by Cat Lavoie
When the driver stops the car in front of the terminal, I’ve already got the cash ready and my hand is on the handle. I give him the bills and open the door.
“Good luck,” he says, sticking his head out of the window.
“Thanks.” I look at my watch and sigh. Ollie must be at his gate right now, about to board the plane. Still, I’ve come all this way. I have to at least look.
When I enter the terminal, I head for the British Airways counters and start looking for my needle in a haystack. I scan the crowd waiting in line at the ticket counters. There’s an old couple pushing a trolley, a family with six kids wearing matching Smith Family shirts, a woman yelling into her cell phone, a man with a pink suitcase... Wait.
For a fleeting moment, I love Rachel Brent and her awful pink suitcase. I see Ollie lifting it up on a scale and, almost in slow motion, the ticket agent hands him his boarding pass. He smiles and heads towards the point-of-no-return. I freeze, panicked.
“OLLLLLLIE!” I yell his name so loud it seems like everything stops for a second. Faces turn around to look at me, including some very serious faces in uniforms. They don’t look amused. Oh God. I am going to be arrested and detained and questioned and my parents will see me on the news and I will officially become the family embarrassment.
But it works. Ollie stops dead in his tracks and walks towards me, shaking his head and smiling.
“I knew you were going to pull something like this, but I gave up hope twenty minutes ago. You’re late,” he says, giving me a hug. I feel like crying with relief. My crazy plan worked.
Ollie holds me at arm’s length. “Listen, I’m so sorry about last night and...”
“It’s okay. Everything’s fine. I told Ethan that I’m ready to move in with him and he forgot about everything else.”
Ollie nods. “I know you really love that apartment, Rox. I’m so sorry that you have to give it up.”
“Stop apologizing, will you? It’s for the best. I was going to have to leave at some point.”
“I guess.”
We stand there, looking at each other. When I left the apartment this morning there were a million things I wanted to talk to him about. Now, in these unfamiliar surroundings, the words don’t come out. If only we were back at the Quid or watching CNN on the couch back home. Home. Ollie and I will never have a home together again.
“You’re coming back for Christmas, right?” I ask, fighting back tears. “You can stay with me and Ethan.” I can almost hear Ethan screaming the words ‘over my dead body’ but I’ll cross that very shaky bridge when I get to it.
Ollie looks down at his boarding pass, as if the answer to the question I’ve just asked him is written on there. “The thing is,” he says, finally looking up at me. “Rachel’s made this friend from Switzerland and she sort of invited us for skiing and stuff over there. So we’re thinking about it.”
And I’m back to hating Rachel again. It all makes sense now. I bet that somewhere in that hideous suitcase Ollie’s been rolling around there’s an awful designer snowsuit and awful designer mittens to match. Because if Rachel wants to go to Switzerland, they are going to Switzerland.
I try to hide my disappointment. “Well, yeah. Of course you should go to Switzerland. Who wants to be stuck in New York at Christmas with the crowded stores and the traffic and the cold?”
“I would, actually,” Ollie says. He looks at his watch. “I really have to go.”
“Keep in touch, okay?” I say, realizing too late how lame that sounds. Ollie and I aren’t the kind of people who need to be reminded to stay in touch, are we? I’m afraid to answer my own question.
“Promise,” he says, wrapping his arms around me.
He lets go of me and looks around. There are still a few guards looking our way, probably wondering what I’m going to do next. “You have a rare talent for making a scene,
Roxanne. If I get strip-searched, it’s all your fault,” he says.
I laugh. “Please. If you get strip-searched, you’ll enjoy every second of it. In fact, I bet you even requested one in advance.”
“Good one,” Ollie says, smiling. “Walk with me?”
I follow him until he gives his passport and boarding pass to the agent. “Irrational fear of flying?” I ask.
“Sadly, that’s still a check,” he says, the color already draining from his face.
“You’d better be on your way, Mr. Frost,” the agent warns. “Or else the plane will leave without you.”
“See you later, Rox.” Ollie hugs me one last time. “Take care of yourself and your sisters.”
I try to speak but my throat is closed tight. All I can do is smile and wave and watch him disappear through the doors.
I walk out of the airport and into the sunlight. A few cabs are waiting for passengers. I consider calling Ethan or Izzie and asking them to pick me up since I’ve already spent too much money on cab fare today. But I’m in no mood for a lecture from either my sister or my fiancé, so I bite the bullet and get into the first cab in line.
The driver doesn’t speak to me except to ask me where I’m going. I rest my head against the cool window and close my eyes.
When I get back to the apartment, I rush inside and find Izzie reading the paper in the kitchen.
“Where have you been?” she asks. “Steffi’s really upset.”
“Where is she?”
“Mom came and picked her up. They’re going shopping again or something. You really need to apologize to her.”
Anger is flowing through me from the end of my toes to the tips of my fingers and I pace around the kitchen, ready to explode like a volcano. “I’ll deal with Steffi later. Right now, it’s all about you and me.”
Izzie puts her paper down and looks at me. “I know you’re angry about what I told Ethan. I’m sorry, it just slipped out.”
“When?”
“A few days ago. I called him about this stock I’ve been looking into and...”
“Bullshit.”
Izzie raises her eyebrows and stands up. “Excuse me?”
I take a step and get right in her face. “I call bullshit. You’ve got a million friends who are way more qualified than Ethan to give you financial advice. You were only looking for a reason to call him and screw with my life.”
“Roxy, stop being so dramatic and calm the fuck down.” She pushes me into a kitchen chair and I let myself fall down on it. “I’m sorry, okay? Have a cookie,” she says, sliding a plate of my double-chocolate chip cookies in front of me. Cookies I never made.
“Did you make these?” I ask, holding one up.
“I may not be a domestic goddess, but I know how to throw frozen cookie dough in the oven,” she says.
I nod and bite into a cluster of melted chocolate chips. After a few seconds, I feel calmer than before but I’ve still got issues to settle. No, I can’t get distracted by cookies.
I clear my throat. “I really wish you hadn’t told Ethan. Why would you do that?”
“I just think it’s best to get everything out in the open. How are you supposed to build a healthy relationship with Ethan if you keep things from each other? I was only trying to help.”
I make a face. “Well, if you think being open is so important, maybe I should call Steffi and tell her about your little investigation.” I take out my cell phone and start dialing Steffi’s number. “It’s ringing...”
“Roxy, don’t,” Izzie says, trying to take the phone out of my hands. “Please. You’ll only make her upset.”
I close the phone and put it down on the table. Izzie’s right. The last thing I want to do is upset my sister, even though that’s exactly what I did this morning.
“I think something’s really wrong,” Izzie says, and from the look in her eyes I can tell it’s serious.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I was looking through Steffi’s phone the other day to find her friend Julia’s number.” She stops and waits for me to finish rolling my eyes. �
��There are no numbers in her phone besides us and Mom and Dad.”
“That’s impossible. Steffi knows a ton of people. Her contact list is almost as big as Greta’s.”
“Gone.”
I try to find a logical explanation. “Maybe she deleted them all by accident.”
“Face it, Rox. She’s looking for a clean slate by coming back here.”
I think about that for a second. “Maybe we need to give it to her.”
Izzie shakes her head. “No. She’s running away from something and we need to find out what it is. Now, I was thinking we could start by calling the coffee shop she worked at before leaving San...”
Suddenly, I don’t feel calm anymore. I feel angry again. “You just can’t stay out of everyone’s business, can you?” I blurt out, pushing my chair back. It screeches as it drags across the floor. “It’s like the time Mom said I wasn’t ready to ride my bike without the training wheels but you took them off anyway and I ended up with skinned knees and a chipped tooth. Stay out of my business, Isadora. Stay out of Steffi’s business. You can start running other people’s lives when you’ve learned to run your own.” I storm out of the kitchen and into the bathroom and lean against the counter. My pulse is racing and I’m out of breath.
“Roxy, calm down,” Izzie says, staring at me from outside the bathroom. “What’s going on with you?”
I slam the door in her face.
“You know what?” she says through the door. “Steffi might be the youngest but you are definitely the baby of this family.”
A few moments later, I hear her leave the apartment in a huff. I stay in the bathroom and sit down on the cool tile, resting my head against the closed door.
I can’t pinpoint the exact reason why the tears start flowing, but they do. I grab my bathrobe off the hook on the door and bury my face in it. It smells of Steffi’s fruity body lotions and that just makes me cry harder. I’ve always been the middle sister stuck between Smart Izzie with her flawless grades and never-ending ambition and Beautiful Steffi with the dazzling smile and all that charm. But where does that leave me? Just Roxy. Stuck in the middle. I feel a sob make its way through my body. It gets stuck in my throat.
I wake up a few hours later, curled up on the floor of the dark bathroom. The apartment is quiet. I open the door an inch and see that I am still alone. Feeling a bit calmer, I sit down in front of the TV and try to relax.
I rarely remember my dreams unless I wake up in the middle of them. But the one I had while lying on the cold bathroom floor comes back to me in tiny flashes until it is crystal clear. So clear that a hand flies to my mouth and I gasp.
In my dream, I’m dressed in an awful pink snowsuit and am standing on top of a mountain that I guess is somewhere in Switzerland because Steffi is there too and she’s wearing a Welcome to Switzerland T-shirt. I’m laughing and happy and, apparently, I’m pretty confident that I’ll be able to make it down this huge bumpy slope without killing myself or someone else. But before I make the jump, I take off my ski goggles and kiss Ollie who’s standing next to me, as naked as the day he was born.
Closing my eyes as hard as I can, I try to erase the images from my head and pray that one of my sisters comes home soon, even if it could lead to more fighting.
I need the distraction.
Chapter Ten
The Ollie-Naked-In-Switzerland dream replayed in my mind every night for a whole week, until two days ago when I ordered chicken curry from a new Indian take-out place around the corner and ended up spending a sleepless night puking up every fiber of my being. I never thought I’d be grateful for food poisoning, but I am because the dream never came back after that.
“Don’t forget we’re going drinking tonight,” Tali reminds me, biting into a burger. It’s lunchtime at Kilborn and it seems as though everyone has a delicious lunch. Except me.
“I probably won’t drink anything. My stomach is still a bit wonky,” I say with a sigh, looking at my half-eaten plain non-fat yogurt and bottle of water.
“Is Ethan back from his trip yet?” Tali asks.
“He should be getting back later today.” Ethan is in Nashville on business and I spent most of the morning trying to make sense of an email he sent me. I didn’t want to tell Tali about it, but since she brought him up. “He sent me an email earlier this morning. It was very ... interesting.”
Tali puts down her soda and gives me her full attention. “How interesting? And how fast can you forward it to me?”
“It was a spreadsheet.”
“A spreadsheet?” She picks up her drink and gnaws at the straw, looking disappointed. “What’s that about?”
“Budgets,” I say, the word making me feel nauseous again. “For when we’ll be living together.”
Tali makes a face. “How do you feel about that?” she asks, leaning back on her chair, looking and sounding like a shrink. “And does it worry you that your boyfriend spends his free time creating budgets when he could be watching awesome hotel porn?”
“No, it does not,” I say, kicking her chair leg and almost knocking her over. “I guess it’s good that he’s looking over the finances. He’s the expert. There’s just one thing that’s bothering me...”
“What is it?” Tali asks.
“The food budget. It’s a whole lot smaller than I expected, and he divides it 60/40 with me paying the bigger half.”
Tali frowns. “Why doesn’t he divide it 50/50?”
I’ve been asking myself that same question all morning. “Maybe it’s because I spend too much money on food and he thinks I need to learn to cook on a budget?”
“Oh, please,” Tali says, rolling her eyes. “If you were living with me, I’d be happy to share the expenses with you. Doesn’t he know he’s getting the best chef in town?”
I smile. “Thanks. I guess we can work it out later. The email did say that the budget was open for discussion.”
Tali shakes her head. “Those bankers. So wild and unpredictable. I bet you’re looking forward to that discussion.”
We laugh, and Tali heads to the reception while I go back to my desk and find a Post-It from Greta stuck to my screen again.
“The chef. Lucas Williams,” Greta says matter-of-factly as soon as I set foot inside her office. “Do you know him?”
“I’ve seen him on TV a few times,” I say, nodding. “Is he a new client of yours?” I ask the question as if I couldn’t care less, but inside I’m jumping up and down like a kid on Christmas morning.
Lucas Williams is more of a temperamental rock star than a chef. He’s also absolutely gorgeous with long hair and arms covered with tattoos. Up until a few months ago, people flocked to a bistro on the Upper West Side—where he was the sous-chef—just to hear him scream and curse from the kitchen and smash plates to the floor in frustration. The owner finally fired him when Lucas pulled a knife on the head chef and threatened to make him the main course. I have no idea if his food is any good, but that restaurant has been empty without him.
“I’m hoping he’ll be our new client,” Greta says, skimming through a pile of papers. “He’s got a bunch of investors throwing money at him to open up his own place. And now he’s shopping for PR firms.” She looks up at me. “Make sure he chooses us.”
“What?” I ask.
“It’s time you did something different around here, Roxy. And cooking is your thing, isn’t it? I need you to take Lucas Williams to lunch and tell him how we’re the best team for him.”
“But I’ve already had lunch,” I tell Greta, a bit shocked. Shouldn’t I be photocopying something or getting her dry cleaning? I must have heard wrong.
“For God’s sake, Roxy. If the Queen of England invited you for afternoon tea would you stay home and say you’re more of a coffee person? Get it together.” She opens up one of her desk drawers and takes out the company credit card. I quickly grab it, expecting her to change her mind at any second. “You have to meet Lucas Williams in an hour at the Chamber Grill. The reser
vation is in my name. Spare no expense.”
“What do I tell him?” My legs feel like jelly and I can’t move.
“Tell him we’re going to have his face in every magazine and newspaper in the city and beyond. Tell him the grand opening of his restaurant will be the event everyone’s going to be talking about for years. Tell him we’ll hype him up so much that all of his tables will be booked solid for six months before the first coat of paint hits the wall of his new restaurant.”
Greta’s speech makes my heart beat a little faster. “Okay, I’ll do it,” I say with confidence, even though I can still feel my knees buckle a bit.
Izzie was wrong. I can get ahead at work. I want to run to my desk and call her but then I remember that I’m barely speaking to her at the moment. I’ve been trying my best to avoid her and when we do bump into each other—usually in front of the coffeemaker in the morning—we only mutter hello and leave the apartment as soon as possible. I don’t know how long this will last, but I know I’m not going to be the one who apologizes.
I dial Steffi’s number but there’s no answer. I consider sending a quick email to Ollie but decide against it. He’ll probably answer in a few weeks and by then I’ll have forgotten what he’s congratulating me about.
I grab my make-up bag out of my purse and try to look presentable for Lucas Williams. If Greta had given me any kind of advance warning, I would have thought twice about grabbing the skirt I’m wearing out of the clothes hamper this morning.
I recognize Lucas Williams right away when I get to the Chamber Grill. He’s chatting up the hostess and she’s giggling like a schoolgirl, twirling a lock of her hair and totally ignoring me as I walk up and stand next to Lucas. If it’s possible, he’s even more gorgeous in person. His long black hair is tied in a ponytail and he’s rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt to reveal his tattoos. His arms are like works of art and every inch of canvas is covered. I see everything from an angry fire-breathing dragon to a portrait of a 50’s pin-up girl to a frying pan and a spatula.
He notices me staring at him and takes his attention away from the hostess. “Sorry, I don’t do autographs. I’m here on business.”