by Jaycee Ford
“You really don’t do casual well.”
“Nope.” He looked at me and his eyes flickered to my mouth. I turned away from his gaze before my instinctive lip biting. Only Paul made me do that, but my lip twitched on instinct.
“Isn’t it closed by now?” I asked, realizing the time of night.
“I know people.”
I knew I shouldn’t let this continue; there was no way I would get over Paul now.
“Gianni, I think we—”
“Guggenheim Museum,” the cab driver announced, halting my apparent breakup.
Gianni paid the driver and I scooted out of the cab. I stared up at this weirdly spiral building in the midst of the grandeur of Park Avenue. My hand was scooped into his, and I stopped gawking at this strange yet brilliant structure. His hand felt weird in mine. It was too smooth and cared for, not the calloused and strong hands I remember caressing every curve of my body just two months ago. The hands that I longed for every night.
We approached a set of doors and a security guard stood outside of the entrance. I looked at Gianni as he still smiled with that dimple of his.
“Tony,” he greeted the guard standing in front of a pair of glass doors.
“Mr. Drago.”
The uniformed guard opened the door for us. We walked through, still hand in hand, and the room opened up to a wide expansive space with the spirals from the outside, wrapping around the interior and traveling up to a windowed rotunda reminiscent of an intricate spider web. I was in awe of the amazing sight. I had spent the majority of my life in New York, minus the four years in the country, but I had never come here. I had walked past it numerous times, but never understood its glory and wonderment until now.
“Incredible, isn’t it?”
I looked at the man and wondered if dropping everything for a guy who couldn’t give me his all was worth it. He leaned down, kissing me on my forehead.
“Give me one second.”
He let go of my hand, and I watched him walk away. My hand twitched in need to check my phone. I knew I shouldn’t, because it was in poor taste. I was on a date; although, a date with a man whose hand didn’t feel right in mine and whose lips didn’t feel right on mine. I sighed and pulled out my phone.
I’ll wait forever.
Like a girl, tears pricked my eyes. I couldn’t do this to Gianni. He was a good guy and he deserved someone who could give him everything.
“So, I don’t have a shot, do I?”
I jumped with my heart pounding from his sneaking up on me and from Paul’s words. I rested my hand across my chest and turned around with my phone still clutched within my grip. A forced smile crinkled his face. He rested his hands on his hips while he hung his head a bit.
He glanced at me and said, “I knew someone had that heart of yours.”
My shoulders hung with a sigh. I hated hurting him, but I knew that I would hurt him more if I dragged this on.
“What’s his name?”
I let his question hang a bit. I couldn’t lie anymore.
“Paul.”
He reached out his hand, grazing his fingertips against my cheek. “I’m glad I had a little bit of you. He better make you happy because, if not, I know people.”
I held my breath and stilled at his words. He laughed at my antics and said, “Let’s get you home, belle.”
• • •
The door closed behind me and everything was okay with Gianni. He understood and still wanted to hang out as friends. We ended up hitting a deli and having dinner, taking the long walk back to the apartment. He told me about an ex-girlfriend he was trying to get over, and I filled him in on my ten-year situation with Paul, including my New Year. He then understood everything perfectly, but I was glad we were still friends since he “knows people,” whatever that meant.
In need of comforting flannel, I pushed away from the door, tossing my purse on the kitchen table as I strolled by, and headed to my bedroom. I stripped my clothes off, shivering from the cold of early March, and opened my dresser to the country feel of flannel pajamas. The plaid always reminded me of Paul. Everything reminded me of Paul.
After donning my evening attire, I headed back into the kitchen and living room area, and dug my phone out of my purse. A text was waiting on my phone again.
Call me whenever. I need to hear you.
My heart thumped as nerves riddled me. I crossed the living room to my chair, curling my legs under me and readying myself to call. I shook my head and placed the phone on the end table. I got up and headed back into the kitchen, grabbing a corkscrew out of the drawer, and pulled a bottle of red from my wine rack. After pouring a glass, I shuffled back into the living room, stopping halfway and turning back into the kitchen. With a full glass and a whole bottle filling my hands, I sat down in my chair. I looked at my phone resting on the end table, staring at it while I downed a glass of Merlot in one swig. After a fill up, I reached for my phone and pressed his number. It barely rang once when he answered.
“Baby?”
The damn blasted tears wanted to fall.
“Hey, it’s me.” There was a long pause with a little shuffling heard over the line. He could have been in bed. “Did I wake you?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep.” He sighed so low I could barely hear it, and whispered, “I can never sleep anymore.”
“Why is that?” I asked, and then took another calming sip of wine. This is just Paul. You’ve known him for ten years. You won’t screw it up.
He sighed again, and I knew something was tearing him up. I just didn’t know what.
“What are we doing, El?” His drawl pierced my heart, but I was still confused by everything that was occurring.
“That’s a good question, Paul. What are we doing?” Some form of clarification would be nice. I took a sip of wine to calm the nerves and the annoyance of this situation.
“So, did you … are you still dating that guy?”
“No, I’m not. Not that I really ever was. I thought it was just casual until he kissed me.”
“He kissed you?” he blurted as I finished my sentence. Information I should have kept to myself perhaps.
“He did.”
“And you let him?”
His question enraged me.
“No, I didn’t let him, but he at least picks up the phone and calls me,” I answered.
He exhaled into the phone. This must have been taking a toll on him as well.
“I’m sorry, El. Can we start over?”
I breathed and took another sip of wine, because any girl would need wine in this situation. “I think that’s best.”
A long silence invaded the line until he sighed.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, and my heart stopped. Those words made the two months without hearing him almost bearable.
“I’ve missed you too, Paul.” I placed my glass of wine back on the table and pulled my blanket around me, melting into his voice.
“No, I’ve missed you for longer than two months. That is why I haven’t called you. I hear your voice and I want to do crazy stuff.”
“Like what?” I couldn’t help but smile. I played with the edges of my blanket while I bit my lip, waiting for his response.
“Like ask for your address.” I heard the smile in his voice.
“And what do you need my address for?”
“So I can send you something, silly.”
“Paul…”
“Address, ma’am.”
I bit the inside of my cheek at his polite dominance.
“Seven-three-seven Park Avenue.”
“Thank you.” I heard typing on a keyboard coming through my phone.
“Do you need the zip code?”
“Nope. I got it. What are you doing tomorrow?” He asked while he continued to type. What was he up to?
“Just the regular Saturday brunch with my mother.”
“You sound excited.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, I’m always thrilled
to be nagged by my mother.”
“How about I text you in the morning before you go?” It quieted on his end. The typing stopped.
“That sounds good. It should be a relatively boring weekend for me.” A rarity in my profession.
“Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
“Well, if I get to hear from you again this weekend, then it won’t be so boring.” I wasn’t going to lie. I had needed to hear his voice since I fell asleep in his arms.
“I’m going to call you like crazy, then.” His voice turned into the husky drawl I remember from our blizzard night, that same voice that made me twitch with need. I had three more months before I would see him. I hoped I could get through it without caving and flying down south.
“Please do. Goodnight, Paul.”
“Goodnight, baby.”
THE MORNING SUN shone through my window, awakening me from my dreams of summer in the south. I rolled over, pulling my comforter up to my chin, and imagined the sounds of Park Avenue were a trickling stream along the mountainside. The warmth that cocooned me was Paul’s arms surrounding me. The pillow hugging my face was his chest while I listened to the loving drum of his heart. Last night gave me hope. Hope that, one day, I would awaken with my love returned.
Saturday morning tried pulling me back into sleep, but a knock rapped on my door. I peered at the clock. It was half past nine, and I eased up, listening to the silence. Another knock alerted me to a visitor. I tossed off the warmth of summer and slugged out of bed into the cold early March. In full pajamas, I left the sanctuary of my room and padded through the living room to the front door. Upon reaching it, I peered out of the peephole and noticed a woman holding a box of some sort. I smoothed my hair as best as I could, and cracked open the door.
“Good morning,” I said to a blonde, roughly my age, wearing a long-sleeved shirt and khaki pants.
“Ellie Caldwell?” she asked while looking at the long, rectangular box.
“Yes…”
“Sign please.”
A clipboard was shoved before me. I moved my head back an inch, still waking up. I signed on the line provided, somewhat confused as to what was going on before I had my morning coffee. She took back the clipboard and handed me the box.
“Have a nice day.” She left my doorway for the elevators.
“Uh, thanks,” I mumbled. I stared at the box while closing the door. Sterling Bloom Florist. Flowers?
An added hop resonated in my step as I walked to the table. Last night’s conversation dawned on me. They couldn’t be from Paul. Our conversation was less than ten hours ago. Gianni? He did “know people.”
I ripped open the box in a precise fury. A fire red glass vase was nestled at the end of one side and tissue wrapped around what appeared to be flowers. I lifted the bundle and carefully removed the tissue paper to find small brilliant white flowers, circling in what looked like a giant snowball on each steam. There were about a dozen of them. Hydrangeas. They were beautiful. Such an odd flower to be delivered, I was confused as to why I had received them.
A note poked out from between the deep green leaves. I plucked it out and carefully laid the bouquet down. I flipped back the envelope and pulled out the card.
I’m sure you know these are hydrangeas,
but the type is called Snow Storm.
It’s obvious why these would remind me of you.
I hope this starts off your Saturday as being not so boring.
Thinking of you.
Paul
My cheeks widened in giddiness. I pulled the vase out of the box and filled it with room temperature water. I centered it on my kitchen table and placed the bouquet inside. I had never been as happy as I was right this second. I pushed the box haphazardly to the floor, hearing it tumble, without care, and stared at the blooms. A beep from my phone distracted me. I wiped away the happy tears and ran to my room, scooping up my phone and flinging myself on the bed.
How’s your boring weekend going so far? ;-)
I loved him so much my heart hurt.
Paul! What did you do?
I think I sent you flowers.
You did.
Then that’s what I did. What’s the confusion?
Why did you? I waited for a moment for his response.
I wanted you to know that I was thinking about you. I always think about you.
I always think about you too.
Talk to you after brunch.
I put my phone down and stared at the ceiling. He always thinks about me. I shook my head at the thought. The wall that kept my heart protected for so many years began to crumble bit by bit. Without a doubt, I knew that I would be with Paul, but I also knew that I had to take certain measures to get there. This was a leap, but I had to take the leap if I wanted a future with him.
After reaffirming my decision, I pushed myself up onto the side of the bed and grabbed my phone. I swiped the screen to unlock it and scrolled through my contact list. The simple click of send solidified my future. This would happen. I would make this happen. I rested the phone against my ear, and within two rings, the line was answered.
“Mountain Reality, this is John Baker.”
“Hi, yes, Mr. Baker, my name is Ellie Caldwell, and I am calling about the Olde Town Florist shop that was up for sale downtown off Main Street. Would it still be available?”
“Yes, Ms. Caldwell. It’s still available. Would you like to come by and see it? I’ll be in the area today.”
“Well, no, actually. I’m not in town, but I would like to buy it.” The phone was silent for a moment longer than I would have liked.
“You don’t want to see the place first?”
“No, sir. I mean, I’ve seen it plenty of times.”
“It is high-priced real estate. The owners are asking three hundred thousand for it.”
“I can have the money wired to you by Monday morning.” Oh, my mother was going to kill me.
“Well … okay. With a straight transaction, we can get you the keys by the end of next week.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baker. I will call you Monday morning to finalize everything.” The biggest grin blazed up my cheeks. This was ridiculously stupid and I couldn’t wait.
“Oh no, Ms. Caldwell. Thank you. You’ve made my weekend.”
I hung up the phone and stared at it with a frozen smile. I had just spent three hundred thousand dollars for a man. What the hell was wrong with me?
• • •
The cab ride over to the restaurant for brunch was a little unnerving. The trust fund set up by my stepfather was for me and only me, but, of course, I still had to tell my mother that I planned to move back to North Carolina. She was going to be furious with me, convincing herself that I had chosen my father over her once again. I rubbed my temples at the thought of it.
After the cab pulled over to the curb, I paid the driver and turned around, staring at the entrance and dreading the impending doom. I huffed out a breath and steeled my spine. My heels clicked a few confident steps on the concrete, and I pulled open the door to a welcoming hostess.
“Good morning. Is your party here already?”
“Yes, I’m meeting Glenda Ro—”
“Ellie, darling!
“—senbaum.” I nodded to the hostess and added, “I think she found me.”
I entered into the dining area and found my forty-seven-year-old twin, Glenda Clarice O’Conner Caldwell Rosenbaum. A woman who found herself at Duke University some twenty-nine years ago, and was swept off her feet by a University of North Carolina freshman from the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. My father, Julius Caldwell, married her right after graduation, convinced he won the heart of the Manhattanite, but after a few years in the country with a baby girl in tow, she couldn’t handle it any longer. The luster of being away from home yet still living on her parents’ dime wore off when the three-bedroom, two-bath bungalow was too modest for her. My father ran and then owned the furniture store in town. My mother needed more, and the
billion-caret rock on her finger proved that she had gotten more.
“Hey, Mom.” I bent down and kissed her cheek.
“Honey, why must you always pull your hair back? Your hair looks better hanging down.” And here we go.
“Mom, it’s windy outside.” I gave her a narrowed look. I was not starting brunch like this. She knew the nagging wasn’t becoming. She nodded her head and laid the napkin flat in her lap.
“It looks beautiful either way, Ellie.”
“Thank you, Mom.” I sat down as a waiter came over. We ate here at least once a month, so I knew the menu pretty well. “A strong mimosa and the eggs benedict, please.”
“Ellie, drinks so ea—” She stopped speaking when I narrowed my eyes at her again. She cleared her throat and said, “I’ll have one too, please.”
When the waiter departed, I took a sip of water and then asked, “How is George?”
“Oh, he’s doing quite well. He’s working on a big case and should be wrapping up soon.” Her face lit up talking about George Rosenbaum III. I never knew if she fell in love with the money and then the man, or if it was the man and then the money. Either way, she loved them both dearly.
“Where did you get that dress, darling? It’s adorable.” She placed her handbag from the table onto her lap. I looked down at my dark green dress and blushed a little from the compliment.
“Well, it’s mine.”
“I know it’s yours, honey, but where did you get it?” She continued to dig through her purse and mumbled, “Where is my compact?”
“I made it, Mother.” She looked up from her purse with a welcoming surprise and paused while she beamed with pride.
“Well, I knew my daughter knew fashion, but I never dreamed it would look so stunning on you.”
Mimosas joined our conversation in perfect timing, as this was a great moment to tell her the good news. I lifted the glass to my lips and chugged the whole contents. I glanced back at my mother. She gawked without a word. I decided to blurt it out.
“I bought a retail location.”
“Oh, honey, that’s wonderful!” She patted my hand resting on my lap.
“It’s in North Carolina.” Her hand fell flat against mine as her eyes saddened.