need Emily judging me with her judgmental eyes.
When I come out of my room, I am momentarily confused. Emily typically likes to eat in the living room in front of the TV. But the coffee table is clear. I realize the dining room is set, instead. Emily is standing over the sink, rinsing off some dishes.
“We’re eating at the table?” I ask.
I get halfway into the dining room before I freeze. My eyes narrow. “Emily, why is there a third plate?”
She shuts off the faucet and turns to look at me. “Okay, don’t get mad,” she begins, pressing her lips together before continuing. It seems to keep them from curving into a mischievous smile. “I sort of invited Jacob over.”
“You. Did. What?!”
Laughing at the dramatic way I spit out the words, she turns back toward the kitchen counter. I put my face in my hands. Emily fiddles with something and I hear the sound of glass clinging and liquid being poured.
I can’t even reconcile how pissed I am. First of all, I’m in no condition to entertain a guest. Second of all, Jacob is not a casual guest and I most definitely don’t have the energy to deal with his eager flirting.
The sound of my phone’s ping causes me to lower my hands. The sound doesn’t come from the bedroom where my phone should be. It comes from the kitchen counter.
My eyes widen. I rush toward the phone, but Emily reaches it first.
“It’s Jacob; he’s running a little late.”
“Emily! He thinks I invited him?!”
I love my sister too much to ever hurt her—but I swear it takes everything I have to not punch her in the face right now. “Emily. I really didn’t need this right now. This is not cool.”
“Relax,” she says, taking in an exaggerated breath, gesturing the air into her lungs as though prompting me to join her. “It’s totally chill. I saw that he texted you, asking what you were up to. So I told him you were having dinner with your sister and he was welcome to drop by. See? No big deal. Relax.”
No big deal? I cross my arms and shoot her shards of glass with my eyes.
She turns to grab a cup from the counter. I spy an inch or two of brown liquid in it.
“Here,” she says, handing it to me.
“What is it?”
“It’s the anecdote to your twisted heaps of bitter, mopey sadness. Come on, Lex, can you just drink it and pretend not to be a mess?”
I take the glass and swallow back the contents, coughing momentarily at the burning in my throat.
Then I say, “No. I’ll be in my room.”
She grabs my arm before I can turn away.
“Lexi, please.”
Her tone disarms me instantly. When I attempt to leer at her, I see that Emily’s lips are parted, their corners turned down. Her brows crinkle as her eyes search mine. She looks frustrated, worried, and sad. I don’t like to see that combination on my baby sister’s face.
“Please. Lex, I hate seeing you like this. You’ve always been the rock and now…” She takes a breath. “I just want you to pretend to be okay. For one night. You can’t pretend for me, but maybe you can pretend for Jacob.” She pauses, glances away, then shrugs. “Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have invited him, but it’s too late now. The thing is, he thinks you invited him and that’s not his fault. He’s a nice guy. And he likes you. And he’s on his way here with a bottle of wine and his big, brown love-sick eyes. Please, just sit at the table and pretend.”
I take in a long breath and let it out again. My shoulders drop.
“Okay. Fine. Let me get out of these sweatpants.”
Jacob greets Emily and me like we are close friends, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. As though it’s not the first time he’s come into my condo. As though we’re not practically strangers. He settles at the dining room table, his mood light and happy, and he doesn’t ask why I’m quiet, or comment on my somber appearance. But his eyes seem tender when the
y sweep across my features.
I have every intention to not enjoy myself but, to my surprise, I do. He and Emily keep the conversation going, slowly nudging me out of my gloom. Jacob amuses me, as usual. He exudes a type of comfort in his laid-back demeanor. It’s persuasive and spirited in a non-invasive way, allowing my bad mood to thaw out as I slowly warm into the conversation and his presence.
Emily made pasta again. I’m not complaining; she’s awesome for cooking for me and I do love pasta. That night, I forget my lack of appetite and begin eating just to mirror Emily and Jacob. A sense of normalcy seems to return in increments of seconds, then minutes. Before I know it, I forget to feel broken. I am laughing and flinging comebacks at Jacob’s wit.
Then he says, “There’s this concert on the beach Friday night. Want to come?”
At the word concert, Emily slides out of her chair and goes to refill the pitcher of water. I can see her head inclined in our direction, waiting for my response.
“I can’t. There’s this holiday party for work.” I resist the urge to shut my eyes for a second.
“Ditch it, no one will notice.”
I laugh. He knows I can’t. Everyone will notice.
“I’m not looking forward to it,” I murmur almost to myself.
“Why is that?”
Am I really going to answer? I feel the words on the tip of my tongue, which is looser than it was in the beginning of the night from the shot Emily made me take and the two glasses of wine I’ve gone through since.
“It just sucks being in charge sometimes. There’s a certain distance I keep from my employees.” Most of my employees. I swallow and look at my plate. “Everyone sort of stiffens up when I’m around. Makes it awkward for me at times. And kind of lonely.”
Did I just say that? I did. And I don’t even care how needy that sounded.
“Isn’t your boyfriend going with you? The guy from the hospital?”
“He isn’t my boyfriend any—” I catch myself. “He isn’t my boyfriend.”
How’d we end up back here? It was nice to not think of Leo for half an hour or however long that was.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jacob says sincerely. But his tone is suddenly silky when he adds, “Maybe I can come with you?”
A rattling sound comes from the kitchen as Emily drops something she was pretending to wash in the sink. I’m chewing on a mouthful of spaghetti. I’m not sure if I stuffed myself before or after the question, but Jacob is looking at me with a raised eyebrow, patiently waiting my response.
I swallow. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to. That way you’ll have an ally, someone to whisper office gossip to without risking being unprofessional. I can make sure you don’t drink too much and start sexually harassing people.” Too late for that. “It will be fun. What do you say?”
The holiday party is the day after tomorrow. Crap. So soon. The thought of it brings a pang to my stomach. It’s only one night, a few hours, but it’s a few hours in a room full of people that have to pretend to like me because I’m their boss. A few hours of forced smiles and awkward small talk with people who secretly wish I’d trail away so they can return to the conversations they’d rather be having.
And Leo will be there. The reemergence of him into my thoughts hurts in new ways; it’s now in my throat, as though the air is suddenly coarse and scraping me raw. Friday night will be the very last time I’ll have to see him before the holidays grant me a much-needed reprieve. I will have a few weeks to get over this ridiculous melancholy kick I’m in, before the office reopens after New Year’s.
I’ll armor up and be the old me again.
I just have to make it through that one, last night.
Jacob has a point; it would be nice to have an ally. Emily already has plans and my other alternative is going by myself. I mean, I don’t have an issue going by myself. I can handle it. It’s one little night. But I don’t want to handle it. It’s going to be one long suck-fest of a night and the more I think about it, the better it sounds, having Jacob come with me to distract me. Someone I can talk to and not feel like I’m wearing a mask. Someone who makes me laugh and forget my worries.
“Yeah,” I say to him with a small smile. “That sounds good.”
XXXVI
Leo
I walk into the hotel’s event hall with my hands in my pant pockets. The windows lining the back of the room have views of the San Diego marina. The sun hasn’t set yet; it’s hovering over Coronado Island across the bay. Light music plays in the background, but mostly the predominant sound is the hum of chatter and soft laughter.
Tables line the perimeter of the room where some people sit, but most are standing around the clearing in the center. I am surprised by the amount of people present. I often forget that the office staff is only a small percentage of the employees in the company. The rest work on the field, construction workers, project foremen, electricians. They are all here, it seems. Everyone is in various degrees of formal attire, women in cocktail dresses, some in gowns. Men in suits, others in button-down shirts and ties.
This holiday party is a status symbol, a representation of the company's success over the last year. When I was hired, the company ranked number 19 in the top 100 woman-owned businesses in the state. But only in the last three months, we won every project we bid, in no short part to the way my engineers push the envelope in their plans. With a project-packed year projected, the company’s ranking is going to jump up to break the top 15, maybe even the top 10 by the end of next year. That will bring its own sort of complications, but for now, we bask in the scraps of victory.
I stand in line for the bar and my eyes dart around the room as nonchalantly as I can manage. I don’t admit it to myself, but I’m looking for Alexis. Part of me doesn’t want to see her, because I know she wants nothing to do with me. But another part of me is dying to see her, a part of me that always wants to see her.
After sweeping the room for the second time, my eyes finally land on her. She enters the room through the main double doors. Her hair is down and has finger waves running through it. She’s wearing a floor-length crème dress that looks absolutely striking on her figure. The neckline of the dress is high, rising all the way up and wrapping around her neck. From the front, the only skin exposed is her shoulders, but when she turns, I see that the dress is backless. My eyes linger hungrily over the exposed skin there, wishing I could run my hand over it.
As though conjured by my imagination, a large hand obscures my sight of her skin and I notice him for the first time. The large, dark-haired man standing beside her. I can’t remember his name, but it’s the same guy from the pizzeria and the hospital. She’s here with him? Are they together now? Is this a joke? I let out a humorless laugh and the person beside me glances at me.
I want to pull my eyes away from Alexis, but I can’t. All of the noises in the room suddenly die out, all of the movements slow down. All I can see is them walking farther into the room; he is holding her close to his side, wearing a small smile on his lips that makes me grind my teeth.
“What can I make you?” I hear behind me.
The bartender is a tall, slim black man. Before I answer, I adjust my tie as though it’s to blame for the tightness I feel around my neck.
The holiday music, which seemed to be a subtle background noise when I first walked in, wears on my nerves now. I try to make my way around and greet everyone I see. I’m not exactly the new guy anymore, but I guess I haven’t been approachable around the office because everyone seems to take the opportunity of an informal event to try to get to know me better. I know they are just curious. What kind of jokes can fly with me? What do I do on the weekends? Do I keep dismembered heads in my fridge? I’m just not in the mood for their questioning tonight.
The first person I run into is Tom. I almost don’t recognize him, in his sports jacket over a white shirt and gray slacks. A stark difference from the dark wash jeans and collared shirt he usual
ly wears around the office. He gives me a big smile when he notices me and I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic. I know he doesn’t like me and he knows the feeling is mutual.
“Leo!” he greets me like we are old friends, like I didn’t tell him to go fuck himself as recently as two days ago when he tried to stall my engineers.
“Tom,” I say tersely.
I go to shake his hand, but he feels the need to pat me on the back as well. An older blonde woman stands beside him. She looks to be in her late forties or early fifties, but her features are vibrant. Porcelain skin, sharp gray eyes, impassive but graceful.
“This is my wife, Margaret,” Tom tells me.
I shake her hand, which is small and so soft I barely close my fingers over it in fear of hurting her. She gives me a curt smile and mimics my ‘nice to meet you’ before her gaze trails away to somewhere behind me.
I see a sour, almost irritated look cross her eyes. At first, I assume that is what her neutral expression looks like, but Tom looks from his wife to me, then leans into me like we are buddies chatting over a loud bar and says, “Have you seen Scott’s date?”
Scott is one of my interns. I know the guy has brains; he’s graduating next Spring with a degree in nano engineering from UCSD. But he gives me frat boy vibes. He has a sort of arrogant bravado that barely fits in his frame. He always seems to have something smart to say, some quip remark. Not to me, never to me, but I keep my door open and hear much more than my department realizes. I can’t complain too much, though. He’s diligent and works for college credit so we don’t pay him shit.
I shake my head at Tom’s question and when I glare down at his body’s proximity he straightens up and clears his throat. His wife must hear him because she says under her breath, “Unbelievable.”
I finally give in, out of boredom more than curiosity, and look over my shoulder. Scott is standing not far behind, in front of a small group of people. I recognize some of them as part of the construction crew. They are starkly formal in their evening attire. I haven’t met all of them, only those I’ve seen in passing on job sites. They don’t come into the office often. Some of them are joined by dates, others are alone. Scott is speaking to the people around him with an arm securing his date. I can’t see her face, but for some reason I assume she’s attractive. She’s a thin woman in a red cocktail dress. The dress is like a second skin and as short as it can possibly be without her ass pouring out of the bottom. It would be a sight to see. Those legs are incredibly toned and, though she is short, they seem to go on forever.
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