by Beth Michele
He rubs a tear from his cheek with his pudgy hand. “So it’s not some big monstew getting weal angwy?”
“Nope.”
“Okay.” He wriggles around and flings his arms around my neck. “Thanks Unca Vance.” I wrap him up in a hug as he sniffles, wiping his nose on my shirt. In less than a minute, his arms drop and he hops over my legs to leap off the couch. The culprit of my side pain, his plastic Superman, held tight in his hand as he climbs the stairs with purpose. “Come on, Supewman. We’re going bowwing.”
“I guess my work is done here,” I tease, prompting a chuckle from Chris and his dad.
As I watch Riley’s small feet disappear, my mind veers off in its usual direction, that familiar ache rattling around in my stomach. Seeing Ember was unexpected, but now I can’t get her out of my head—not that I ever could. If only I could go back. Get a do-over. But life has this odd way of moving forward. Even when you don’t want it to.
Like a heavy rock sinking to the bottom of the river, my lungs are weighted down. My breaths don’t come easy these days. But I need to man the fuck up and deal with a situation that I created. Ember has moved on. That much is apparent. I only hope he’s taking better care of her heart than I did.
She doesn’t need any more cracks.
“RISE AND SHINE!” I pull the bright blue curtains open, letting the sunshine pour into Avery’s room. She grumbles and hikes the covers over her head. “Up.” I whip the blanket off and she squints at me. “I’m on my way to the gallery and you need to be at work in a little over an hour. So hurry up and we can head in together.”
“I dislike immensely that you’re such a morning person now,” she grumbles again. “I should’ve picked a different roommate.” Lifting herself to a sitting position, she hangs her legs over the side of the bed, her shoulders slumped. “You’re in such a good mood today.”
My stare goes to the window and the hustle and bustle of the city streets. “Actually, I feel better. I decided that I’m going to make more of an effort with Grant. He really is a good guy and I want it to work.” A sigh bubbles up from my chest. “I need to start focusing on all the good. I guess I realized I’ve been focusing on the wrong things.” I throw a towel at her and she catches it with a groan. “Anyway, we’re going out to a club tonight. I need to make up for snapping at him the other night. He didn’t deserve that. And, I think you should come with us.” I reach for her hand to tug her off the bed. “Now hurry up and shower so we can get out of here.”
“I’m wondering how many more words you can say before you take a breath,” she muses, and I pierce her with a glare as she drags her feet to the bathroom. “Okay, Miss Happy. I’m going¸ I’m going.”
From the other room, a sound alerts me of a text message. I stroll to the kitchen and retrieve my phone from the counter, sliding open the screen.
Mom: Hi sweetie, just checking in. Wanted to let you know I got my airline tickets for next month. Can’t wait to see you and Avery
Me: Hey, Mom. Can’t wait, too! Avery is already mapping out your visit so get ready. Be sure to bring sneakers
Mom: You know I don’t own any
Me: LOL. Yes you do. The ones you wore last time
Mom: Oh, right. Memory refreshed. Okay, sweetie. Have to run. Talk to you soon. Love you
Me: Love you too
Not more than five minutes pass when Avery emerges with a towel wrapped around her body, blonde hair dripping onto the carpet. “Now I remember why I always shower first. I barely had any hot water.”
“You snooze, you lose,” I tease, my hands draped around a cup of steaming hot coffee. “I made you some, so you can use that to get warm.”
“I don’t like your attitude today.” Avery groans, stomping off down the hall. She pauses just short of her room. “Can you make me a container of that lemon chicken from the other night? I’m going to take some for lunch.”
“Sure.”
By the time Avery finishes her morning beauty routine, the streets are crowded with people hurrying to various destinations. As they rush around us, I’m reminded of why we love living in Manhattan. Energy that you can feel in your fingertips. The waft of boiled hot dogs and the essence of warm, salted pretzels that greet us on almost every street corner. The fashion, and of course the wonder of the fashionably absurd. Every day is a surprise. Like reaching into a box of cereal for a prize. You never know what you’re going to get.
“How do you like your new boss?” I ask as we weave our way through swarms of people talking on their cell phones and drinking their morning lattes.
“She’s good. We’ve butted heads a few times because we both have strong personalities, but we talked and I think we’ve come to a new understanding.”
“What’s that?” We sidestep an attendant waiting to valet park. “Not to mess with you or you’ll poison her coffee?” She laughs, reaching into her purse to yank out a pack of gum.
“Want some?” she offers, and I shake my head. “My breath could knock over about fifty rhinos right now, and as a Senior Executive Assistant that’s unacceptable. I’m setting up a big meeting this morning with some new hotshot CEO.” Folding the stick of gum, she pushes it into her mouth. “I must impress.”
I toss her a sideways glance. “You always impress.”
“Awww….” Avery grabs my elbow, sliding her arm through mine. “I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” Her smile is warm. “You know, I’m really happy we moved here.”
“Yeah, me too.” And I mean it. I’m glad we didn’t stay in Oregon. Too many glaring memories that I didn’t necessarily want to forget, but didn’t want to be faced with every day. The aroma of cinnamon drifts under our noses then and I look over at Avery as she licks her lips. “Do you have time?”
She checks her watch then glances up at me. “Not to sit down. But we could get one to go,” she adds, and that’s all it takes. Neither of us hesitates before pulling open the door to Bellaricci’s Pastry Shop, the place we fortunately have to pass every day on our route to the subway. As always, it’s packed with people. Avery stares at her watch again. “This might be pushing it.” I can see the deliberation going on in her mind until she finally succumbs. “Shit. I can’t. I’m going to be late. Grab me one for home, will you?”
“Sure, Ave.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you tonight.” She blows me a kiss then disappears out the door, the crowd quickly swallowing her up.
Twenty minutes and three cinnamon rolls later, I’m out the door and heading to the subway. I tell myself I can refrain from eating one now, but the longer the smell floats under my nostrils, the more difficult it is to resist. Giving in, I dig my hand inside the bag and remove a sticky chunk, sliding it into my mouth. A blast of sweetness coats my tongue and while it is definitely delicious, nothing compares to Anna’s back home.
Anna’s. My mind floods with memories of Vance strutting behind the register that day at the shop. Long hair hanging over determined blue eyes that wouldn’t take no for an answer. That cocky swagger filling a space in a way that only he could. He was impossible not to notice. A heavy sigh pushes it all away. None of that matters because I’m happy with Grant.
One more big bite of pastry lands in my mouth as I casually make my way toward the subway. This is the great thing about working part-time at the gallery and going back to school. I never feel like I have to be in a hurry. Especially on days like this, when the sun is beaming over Manhattan and the air is crisp.
That all changes as I travel down the stairs leading to the subway platform. The foul odor of urine surrounds me and I wince, scrunching my face up as if that can somehow fight the disgusting smell. Taking the train on a regular basis, you would think I’d be used to it by now. But I’m not.
Fear of my sweets getting infected by the rancid climate, I seal up the bag and shove it into my purse. But all that is counteracted as I glance to my left. A young guy wearing a baseball hat and ripped jeans leans against the wall strumming a guitar. In front of him sits a
beat up case, odd pieces of change scattered along the inner lining. I stare for a minute too long before crossing over to him and dropping a few dollars onto the red fabric.
When the train arrives, I follow the pack into the car and scan the long aisle for a seat. Being so crowded, I have to wedge myself between two people who don’t look happy. But I’ve learned on the subway that it’s every man for himself. Or in my case, woman.
A muffled announcement about a delay elicits subsequent groans all around me. I ignore them and pull out my notebook and a pen to review my checklist for the gallery. Most of what I do there is administrative in nature; checking on orders, paying bills, communicating with clients and buyers. But it doesn’t matter to me. What matters is that I’m surrounded by what I love and one step closer to my dream.
My cell rings and I fish it out of my purse, smiling wide as Troy’s number appears on the screen. I unlock it, pressing the phone to my ear. “Hey, you!”
“Hey, love. How are you?” His voice is broken up by sounds of screaming in the background.
I tuck my notebook and pen back into my purse. “I’m good. What are you doing up this early? You at the gym?”
“No, I’m over at the Griswold’s. I’m helping Mr. Griswold build a shed in the back. His kids don’t start school for a few hours so they’re trying to help.”
“You should really call my dad,” I suggest, and more screaming ensues. “I know he’s been missing us and you guys could hang out and build, I don’t know… things.”
Troy laughs and the sound makes my chest ache. I really miss having him close by. “Okay, maybe I will. So he and I can,” he chuckles, “build all the things.” The noise of a drill temporarily halts our conversation. “So nothing new since we talked the other day? How are things at the gallery?”
“They’re fantastic. I’m actually on my way there now.”
“Awesome.” A pause and then, “And… how’s Grant?”
“Good, good. He’s good.”
“Now that I know everything is good. I can breathe easy.”
“Ha, ha. Listen, I have to run,” I tell him as the train begins to move. “The train’s going and I’ll lose you in a sec, but I’ll call you later. Love you.”
“Love you too, Ems.”
A bunch of people pile in front of me, anxious to reach doors that are not ready to open. Nonetheless, I push myself up from the bench and merge into line. Someone knocks into me and my cell phone drops to the ground. Bending down and hoping not to get trampled, I scramble to pick it up then sigh in relief once the group in front of me exits at the next stop. As the train starts running again, I curl my fingers around the metal pole and find myself wishing for a car. Although the idea of driving in Manhattan terrifies me. I’m certain I’d get crushed between two taxis. Unless Avery was driving. That last thought makes me smile.
The car has cleared out a bit, and I’m standing there humming to myself when I notice someone in the back. His head is down, face buried in a book. Long fringe hangs over his eyes. My mind automatically goes where it shouldn’t and I turn away, rolling my own eyes. Grant, remember, I say to my brain. I laugh a little too loud at how ridiculous I am, glancing around the car. The guy with the hair looks up then and my breath catches in my chest. Spots form in front of my eyes. I blink. Then blink again. It can’t be. My head is telling me.
But I know what I see.
I could never mistake that face or the way my heart is beating like crazy—wild, out of control, dangerous almost. My fingers clutch tighter to the pole for fear that I’m going to collapse. Our eyes lock and my lips part, mouthing his name. “Vance.”
Vance stands up, looking as stunned as I feel. His blue eyes are wide, feet molded to the floor. The subway doors open then and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. The decision is made for me though, because a man bumps into me hard and I practically fall out of the car. By some miracle, I manage to regain my footing and reach the platform. Suddenly I can’t get enough air and I’m struggling to breathe. My legs won’t move, and somehow I’m right back on our street, that very night I had to say goodbye to him—all those feelings that had nowhere to go—and now they are all pouring out when I had them boxed up so nicely. Or at least I thought I did. Time hasn’t made a damn bit of difference. How can three years seem like a day? Because that pull is still there, as if some invisible string draws me toward him. And when I turn to find the train running again, his hand is pressed to the window while my own hand is pressed to my heart. His gaze pleading with mine, a piece of white paper etched with large numbers pushed against the glass.
I watch the train pull away, the numbers and his face getting further and further until I can no longer see them. My legs buckle and I wrench my hand out to latch onto a filthy column, thankful for it because it’s the only thing holding me up right now. I don’t understand what’s happening. Yet my only clear thought is making sure I don’t forget that number. Unzipping my purse, I scrounge for a pen and with trembling fingers scrawl out the numbers on a scrap of paper. Tears are falling faster than I can write. But the urgency to get the numbers down tells me that my internal talk this morning and everything I said to Avery was not the truth. Because the truth is—I’ve never gotten over Vance Davenport.
How do you ever get over your heart?
THE REST OF the day went by in a blur of numbers and silvery blue eyes I’ve tried hard to forget. The look I saw in them today, raw and vulnerable. A myriad of emotions passing over his face that I couldn’t understand—that I had no right to, really. And still, they yanked on my heart.
So many questions flitting through my mind as I sit on the bed, staring blankly at those ten numbers. What is he doing in New York? How long has he been here? Why didn’t he try to get in touch with me?
I fall back on the mattress, grabbing a pillow and tucking it under my chin. It’s been three years. Three years of working hard to erase Vance from my heart. But the only thing seeing him did was make it start beating again.
“Hey, Em, I’m home,” Avery calls out, and I groan an unintelligible response that she can’t hear. I listen to her keys clank when they drop on the table, heels clicking until she’s at my door. She analyzes my position on the bed with a frown. “What’s going on? Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for tonight? I just bought the most amazing dress at Bloomingdale’s.” The bag crinkles in her hand. “Wanna see?” I grunt and push myself up to a slouched sitting position, continuing to squeeze the pillow. I’m not sure what will happen if I let it go.
“Ember.” She snaps her fingers in front of my face. It’s only then that I become aware she’s standing beside the bed.
My gaze remains on the wall. “I’m not going tonight. I told Grant I wasn’t feeling well.”
“Actually, you don’t look that good.” She leans over and presses her palm to my forehead. “You don’t feel hot but you’re pale as a ghost.”
What a perfect choice of words. Because I saw a ghost. The one that haunts my dreams, strokes my cheek and threads his fingers through my hair, whose touch I can still feel on my skin.
“I saw one,” I admit, still dazed but finally able to look at her. “I saw Vance.”
Her brows lift high on her forehead. “What?”
“I said—”
“I heard what you said, Em.” She drops down on the bed. “But how, where?”
“He was on the subway. I saw him as I was getting off. We didn’t talk because I almost fell and… the shock of it all… and then the train left.” I blow out a weighted breath. “And now I’m a mess. I’ve tried so hard to forget him and move on. But the minute I saw him, it was like nothing had changed. All those intense feelings came back.” Her glance roams to the paper on the bed. “He wrote his phone number down and held it against the glass.”
“Wow.” A soft smile forms on her lips. “Thank goodness for little things like a photographic memory.”
“Yeah.” I bring a hand to my head to stave off the impending
ache. “Do you know what I thought about all day?” I don’t wait for an answer because I need to keep talking. I need to get this out. “That if I hadn’t turned around right then, I never would’ve seen him.”
Avery closes her hand around mine and gives me a gentle squeeze. “And how did that make you feel?”
My mouth tugs down as my chin begins to wobble. “Awful. Because as startled as I was to see him, I realized how much I needed it… to know that he’s okay.”
“You need to call him. You know that, right?” She lets go of my hand and reaches behind her to retrieve the wrinkled square of paper. “You two have so much left unsaid.”
Tears that have hovered all day like a dark cloud break free. “I’m afraid to see him. I… I’m good now, happy… and I can’t go back.”
“Oh, Ember.” She slides a tissue from the box on the nightstand and hands it to me. “One of the many things I love about you is that you’re always honest. Don’t start lying to yourself now. It doesn’t become you. Besides,” she adds, patting my hand, “you don’t have to go back. But maybe you can get some closure so you can move forward.” She leaps off the bed, the Bloomingdale’s bag swinging from her fingers. “Now. I’m going to put on this dress, find a movie, two spoons, and a half-gallon of ice cream,” she grins, “because I refuse to let a good dress go to waste.”
She’s almost to the door when I call her back. “Hey, Ave,” I say faintly, and she glances over her shoulder. “Thank you.” She nods on a soft smile then saunters off.
My mind wanders to Vance again. I don’t know that much about love, except what he taught me. That it’s a quiet voice, a short distance between two hearts. Or maybe it’s a flame that flickers then dies out.
MY EYES DART between my phone and the subway car, the back and forth motion making me dizzy. I’ve been riding this fucking train every day for a week, hoping to see Ember again. I stare at my cell, wanting to throw the damn thing out the window because it’s not doing what I need it to.