by Ash, Ingrid
I shake my head and laugh, covering my eyes at their ridiculous games.
“You guys really don't have to do that.”
Melissa struggles with her boxes, making her way into the space following her brother, and places them down in the middle of the room amongst a sea of boxes of varying sizes. She seems to get a second wind the moment she sets them down.
“That's the last of it. You know what that means, right?”
“It means... we don't have to carry anything up three flights of stairs again?”
She rolls her eyes. “Well, that too. But more importantly, you’re all moved in to your new apartment!”
“Yeah,” I reply, realizing she's right. And it's not just a new apartment. It's the first and only living space I've ever had all to myself.
Melissa comes towards me, grabbing me by my shoulders and catching me completely off guard.
“Why aren't you more excited? You should be jumping up and down!”
“I don't know, I guess it just hasn't entirely sunk in yet.” That was a lie. It's hard to get excited about things in life when you know everything is only temporary. Even though the rational part of me knows I have job security and enough in savings to last a couple of months should anything go wrong, the realistic part of me knows that everything I love or want gets taken away sooner or later.
As the sun starts to set, Connor and Melissa head out, and I thank them one last time for helping me move in. It's not until they're gone and I'm alone with nothing but my on my mind that it actually, truly sinks in.
I have a place that's truly my own. And for once, no one can take that away from me.
*
One thing I'm going to need to get used to is just how far my new place is from work. I groan, and then smile, every time I have to take two subways just to get there. Because the price of being independent is worth it.
But longer commutes come with earlier mornings, and early mornings come with either a lack of sleep or rushing and skipping breakfast. Being the night owl that I am, I choose the latter. And as they say, haste makes waste, which results in a big, brown coffee stain.
I rush into the shop, headed straight for the stock room and barely noticing Melissa there as I eye the slowly fading spot on the front of my blouse. “I'm so sorry I'm late!” I say, exasperated. “This morning has been a mess, as you can probably see.”
Melissa stops dead in front of me, blocking my path unexpectedly. I dig my heels into the floor to stop myself from running face first into her. When I look at her I quickly realize her face is stern and almost panicked. Damn, I didn't think she'd be this mad about me being late.
“Please don't go back there right now,” she says. Her voice is deeper and more pointed than usual.
Okay, this can't be just about me being late. I start to worry myself. Confused, I ask, “Is everything okay?”
She sucks in a deep breath, shaking her head frantically. “No, no, it's fine.”
My eyes narrow as I study her carefully. “You don't exactly seem like everything is fine.”
I watch as her face falls into her hands. “I'm so, so sorry. This is all Connors fault, I swear. He knew... and I tried to tell him not to, but he wouldn't listen.”
He knew what? What exactly is she sorry for? I reach out and place a hand on Melissa's shoulder, figuring that's what she would do if the roles were reversed. “Hey, whatever it is I'm sure it will be fine,” I say, trying to comfort her, but over what? This was all bizarre and she isn't exactly giving me any information. But based on how broken up she looks about it I'm not sure if I should push. “Um, I'm going to go back really quick and clean up and then we can talk when I get back out, okay?”
She looks up at me with remorseful eyes as she bites her lip. Melissa is easily frazzled, but I've never seen her quite this bad. I give her a comforting rub on the arm and flash her a wry smile, glancing back as I head into the back room. I pass Connor's office, which is partially cracked open. Hell, if anyone is equipped to take care of Melissa, it's him more so than I.
I wrap lightly on the door. “Hey Connor?” I ask as I step in. “Is Melissa okay? She's...” my voice trails off upon realizing he's not alone in his office. There's a man sitting in front of him and I feel my stomach lurch at the sight of the shape of the back of his head.
No, it couldn't be. Frankly, it's not, and I know it. Why? Because I see him every-fucking-where I turn. I hate it and I'd never admit it to anyone, but I do—well, I did. It's gotten better lately, but for the first couple of months after I left him it was like being stalked by his ghost. Everywhere I turned I expected to see him, to the point that I'd project his face onto strangers until I snapped myself out of it. And the worst part is, most of the time I wished he were real.
But there's no snapping out of this one. Because Mr. Cartwright is here, in the flesh, smiling up at me with that wicked smile of his that's all too vindictive for my own taste. I stare at him open-mouthed and speechless a beat too long. So long that I don't even realize someone is sitting beside him.
“Hello, Tamara. It's been a long time,” he says.
I look away from him and don't reply.
Connor's eyes are on me. “Tamara, it's kind of rude not to say hello to our clients, don't you think?” he says.
I look up at him incredulously. Clients? Is he serious? Well, the look on his face says he is.
My eyes dart back to Mr. Cartwright and that's when I notice who's sitting next to him – Veronica. Complete with her sleek top knot and pursed lips. She refuses to make any eye contact with me and I'm more than happy to keep it that way.
Polite or not, I turn quickly on my heel and exit the room. I head for the bathroom, quickly remembering the stain on my shirt and feeling my face flush. In my head, I've gone over how I'd react if I ever saw Mr. Cartwright again, and that was not at all what I had planned.
I lean over the sink, touching my forehead to the cold glass above it, and sigh. You're letting him get under your skin again, I think. But why? I have my life together, I'm financially independent, I have my own place. I don't need him anymore. So why do I still want him? He treated me like shit and showed his true colors at the end. I know I'm better off without him.
I grab a paper towel and dampen it with water before dabbing it on the faint spot of my shirt. I'm barely paying attention to what I'm doing; my mind is in a million different places. Why is he here, anyway?
There's a knock at the door before I can ponder it any further.
“You okay in there, Tamara?” It's Melissa. I crack the door open to face her, her hands are clasped tightly in front of her face. “I'm sorry you had to find out that like. I didn't exactly know how to tell you.”
I shrug it off and reply, “It's fine.” But I know she can see right through my act.
I hear footsteps marching around the corner. “What was that all about?” It's Connor, and he doesn't sound particularly happy.
“I'm really sorry, it just caught me off guard.”
“You should be, that's no way to treat clients, especially high profile clients.”
My shoulders slump. “You're right.”
Melissa rolls her eyes, casually slapping her brother on the arm. “No, he isn't. Sheesh, Connor, have a bit of compassion maybe?”
“Look, I know you two have a history but we're all professionals here.”
“Oh my God, I can't believe you're being such an ass about this!”
“I'm not being an ass, I'm being a business person. And sometimes you have to do things you don't like or put up with people you don't like.”
“But you don't throw your friends under the bus.”
“It's alright, guys,” I interject, throwing my hands up and hoping to calm the tension between the two. “It's fine, really.”
“Are you sure? Because I really don't want you to quit!” Melissa says.
Quit? I have to hold back a laugh at the sheer idea. “Trust me I wouldn't even fathom it.”
She
lets out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God.”
“Good, because we'll need all the help we can get with this one,” Connor adds. “It's a huge undertaking and we only have 6 months to plan this one which is a real crunch.”
“What exactly are we doing with them?” I ask.
For a split second they look at me like I'm crazy.
“Oh, I thought you were being sarcastic,” Connor says. “I mean, I kinda thought everyone in New York knew about the wedding.”
The wedding. “Oh. Right, of course.” So he's going through with it after all? I shouldn't be surprised, but knowing that they're actually in the process of planning it just makes it so... final.
“It's hands-on and we'll all need to be involved every step of the way. So if you don't think you can do it...”
“I can do it,” I chime in, cutting him off.
Connor smirks. “Good. I know you can.” He turns to his sister and says, “See, you don't give her enough credit.”
“Nah I just have a heart, unlike some people,” she calls after him.
“Look, I have a heart too. Tamara,” he turns towards me again, “take five minutes and clean yourself up, then I need you back in there. We have a lot of work to do, okay kiddo?”
I nod and force a smile across my lips.
Melissa turns back towards me, leaning a hip against the door frame. “I have an extra shirt in my car, it's about your size. It's nothing special but it's better than what you’ve got on right now,” she says with a comforting smile.
I smile right back. “Thanks, I really appreciate it.”
“You don't have to thank me. It's the least I can do,” she says before marching off.
All alone now, I slip back inside the bathroom, taking a deep breath as I glance at my reflection over the sink. Damn, I look stressed, and I'm not even doing a good job at hiding it. My face looks thinner – I didn't even realize I'd lost weight. For the past handful of months I've pretty much buried myself in work. It's been the perfect escape from my feelings. And yet, after all that work, my feelings waltzed right through the front door and planted himself in a chair just a few yards away.
I can do it. I can do this. Why wouldn't I be able to? I've been through worse and I've dealt with people a hundred times more nasty than Mr. Cartwright, and I still made it here. So why would I think for a second that I couldn't deal with this? Of course I can. It's a no-brainer.
So why does this sting worst of all?
I splash my face with some cool water, which surprisingly makes me feel a heck of a lot better. There's a light rap at the door a few minutes later – it's Melissa, with her fresh shirt in tow which I quickly change into and head back into Connors office. Those two are still seated right where they were before and neither of them bother to look me in the eye.
“Tamara, take a seat. I'll need you to take notes so we can keep a schedule of all the preparations,” Connor instructs.
I nod and grab a planner as well as a notebook from behind his desk, sneaking a quick glimpse at some of Connor's random notes, doodles and sketches. Good Lord, from the looks of it, these two are going all out for this. The thought of them spending so much money on something that will probably last two years tops makes me stifle a laugh and for a moment, I feel just a little bit better about this whole fiasco.
Before I can even move to sit down I can feel her eyes on me like lasers, watching my every move.
I take my seat next to Connor. Which also unfortunately happens to be directly across from Mr. Cartwright. For a split second our eyes meet – in real time, I'm sure it lasted a fraction of a second, but for me it felt like it would never end. I felt something sear through me just by looking at him, my stomach tying itself in knots. It's a mix of betrayal, anger, pain, and in his eyes I swear I saw a flicker of sadness. Maybe even longing.
No. No, I didn't. That's just me projecting again. If I've learned anything at all about Mr. Cartwright it's that he's devoid of any emotions.
I let out a quiet sigh as I fiddle nervously with my pen, placing it against the paper.
“Well of course, my first concern is the dress,” Veronica says. My eyes flicker up to her as she smooths her hair, slowly and meticulously. And that's when I see it, just as the light catches it and almost blinds me. The absurdly huge and gleaming diamond is probably twice the size of her bony finger. And for the first time she makes a point to make eye contact with me, just driving it home. She looks away dismissively, resting her ringed hand not-so-casually on her shoulder.
I'd be willing to bet anyone ten bucks that she paid for that thing herself.
“Did you get that?” Connor asks.
I glance up at him, slightly startled and obviously in my own world.
“Get what?”
He nearly rolls his eyes. “The date for Veronica's dress fitting.”
“Right,” I nod. “When is it again?”
Connors jaw sets. “Two weeks from today. Are you free?”
“Free to....?”
Connor blinks repeatedly and begins to look slightly agitated. “To be at her dress fitting,” he parrots in an incredibly slow manner, like he's talking to a 3rd grader.
She seriously wants me at her dress fitting? “What does she need me there for?” I ask, as if she isn't sitting just a few feet from me.
“Getting in and out of gowns. Schluffing dresses back and forth from the bridal shops in Manhattan to my fitting,” Veronica says, and I still refuse to look at her. “You know, the kind of stuff you'd be good at doing.”
And so it begins. It didn't take long for her catty side to lash out at me, did it?
Don't let it get to you. Just keep your eye on the prize and get your paycheck. That's all this is!
“I'm pretty sure there are sales assistants to help with that.”
Veronica scoffs and replies, “No, I'm not having my fitting in some stuffy bridal shop. That's obvious. You'll be pulling a selection of gowns from some of the top designers in town and bringing them to my family's manor upstate.”
You have to be fucking kidding me. Me, alone, in a house full of Veronicas? Kill me now.
“Don't you have a stylist or personal shopper who does that?” I ask. “I'm sorry, I don't think I'd be good at picking out gowns for you.”
“Well clearly,” she says, “Obviously, the gowns have already been selected. I just need you to pick them up. Is that too difficult for you, or no?”
If she says 'clearly' or 'obviously' one more time, I swear to God...
“It won't be a problem,” Connor chimes in with a healthy dose of glee. “She'll be there. Anything at all that you two need, we are more than happy to provide.”
Yeah freakin' right.
“We're looking forward to it.” She turns to Mr. Cartwright with a grin. “Right honey?” she asks him, nudging him in the arm.
Mr. Cartwright replies with a less than enthusiastic, “Absolutely.”
CHAPTER 12
I can't help but wonder if Mr. Cartwright is doing all of this just to punish me.
Every detail of the wedding is over-the-top and, frankly, quite garish. The flower shop has handled more than a couple of weddings since I’ve worked there, and posh ones at that, but Connor is pouring over the most minute details of this one, and Melissa is one step away from pulling out her hair trying to deal with him and everything else.
One of the first orders of business is the cake tasting. Connor recommended Ron Ben Israel, a ridiculously successful and exclusive New York baker who only takes a handful of weddings each month, and usually requires at least 12 months in advance. Money talks, so I guess I shouldn't be surprised that Veronica and Mr. Cartwright were able to weasel their way into his schedule with only a little over a month's lead time.
Mr. Israel himself couldn’t be there, but the head baker as well as her assistant is here guiding the tasting. So remind me why I'm here again? Oh, right, as Connor says “it's important to note every detail of what they like, dislike, and are
lukewarm about”. So in translation, because Veronica demanded that I be.
Mr. Cartwright and Veronica are seated at a small table with a variety of cake slices placed in front of them, almost all of them in different colors. And yet, neither of them have taken a single bite yet.
“Well this one looks tasty,” Veronica says, eying a slice of lemon and poking it with her finger. She brings the plate up to her nose and gives it a good sniff before placing it back on the table. What the hell?
Mr. Cartwright looks distant and completely uninterested in cake. “You pulled me out of an important meeting for this,” he mutters to her.
“This is important,” she whispers.
“It's fucking cake—you've tasted one and you've tasted them all. Just pick a damn flavor.”
“Would you stop,” she replies through gritted teeth. “You're being awfully rude for no reason.”
Apparently, it's getting pretty chilly in hell right now because for once I actually agree with Veronica.
Suddenly she smiles, picking up a plate full of red velvet and shoves it towards me. “Tamara, you look like a big eater, try this for us, please?” she asks with a sardonic bat of her lashes.
For a moment, I stare at her incredulously. She can't be serious right now? They can't be serious with this, can they? Who the hell doesn't try their own wedding cake before spending thousands on it?
I hold up a hand to her, refusing it with as much grace as I can muster. “I'm not really hungry.”
“This isn't a luncheon, it's a tasting. It's one bite,” she says.
“And it's your wedding. Shouldn't you be the one to taste it?”
She cocks her head to the side. “I have to fit into my dress,” she says with raised eyebrows. She looks me up and down. “Some of us watch our figures. Maybe you should try it sometime?”
Someone just kill me now.
“Stop,” Mr. Cartwright seethes, catching us both off guard. “Fucking stop,” he says to her. The tension in the room looms like a thick fog. Did I just hear him right? I think this is the first time I think I've seen him look her in the face. For a moment, I didn't believe that he was directing that at her.