How? When he doesn’t even want to talk?
Ashley slapped her palms on her thighs. “I told you he refuses to do that.”
Dr. Connor scanned his notes and his eyes widened, like he’d found something important there.
“You said you met him through a friend. Could you possibly try and approach him through your friend?”
Bella. Yes, there was Bella.
Why hadn’t she thought of this before?
***
“There is a Dr. Bella Hopkins on the line who wants to be put through. She says you know her. Should I connect her?” Adele asked, Tuesday morning.
Andrew raised an eyebrow. What a surprise. He hadn’t heard from Bella in a long time. He had almost forgotten she existed. After the divorce, she’d understandably distanced herself from him.
“Okay, put her through,” he said, curious to find out the reason behind Bella’s sudden urge to reconnect with him.
A few warped signals later, he heard a hello.
“Hey, Bella. Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. How are you, Andrew?” Her voice hadn’t changed at all. It was still high-pitched like it had been at thirteen.
“I didn’t expect you to call me. Did you finally remember you had a friend in middle school called Andrew?”
“No…” There was a small pause. “I’ll cut to the chase. I’m calling you as a favor for Ashley, not to re-live our middle-school memories.” Andrew’s neck stiffened at the mention of Ashley. “I don’t know what you did to hurt her again, and I don’t know why she’s being so adamant about getting back with you, but as a mutual friend all I know is that both of you are miserable right now. And I can’t stand to watch this.”
“Did she tell you I hurt her again?” He didn’t appreciate her using indirect ways of trying to change his mind.
“She doesn’t have to. It’s not difficult to guess from the way she’s been behaving. Ashley was never good at hiding her feelings.” Bella said.
Yes, Bella was right about that. Ashley’s expression on the day of Carl’s birthday was still eating away at his conscience every night. If he’d only given her that stupid kiss…
Now, he was really worried. “How has she been behaving? You don’t think she could attempt suicide again…”
“No, she won’t. She isn’t depressed. In fact, quite the opposite. She talks about you so much you that it’s starting to get on my nerves. Just meet her once, for me, so I don’t have to listen to all the things she wants to tell you but she cannot. She’s starting to spout nonsense theories about you having PTSD because of what happened seven years ago. It’s getting too much for me. I’ve never seen her so hyper.”
Andrew became speechless for a moment. Bella had hit the center of his panic zone.
He looked out of his window, at the skyscrapers blocking out sunlight. “I don’t want to talk to Ashley.”
“She’ll want to know why not.”
“It’s my way of protecting her and helping her move on, Bella. The more she sees me, the harder it’ll be for her to forget.”
And the harder it’ll be for him to forget.
Bella exhaled like she was tired. “You can’t protect her, Andrew. No one can. All you’re doing is making her suffer more. She can’t move on because she doesn’t feel she’s resolved things with you yet. So, if you really want to help her move on, you should talk to her.”
He closed his eyes. “Talking will not resolve anything. Every time we talk, things just get worse between us.”
“How will things get better when you don’t want them to get better? I’m sure you have your reasons for choosing to stay away from Ashley and I’m sure most of them are very good reasons. But if you’re attracted to her enough to sleep with her within weeks of meeting her again, and buying shoes and clothes when she’s in trouble, I’m thinking you need to reconsider your stand on whether you still love her or not. You can’t indefinitely fight what you feel for her. And by the time you decide to stop fighting yourself, she might be gone. And you won’t have gained a thing, after having gone through hell.”
“What are you getting at?” he asked.
“You love her. She loves you. Don’t let stupid things like guilt and fear tear you apart. Trust me, I know this. I’m a philosopher.”
Philosophy had nothing to do with love. Love was about making the right choices. And the choices that were right for him, could be devastating for the person he loved.
“Ashley’s emotional now. She isn’t thinking of what she’ll have to go through in the long run. I can see the big picture and I know there’s only one way this can end—”
Bella raised her voice. “Stop deluding yourself by thinking that you’re shielding her from suffering when you’re only hurting her more every time you push her away. You don’t know what’s best for her. You don’t even know what’s best for you. Being in pain is good for no one.”
He didn’t buy that. Pain was a good word. It was a signal that he was sacrificing, holding back his selfishness so he could do what was right.
“You know how it ended last time, Bella,” he found himself saying.
“This time is not last time. Don’t let it become last time by ignoring her feelings again. You already did that once.”
Andrew’s exhale was sharp. “I’m not ignoring her feelings.”
His conviction didn’t match the assurance in his tone. Realization snuck up on him. Shit. He’d ignored Ashley’s feelings again. Like during their marriage, he had believed that he was looking out for her happiness. But she wasn’t happy. He wasn’t happy. No one was happy. Then what had he been protecting all this time?
“You are,” Bella continued. “You’re totally thinking of it from your point of view. You think she’ll suffer if she gets back with you. You think she’ll get hurt. But Ashley doesn’t feel that way. She isn’t trying to avoid those things. She wants to try again and you should let her.”
Andrew fell silent for a moment and closed his eyes. It seemed like all he’d been doing by pushing Ashley away was torturing her and torturing himself. How pointless. Once again, his ego had blinded him, making him feel good about saving her, protecting her. Why hadn’t he been able to see through the hollow excuse that ‘protecting’ her was? Instead of facing the painful, buried issues that still hurt them, he’d invented more issues to pile on. He’d not changed his behavior from the past. He’d continued doing the same things, expecting a different outcome.
“I can’t force you, but please contact her, okay? You both deserve a second chance. I want to see Ashley happy.”
Bella cut the call. Andrew looked out of the window in his office, at whatever traces of the sky he could see through the gaps between buildings.
Yes, Ashley deserved a second chance.
So did he.
Chapter 17
Ashley turned the corner and guided her Cruze to its resting spot in front of her house. Bringing the gear back to neutral, she turned off the engine and hopped out. One by one, she hauled the bags of groceries she had amassed at Wal-Mart to her doorstep.
Marty, the retired accountant who lived next door, was walking his Australian shepherd on the sidewalk. He sent her a neighborly smile when he saw her at the door.
“Need some help with those bags?” he enquired in his New York accent, while his dog sniffed the trash bins on the sidewalk, then stuck out its tongue and licked its overhanging jaw.
“No, I’m good, thank you. Out for a walk?” she questioned, juggling the bags and her keys in an attempt to open the door.
His dog, Remus, barked, asking in dog-speak whether he could eat the bar of chocolate sticking out of the plastic bag at her foot. Even canines were not immune to the magical sway of sugar.
“Yeah. I had some cleaning to do this morning, so it’s an afternoon stroll instead of a brisk morning walk.” Kneeling down, he stroked Remus.
Moving the bags one by one to the open doorway, Ashley waved and dipped her head in a polite nod
. Remus sadly sniffed at the air, grieving the loss of an opportunity to eat chocolate, then bounced down the sidewalk with Marty.
By the time she put away every item into its correct place, her arms stung with the workout. Ashley flopped to the couch with her lunch—a takeout burrito she had gotten on the way—and pulled up her laptop screen.
She was working from home tomorrow, since she had to get the edit for the book she was working on done and read manuscripts mailed to her by various agents. When she opened her mailbox, what immediately caught her attention was Andrew’s manuscript, saved onto her desktop. The manuscript she had been resisting for three weeks.
With her feelings for Andrew slightly more resolved, curiosity got the better of her and she opened it, even though she was supposed to be editing another book.
Scrolling down the table of contents, she was intrigued by the chapter titles, especially chapter eight. ‘She’. Ashley skipped to it, heart pounding in anticipation of what she would find.
People say that behind every successful man, there is a woman. But behind every unsuccessful man, there is a woman too—a woman supporting and tolerating his failures. A woman who makes life worth living in the darkest moments of despair. A woman who can change his failures into success. ‘She’ was that kind of woman.
I met her in February, a meeting as strange as what would come after it. We met at midnight, almost like Cinderella and the prince, except unlike Cinderella and her prince, we didn’t have a happily ever after. Our parting was of the sadly-never-after-this kind, which has kept me a determined bachelor for the years following our goodbye.
But the impact she had on me was great. I doubt I would be this successful without her. So to this mysterious ‘she’, I offer my heartfelt thank you.
I am grateful every day that I was able to find you and I pray every day that you are able to forget me.
So ended the chapter. Ashley closed the file, the words haunting her. For the first time in a long time, her mind was blank. Then the first drop of liquid flowed from her eyes, her heart still empty.
Did Andrew still have feelings for her? If the circumstances had not been what they were, she would have thought that the paragraphs had been written to squeeze some sympathy out of her. But no, these words were sincere. He had written them long before he knew she would ever read them. Besides, Andrew didn’t lie or sugar-coat. Even his parting words had been blunt.
She liked that about him. No. She shook her mop of golden curls. She couldn’t like anything about him. He had made his feelings for her clear. She couldn’t accept it, but what other choice did she have?
Her fingers floated to the keyboard. She thought best when she was writing. So she wrote him an email and pressed send.
Dear Andrew,
While reading chapter eight, I came across a factual error. You didn’t meet ‘she’ at midnight. We met at eleven pm.
His reply came five minutes later. With the way things were between them, Ashley had expected him to ignore her e-mail like he’d been ignoring every other e-mail she’d sent him since Carl’s birthday. Refusing to let her hopes grow, she read what he’d written.
Dear Ashley,
I would like to believe the editor knows best, since she was at the scene much before I was. However, in defense of my factual accuracy, I want to point out that ‘she’ was drunk while I was sober.
Ashley couldn’t resist the urge to write him another one, a flat-out invitation.
Dear Andrew,
‘She’ is not drunk now. But ‘she’ wouldn’t mind getting drunk.
He was getting faster with replying. This one came within the minute. A buzz overtook her as she read his next email. He had dropped the salutation and gotten down to the main message.
Incidentally, it’s twelve o’ clock. The author can send a bottle of wine.
Ashley shot a glance at the clock. It indeed was twelve, though it was pm instead of am. But she couldn’t understand why Andrew was being so nice. Had Bella’s call worked its magic? Bella had said that Andrew hadn’t given her any answer, but could he have changed his mind?
’She’ doesn’t accept gifts from authors who break her heart.
The next one made her heart skip a beat.
I hope ‘she’ accepts apologies from them, such as the one written in chapter eight, line ten.
Ashley glanced over at that line. Not that she had to. She knew every line of that passage now.
‘She’ accepts apologies. However, ‘she’ doesn’t forgive so easily.
It’s okay. The author knows that forgiveness is earned, not given.
‘She’ is glad the author knows that.
Does ‘she’ have the time for a phone call to clear up the misunderstanding from last Saturday? The author is sorry for what happened.
Ashley knew what that phone call would be all about—and she so didn’t want to hear that over the phone.
‘She’ would love to chat, but ‘she’ has a manuscript to edit and lunch to make.
What is ‘she’ making?
Egg scramble. ‘Cause ‘she’ is feeling lazy.
Good luck. But the author wants to meet as soon as possible.
As Ashley closed her laptop, the flushing of her skin made it difficult to focus on anything. That e-mail chat had been so much like their younger days—addictive.
No other man could make her smile and cry within the same hour—and she’d been crying before she’d gone to Wal-Mart. Unable to decide whether that was disturbing or delightful, Ashley walked over the kitchen counter and cracked open two eggs. Her mind refused to stray from Andrew and their virtual conversation, only awakening to reality when she smelt burnt eggs.
Tossing the eggs into the bin, Ashley got back to her computer and typed him one last email.
‘She’ burnt her eggs. ‘She’ wants to go out for a meal with the author.
He sat on the message for three minutes, but it was worth the wait because the reply made her jump.
Where would ‘she’ like to go?
Wherever ‘she’ doesn’t have to pay.
12:45 at Carluccio’s.
‘She’ will be there.
The spring in her step was unmistakable as Ashley threw on a fancy top over her blue skinny jeans followed by a face full of makeup.
If ‘she’ was going to meet Andrew for a date, ‘she’ might as well look the part.
***
Andrew wasn’t big on impromptu meetings, especially when they involved dining out at an upscale restaurant with the one woman who was already turning him inside out. He knew there was a lot they needed to talk about. He owed Ashley an apology. And a date. But not a rushed, unplanned one like this. No, he wanted to give her perfection this time. The perfect apology. The perfect date. The perfect relationship. The perfect everything.
After talking to Bella, he’d come to a few conclusions. The first was that trying to keep Ashley out of his life was a losing game. It was impossible to not think about the only woman he ever thought about. Although he felt guilty for what had happened in the past, he had to accept that the best way to overcome it was not to shut her out, but to listen to her.
Seven years ago, he’d not heard, not observed, not noticed. And when he’d been trying to ‘protect’ her, he’d been doing exactly that. Neglecting her feelings again.
Ashley breezed past him, five minutes late.
Ravishing was the only adjective that could do any justice to her. In a red halter-neck top, blue jeans and high heels, she set him on fire with her devilish smile.
But on the heels of lust came another, equally powerful feeling… uncertainty. He had been led here by her snappy emails, yet he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know the right words. And he needed the right words this time.
She knitted her arm around his.
“Tell me we’re both crazy for doing this,” he said.
It reared its head again, guilt.
“Not just crazy, but pigheadedly crazy,” she whispe
red in his ear, sedating the neurons that were supposed to connect to the part of his brain that dealt with rationality. “That’s why we’re going to go in, instead of running back to our sanctuaries.”
And they did.
A waiter wearing a crisp white shirt and black trousers pulled two copies of the menu from the front desk and helped them get seated. Most tables were unoccupied, so he let them have their pick. The four-person table at the corner near the kitchen seemed the coziest and that was the one they decided on.
Ashley landed on the chair adjacent to his, rather than sitting opposite him.
“It’s empty in here,” Ashley remarked, resting her rounded chin on her palms, when the waiter had left. Those pretty fingers fluttering spontaneously mimicked the motion of his groin muscles. “I didn’t expect such a quiet Sunday brunch.”
“I wasn’t planning on spending my Sunday afternoon eating linguini with you, either. I’m supposed to be going over the year-end reports.”
“And I’m supposed to be editing your book.” Her orange-stained lips puckered. Orange wasn’t his favorite color, but everything looked good on her. “But I think we’ve both decided that other things can wait.”
“Yes.”
Everything else could wait. This conversation couldn’t. It had waited for too long.
“Would you like to order something to drink?” The waiter came around.
“Just water, please,” they said together.
“Still or sparkling?”
“Still.” Again, in unison.
When he was gone, they both broke out in laughter together.
“We should’ve been born twins,” she joked. “We have twin telepathy.”
“Ashley, Saturday was a mess,” he started, not wanting to go off topic. “I’m sorry about what happened.”
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