Been Searching For You

by Nicole Evelina

  “Promise me one thing,” I asked him, stopping his relentless march from the bedroom to his suitcase by thrusting a mug of steaming coffee at him.

  “Anything.” His whiskers scratched my chin as he pressed his cheek against mine.

  “We’re going to be honest with each other from now on. No hiding anything—not for surprises or to save the other’s feelings. When you know something important, I know and vice versa.”

  “I promise.”

  While Alex was printing out his boarding pass, I slipped a small green-and-gold box into one of his bags. I’d wanted to wrap it but remembered TSA frowns upon that, so it had only a small bow on top with a note that instructed him not to open it until he was in his rooms at Oxford. It wasn’t the only gift I’d left him—on his phone was a video of me doing a striptease that he would eventually find as well as little lighthearted odds and ends tucked in suit pockets or in the toes of shoes—but this was the big one. The one that I felt really showed my love for him.

  All too soon, the phone rang, and I was putting him into the cab. Then the cab was pulling away down dark, rain-slicked streets. Then he was gone.

  I should have taken the day off work or called in sick, but being the good soldier I was, I went back to my cold, lonely apartment and crawled under the covers. Two brief hours later, my phone chimed. I silenced my alarm without really waking up, which I regretted when I awoke again half an hour later, thoroughly late. I rushed around, throwing on the easiest outfit I could find: a pair of black slacks and a lavender cardigan over a plain white button-down. Not having time to do my hair, I brushed it up into a twist and slapped on some foundation, sheer eye shadow, and lip gloss.

  Clopping into the kitchen in wedges only halfway on my feet, I slurped a cup of coffee and checked the time again on my phone. I had a text from Alex. It read, Morning, beautiful. I miss you already. No matter what the day brings, remember to smile. You have a lot to be grateful for. I love you.

  The silly smile on my face stayed there all through my walk to work and was still lingering when Nick called me into his office.

  He must have seen the stars in my eyes because he scrutinized me closely before declaring, “You were late this morning.”

  That was enough to flatline my good mood. “Yes, I was. But I intend to stay late tonight to make up for it.”

  He grunted dubiously. “Don’t make a habit of it. I need to know I can depend on you to be here when I need you.”

  I fought the urge to roll my eyes and bit back a retort about him not being there for me thirteen years ago. “Well, you have me now,” I said through facial muscles straining to maintain a professional expression.

  “Yes.” He placed his hands on the desk, fingertips touching like some real-life version of Mr. Burns on The Simpsons. “I need to know what you and Alex were planning for the National Poetry Month event in April.”

  “Isn’t that in the notes I gave you?”

  “It’s mentioned, but there are no details.”

  “That’s because we didn’t get that far in planning before you took me off the account.” I’d had a plan in mind, but I wasn’t about to share that with the man who couldn’t do me the respect of crediting my ideas.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “I am. You’ll have to plan something with the dean unless he appointed someone to serve as contact while Alex is out.” My eyes flicked to the wall calendar over Nick’s shoulder. “If they’re still planning for an April eighth event date, you only have a few weeks to pull something together.” I raised an eyebrow at him in silent challenge. “Tick-tock.”

  Nick shifted uncomfortably. “How am I supposed to know what would attract the poets of tomorrow to the school?”

  “Use your imagination. That’s what they pay you for, isn’t it, oh esteemed account executive?”

  “Annabeth, please.” His eyes were pleading, an all-too familiar blue beckoning me to willingly walk into their depths with my pockets lined with stones.

  I wasn’t about to take the bait. I liked the safe, dry shore just fine. “Why should I help you? I’m only a lowly writer. You’ve made that more than clear. Besides, you reassigned me, remember?”

  Nick reached across the table to grab my hands. “Please, Annabeth. I know I’ve been a jerk—”

  I snorted. “That’s an understatement.”

  He flinched. “I probably deserved that. Look, I just need a place to start—inspiration, if you will. Will you be my muse? You used to be so good at it.”

  The warmth in his voice hung in the air along with our shared memories of a time when he wrote lyrics and played bass with a local band. They’d been nothing big, but it had helped pay the bills and keep us college students in food better than ramen, so they’d thought they were really something. That was before our relationship, a time when he’d openly credited me with being his inspiration.

  I sighed, giving in to the euphoria and dipping a toe into his waters. “Think about when you wrote music. That’s a form of poetry. Use that as your starting place.”

  Nick thought for a moment, eyes distant. “Yeah, I like that. What else you got?”

  I shook my head. “That’s all you’re getting from me. Unless, that is, you want to put me back on the account.”

  Nick leaned forward on his desk. “The partners are doing reviews in a few weeks to evaluate how the new structure is working, and I think it would be beneficial to both of us if they could see us working together as a cohesive team.”

  “Beneficial to us or beneficial to you?” I scoffed at my own naïveté. “You’re afraid they’ll blow on your house of cards and it’ll come tumbling down. And you need me to secure this illusion of expertise you’re so desperately clinging to.”

  “I do need you. I always have.” He gave me his most helpless, stray-caught-in-the-rain look.

  “Don’t. This is about you as my boss, which you suck at, by the way. I’m happy to work with you as part of a team, as you say, and I’ve given you an idea. But I draw the line at pulling your ass out of the fire.”

  “Even if it means sacrificing your own career?”

  I pulled my hands out from under his. “Are you threatening me? With what? There’s no conflict of interest now that I’m not on the account. Even if I was, Alex is in England. It’s a moot point.”

  “But I can easily build a case against you.”

  I stood and leaned over the desk, palms on its gleaming surface so that my face was nearly touching his. “Do your worst. You forget I’ve been here much longer than you and already have a track record of success. Other than snowing a gaggle of egomaniac doctors, you really can’t say the same, can you?”

  “Go to hell,” he growled, his hot breath ruffling my bangs. “And get out of my office.”

  Mia’s idea of helping me get over my rough day was to pop by my apartment that night with a chilled bottle of vodka and her entire shot glass collection. Within an hour, we’d already rehashed the entire Nick debacle and were onto her latest woes—something about her bemoaning the end of her modeling career because she was over the big three-oh. But I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying. The vodka was making my sleep-deprived brain even hazier, and I kept thinking about how Alex was now somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean.

  Mia snapped her fingers at me. “Hello. Earth to Annabeth. You aren’t listening, are you?”

  I looked up from my phone and blinked at her as though being ripped from a dream. “Not really, no. I remember the words ‘London’ and ‘Betsy Sue,’ so I’m assuming you’re doing a fashion show for her?”

  She tore the phone from my hands and tossed it into her purse. “He’s not going to get cell reception at thirty thousand feet.” She poured us each a shot and held hers up in a silent toast before downing its contents. “Seriously, he’s on a plane, not a chair with balloons. He’ll be fine.”

  I laughed and coughed at the same time, my lungs burning. I gasped. “Do me a favor? Don’t say things like that whi
le I’m drinking.”

  “Well, at least you’re laughing. Jeez, you’d swear the man had never been out of the country before.”

  “It’s not that. We’ve just never been apart this long.”

  “Not a fan of the whole ‘absence makes the heart grow fonder’ theory? Me neither.”

  “How do you and Miles do it? I mean, beside the fact that you have a guy or girl or both in every port.”

  She shot me a withering look. “My definition of fidelity aside, you just have to make time for each other. Just because you can’t be in the same room doesn’t mean you can’t be together. Watch a movie or eat a meal together over Skype. Hell, sext each other. You still have to have sex while he’s away. I’d suggest Nick, but I know you like that whole monogamy thing, so find a way to still have sex with Alex. When you have a camera, it’s not that hard.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ll even help you figure out where to position it in your room if you want.”

  I waved. “Seriously, even buzzed, I can’t have that conversation with you.”

  “Oh, please, Sister Annabeth. If you can’t talk to me, who are you going to ask? No one you know has as much experience with international relations, if you will, as me. Except for Miles, and I doubt you want to ask him for help.”

  I pretended to gag. “Oh, that’s even worse than talking to you about it.”

  “Well then? Do we have a deal?”

  I watched her, unconvinced. “Maybe.” I ran a finger around the edge of my empty shot glass, trying to decide if I wanted to ask her a question that had been bothering me for quite some time.

  She was watching me too. “I know that look. You want to say something but aren’t sure how. What’s up?”

  I couldn’t meet her eyes. “No, it’s really nothing. Forget it.”

  “Nope. You’re not getting out of this that easily. We’re officially playing truth or dare. You”—she pointed at me—“get truth.”

  I crossed my arms. “Fine, but so do you.”

  “Here’s your question. What were you going to say? And remember, you have to tell the truth.”

  “It’s about your birthday. Do you remember kissing Alex?”

  For a moment, Mia looked stunned, then her face lit up. “That’s one of the few things I do remember.” She fanned herself. “I would never forget a kiss like that.”

  I gaped at her. “If I wasn’t drunk right now, I’d probably kill you for saying that.”

  She shrugged and grabbed at my pointing finger, missing the first time then finally twisting it. “It’s good that you are then.” A fit of giggles was building behind her rambling. “You know what else I remember? You falling down the stairs after we sang ‘Jessie’s Girl.’ That was classic.” She punctuated the statement with a snort.

  “Mia”—I grabbed her shoulder, trying to get her attention—“I’m serious. Why did you kiss him? You knew I liked him.”

  “What are we, twelve? Seriously. He was hot. I was drunk. Put two and two together, and you get fireworks. I can’t help that you’re still jealous. Which, by the way, is just ridiculous. You’ve been together for how long now? He gave you a ring. And he’s in another country. It’s not like I can take him away from you from here.”

  I quirked an eyebrow at her. “And would you given the chance?”

  “Is that a dare?” Mia loomed over me, halfway between sitting and rising. She stood, unsteady like a newborn doe. “What do you want me to say? If I say yes, you’ll get mad. If I say no, you won’t believe me. Your insecurity is maddening.”

  “I’m insecure? If you’re Miss Confidence, why did you kiss him? Aren’t you committed to Miles?”

  Mia shook her head. “Because I can. He was there, and I wanted to. End of story. It’s not like I had sex with him—although I tried. He said no.”

  “You what?” I couldn’t believe my ears. Mia had done a lot of outrageous things over the years, but that topped them all.

  “I had to at least ask. Even he’d said yes, you two weren’t together yet, so you have no right to complain.”

  I pulled her back down to the couch. “No, you’re right. I’m being stupid.”

  “So back to Nick. What are you going to do now?”

  I shrugged. “Sit back and see if he hangs himself or if he’s really trying to change. There’s really nothing more I can do.”

  Mia stared off into the distance. “I just wish he was nicer to you. He wasn’t at all like that when we met.”

  “Of course he wasn’t. You got charming Nick because he wanted something from you—namely to get into your pants. I’ve known him long enough to see past that.” I suppressed a fit of giggles. “In many ways, you two are a match made in hell.”

  Mia looked offended. “What are you talking about?”

  “You both do whatever it takes to get what you want.”

  “Hey, that’s called tenacity. It’s a good thing.” She thought for a moment. “Maybe that’s what Nick is doing now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Alex has basically removed himself from the picture. Maybe Nick is using this poetry thing as an excuse to get close to you. He really does like you.”

  “Uh-huh. Or maybe he’s finally realized he’s out of his league at work. Besides, he’s got much more to make up for than being a shitty boss.”

  “I didn’t say he’d be successful,” she grumbled into her glass.

  “Enough talk of men. It’s Friday night, and we’re in dire need of food.” I wobbled over to the counter, opened a drawer, and flung a stack of menus at her. “Here, you pick the takeout place. I’ll pay for the food.”

  The next afternoon, I nearly skipped to the computer when Skype rang. Alex’s smiling face greeted me from his profile photo even before I answered. When I did, he was sitting in a high-backed chair in a dark-paneled room that looked—from what little I could see of a mullioned window and bookcase over his shoulder—exactly as I’d imagined an Oxford don’s room would.

  I couldn’t help but tease him. “Cheerio, chap. All you need is a smoking jacket and you’d be right at home with C.S. Lewis.”

  Alex glanced over his shoulder at his new home. “Yeah, it’s not exactly Chicago modernist, but it’s comfortable.”

  I touched the computer screen, forgetting for a moment that I couldn’t actually touch him. “I’m so glad you’re there safe. How was your flight?”

  He sighed, scratching at the shadow of a beard sprouting on his cheeks. “Long. Cramped. The usual.”

  “Have you slept?”

  “No. I’m trying to wait until bedtime here. Not sure if I’m going to make it though.” He held up the green-and-gold box. “So this little thing has been driving me crazy since TSA insisted on searching my carry-on at O’Hare. I’ve spent the last”—he counted on his fingers—“twenty-something hours wondering what is. Can I open it now?”

  “Yes, you may.”

  He made a show of holding the box up to the camera so I could see that he was splitting the gold label I’d used as a seal. “I think I just popped its cherry.”

  “Wow, you must really be tired to be making jokes like that.”

  “Yeah, and I still have to sit at high table tonight. God only knows what’s going to come out of my mouth. If you get a call tomorrow around noon, it means they kicked me out.” He turned his attention back to the box and opened the lid. Nestled inside was a silver signet ring. On the flat face was the starburst of a compass rose surrounded by the Latin phrase in me aquilone vero semper invenies.

  “In me, you will always find true north,” Alex translated.

  He was still staring at the ring when I said, “This way I know you won’t get lost while you’re there.”

  Alex slipped the ring on his left ring finger. When he looked up, his eyes were shining. “I wish I could kiss you right now. You have no idea what this means to me.”

  “I think I do if the care and love with which I chose it are any indication.”

  �
�We’re going to be fine, you know. You and me. We’ll talk every night. It won’t be that much different.”

  “Thank God for technology, right?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’ve gotten an earful from Miles on how, um”—he cleared his throat—“useful that can be.”

  I giggled. “Me too, from Mia. Together, I think we know more about their sex lives than any two people should.” It was his turn to touch the screen. He was trying to stroke my face. “I miss you already. When are you coming to visit?”

  I rolled my eyes. “You just got there! But seriously, if I can, it will have to be after the partner review in April. Nick would rather take a vow of celibacy than make it possible for me to see you.”

  “Bastard.”

  “You said it.”

  “Well, I love you the same whether you’re three thousand miles or three inches away.”

  “Same here. Tu me manques.”

  When the doorbell rang the following afternoon, I was still in my pajamas. It was Miles and Mia. Again.

  “What do you two want?” I said with more than a little annoyance. I loved them, but at some point, one would think they’d learn weekends were sacred alone time for an introvert like me. “I’m all out of chocolate chip pancakes.”

  Mia was huddled behind Miles as if she was using his body as a shield. It was very strange. “No, silly, we’re not here for food.”

  “That’s a first.”

  “We’re here,” Miles picked up the thread of conversation, “on strict orders from MI6.”

  I squinted at them. “Did you two do drugs last night?”

  “I’m totally serious,” Miles said. “If you will kindly let us in, we’ll explain.”

  With a roll of my eyes, I stepped aside. They plunked down on the couch, a large box between them.

  I pointed at it. “It’s not ticking, is it?”

  Mia smiled. “Nope.”

  “As I said”—Miles adopted a serious tone as if he were on one of those TV shows about the CIA—“we were given a clear mission, and it was to deliver this to you.”