by Amanda Uhl
“Of course, I’m sure.” I was surprised George seemed so determined to confess his love for me and deny any feelings for Bernie. But what he did next was even more surprising.
“Good, then there’s no reason we can’t let the world know we’re engaged.”
George pulled a black velvet box from his pocket and opened it for me to view the contents. His grandmother’s engagement ring glittered at me. He got down on bended knee.
“Val,” he said. “Will you marry me?”
Chapter Twenty
I had seen the ring before, of course. Yasmine had pulled it from her jewelry box and shown me the simple white gold band and European-cut, single one-half carat diamond, which sparkled as if it had been cut the previous day and not nearly one hundred years ago. We were in her bedroom, a luxurious palace with plush burgundy pillows, silk curtains tied back with gold tassels, and a mahogany queen bed, gleaming with furniture polish.
“Try it on,” Yasmine had said, motioning me to sit on her bed. “George, put it on her finger.”
George dutifully complied, but halfway down, the ring wouldn’t budge. “It’s…it’s stuck, Ma.”
Yasmine stared at me as if it were my fault the ring didn’t fit. She grabbed my arm. “Well, don’t force it. Val, come into the bathroom.”
I followed her there, George hovering anxiously next to me, where she applied soap and water until the ring slid off my finger. She placed it back in its silk wrapper and returned it to her jewelry box. But Yasmine didn’t usher us out of her bedroom. “I’ll leave you two alone now,” she said, and closed the door with a solid snick.
George had turned to me, placing his hands in mine. “I asked Ma to show you the ring, because I’d like this to be your ring…when the time comes…if you want it.”
Seth had given me a ring, too. A mammoth, three-carat cushion-cut center stone with one-and-a-half-carat side diamonds he’d ordered online from a New York dealer. When he gave it to me, he’d said it cost him “a cool ten thousand, so try not to lose it.” I wore it faithfully—up until the day I caught Deirdre and Seth in bed together. I had twisted it from my finger and threw it at their entwined bodies. The last I saw it, it had sunk amidst the wrinkles in their purple bed covers. Later, I wished I’d held on to it. It would have been some consolation in the lonely days preceding our breakup.
“Yes,” I had told George back then. “I do want it.”
Now I stared at the ring, where it nestled in its velvet box, a gentle reminder of the solid and traditional life George was offering me. The single diamond was still the star in the center of the band, but he’d had the jeweler add several side diamonds, which enhanced rather than detracted from its simplicity.
I took a deep breath, forcing my thoughts back to the present moment. “George,” I said. “I…I can’t. I mean, I do have feelings for you but I’m not… I don’t love you. Not the way you deserve. I’m sorry, George.”
There was an awkward moment, where neither of us knew what to do. George got up from his position on the floor and shoved the box in his back pocket. He flung up his hands. “I’m an idiot,” he said.
“George, no. Not at all. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m the idiot. I didn’t understand. Didn’t realize. You deserve better than me, George. You deserve…”
He thrust his palm toward me as if to ward off my next words. “If you say Bernie one more time, I’m going to strangle you.” He crossed his arms across his chest and eyed me, nostrils flaring. “I’ve had nothing but problems the moment that damn woman came into my life.” Bitterness crept into George’s voice, lending it an eerie tone in the quiet of my apartment. “So this is it? This is my reward for introducing you to my family, cooking for you, sharing my goals, offering you my grandmother’s ring?”
His question hung in the air, waiting for my response. But I had none to give.
“You’re sticking to your story? There’s no one else?”
“Yes…no…I mean…”
George came toward me, his normally soft brown eyes hard as marbles. “There is someone. I knew it. Who is he? Someone at work, I suppose?”
I blushed, I couldn’t help it.
George smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand, causing me to wince. “God, what a fool we’ve been. It’s him…your boyfriend…he’s the one that was spying on me…with Bernie. Don’t you see? He was looking for an opportunity to mess with us. Giving you an excuse to break up with me. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“George, please. There is no boy…boyfriend. I don’t have someone else.” But George’s suspicions were already rattling around in my head. Could Charlie have disguised his voice enough to make the anonymous phone call? He pretty much admitted he’d had other motives for telling me Elias had been at the Q Hall, casting doubt on George’s whereabouts. But spying? Would Charlie resort to that?
George turned, went to the fridge, refilled his wineglass and downed the contents. He finished off the remainder in the bottle, eyeing me all the while. He wiped his lips with the back of his hand and slammed the bottle on the counter. He walked toward me, not stopping until he was inches away from my face. “Ma had reservations about you at the beginning, you know. She has a sixth sense or something. She was concerned you lacked family ties. And what did we truly know about you? Your dad’s not involved in your life. You mother has a new man every month. You came here on a whim with a friend. She worried you were too flighty.”
I fought to contain the tears gathering in the corner of my eyes. “I’m not flighty. I’m…”
“Ma may be opinionated at times, but with good reason. She’s almost always right.” He grasped my chin between his thumb and finger and tilted my head almost painfully until my eyes met his. “We all thought you were smart and sweet. And you seemed to want to please me.”
He shook his head and dropped his hand. “I was a fool. Whoever he is, he won’t last long. And when he’s gone, I can’t promise I’ll be here.”
I nodded at him. “I know,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-one
Although I’d promised Charlie I’d call him, my breakup with George felt much too raw to relay to anyone. So I did what I did when I felt sorry for myself. I called in sick and spent the next four days holed up in my room watching old episodes of Gilmore Girls, drinking wine, and eating junk food. Finally, when I couldn’t stand my own company a moment longer, I called my father.
“Princess, is that you?”
My father has been calling me princess since the day I was born. I think he did it out of guilt. My parents divorced when I was six, and my dad traveled frequently for his job as a salesman. I didn’t see or hear from him often. When I did, he was generally a little behind (okay a lot behind) on my news and whereabouts. Still, the sound of his familiar, calm voice had me in tears.
“Honey, what’s wrong? You’re not sick, are you?”
“N…no,” I said. “I’m…I broke up with my boyfriend.”
“What’s that…you and Seth…?”
“No, Dad, not Seth. George. You remember George, right? I’ve known him for nearly a year. We were… We talked about getting engaged. Remember? George who likes to cook? Whose parents are Lebanese? The one whose family owns a barbershop?”
“I thought they owned a paint company?”
I sighed audibly into the phone. “No, Dad. Not Seth. Seth and I haven’t dated for two years. He’s engaged to Deirdre… Remember my friend, Deirdre from California? Well, she’s not my friend anymore, but you remember her, we used to live together. Back in San Francisco.”
“The Jewish girl?”
“No, Dad, not the Jewish girl, that’s Bernie.” Talking to my father was a lot like talking to the personal assistant on my cell phone. I found myself repeating the same things over and over until he got it right or I got frustrated. In this case frustration won out, so I changed the subject. “Did you get my gift?”
“The umbrella? You got me with that one. Stephanie couldn’t imagine what you
would send in that long package.”
Stephanie was my dad’s assistant. She’d been with him forever, but as far as I knew, it was all business. Stephanie picked out ties for his meetings, arranged his travel schedule, and occasionally sent birthday cards on his behalf. In short, she functioned like a wife, except for in the bedroom and the fact there was no binding, legal agreement between them.
“I figured you could use it on your job. Plus, I knew you would have lots of rain in Seattle.”
“Well, I appreciate the thought. So, what’s this about a breakup?”
I sucked in air. “Yeah, George and I… We broke up.”
“That’s too bad, honey. Maybe it’s for the best, though. Ya think?”
“Yeah…I…I do think. It’s just hard. That’s all. George and I…we were going to get married. He was having his grandmother’s ring resized to fit my ring finger. He’s a great cook and his…well, his family used to like me. They probably hate me now.” I used the backs of my hands to wipe the tears, which were flowing freely down my cheeks.
“Honey, any man who would break up with you is crazy.”
I sniffed. “That’s just it. George didn’t break up with me. It was the other way around.”
“Well, if you’re not happy, maybe you should get back together again?”
“No, Dad.” I hiccupped. “That’s not… I don’t love George. I miss him.”
“What does your mother say? Have you told your mother?”
I huddled into the couch, where I was sitting, and eyed the bag of potato chips, bowl of M&Ms, and red licorice on the coffee table. In times of stress, food was a reliable comforter. I grabbed a string of licorice. “Mom’s a little frazzled right now. Bill…er…Bob had a mini-stroke and asked her to fly out to California.”
“Oh, honey, you want me to plan a visit? I could, you know. For a few days.”
“No, that’s not necessary. You started your new job and all.”
“What’s the big deal about that? If my little girl needs me, I’m there. Do you want me to have Stephanie book a flight to Cleveland?”
I sat straighter on the couch. My absentee father was going to visit me? Here in Cleveland? The last time that happened had been back in California when he’d taken me and my roommates to brunch in college. My heart leaped with excitement. As much as I wanted to deny it, deep down inside, I longed for a closer relationship. Having my father around would be good for both of us. I could show him where I lived. Introduce him to Bernie. It would take my mind off my lousy love life. “You’d do that?”
“Sure, I would… Val, honey, hold on a sec…”
I could hear my dad mumbling in the background. He came back on, his voice tired. “Princess, you know I’d love to see you. But Stephanie reminded me I have the next two weeks booked solid. Perhaps I can come in the fall. Labor Day weekend…hold on.” More mumbling. “Ah, honey, I’ll have to take a rain check on Labor Day, too. I already have a trip booked. But we’ll see each other for the holidays for sure, okay? By then, this will be all old news, and you’ll feel better. I promise.”
I fought the vise slowly squeezing my heart. “All… All right, Dad.”
We hung up and almost immediately my cell phone buzzed with another call. Charlie. He had called yesterday, too, but I wasn’t up to a battle of wits then or now. I let it go to voicemail. It buzzed again. This time, I didn’t recognize the number. Charlie didn’t have two numbers, did he? I decided to answer it. “Hello.”
“Valerie Wilson? This is Hugh Dabney. I’m a recruiter with Abbott Labs. Is this a good time to talk?”
“Uh…” I looked around my empty apartment as I fought surprise. Mitzi came out of my bedroom and walked calmly toward me, as if she knew she was the reason Abbott had my resume. I glared at her, but she ignored it and rubbed against my leg. “Sure,” I said.
“Oh good. We received your resume for the senior product manager position, and we’re interested in having you come in for an interview.”
“Oh.” Maybe a job change would do me good. Reynolds had passed me over for the senior position after all. This would be an opportunity to move ahead and away from the daily temptation of Charlie. Besides, it was only an interview. I didn’t have to take the job if I were offered it.
“Are you available Monday? We’re trying to interview potential candidates as soon as possible, and you’re at the top of our list. We’ll pay your travel expenses.”
What would one interview hurt? As my father liked to say, when opportunity knocked, only a fool would turn it away. “Okay,” I heard myself say.
“Great. Here’s my contact information.”
“Um, wait. Let me grab some paper.” I grabbed a pen off my desk and the only paper I could find—a page-a-day-calendar from June—and hastily scribbled the address and phone number.
“I’ll meet you at the front entrance at 9:00 a.m. sharp. We’re looking forward to talking with you.”
“Super. I’ll see you there.”
We hung up, and I bowed my head into my hands. I was a traitor. But right now the thought of fleeing to Abbott Labs sounded like a fantastic option. It would be a new town, where no one knew anything about my sad love life. My leaving would pave the way for Bernie with George. Charlie could go back to his flight attendant and rich relations. Or perhaps Julie would finally sink her claws into him. Seth and Deirdre could get married without me as a witness. Most of all, if there were a traitor at Reynolds, I might discover their identity and be able to report them to Larry. It would be the best thing for everyone.
My doorbell rang. I looked at the door but did not get up. My spider senses were tingling. Nothing good could come from answering it.
“Val, I know you’re in there,” Charlie said, through the entrance. “Open up!”
Despite inner reservations, I found myself scooting my butt off the couch and opening the door. Charlie leaned against the frame, exuding raw masculinity. He had changed from his work clothes into a pair of dark blue jeans, which hugged his long legs like a wet suit. His dark gray shirt enhanced the sea blue of his eyes and the summer blond streaks in his hair. He took one look at my tear-stained cheeks and the piece of licorice in my hand, and his face creased in concern. “Why haven’t you returned my calls? Are you okay?”
“Yes…no… I don’t know. I broke up with George.” Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks.
“Aw, Val,” he said, pulling me into his strong arms and crushing the piece of licorice and tissue between us. Dark Water flooded my senses. “It’s for the best, you know.”
“I know,” I said, my voice muffled against his shirt. “But it makes me sad. I’m a horrid…horrible person. George was good to me. He didn’t deserve to be treated this way.”
Being in Charlie’s arms was like coming home after a long, tumultuous voyage at sea. I wanted to bask in the warmth of his hard chest forever. But I knew I shouldn’t. He had Melissa waiting for him in London. My breakup with George had made me vulnerable.
“You think I can come in?” he asked after a few minutes. His deep voice rumbled against my ear, and I realized we were still in the hallway, swaying back and forth to a natural, gentle rhythm.
My cheeks flooded, and I pulled away from his chest, nodding. Dark, wet stains streaked his shirt. What compelled me to cry on this man at every opportunity? I wiped my face with the tissue and took a bite of the licorice. Charlie followed me into my apartment.
“Want some potato chips?” I offered when I saw him standing over my pile of junk food.
He tossed me a smile. “This food will kill you. Why don’t you let me take you out for some real food?”
“No, I need to wallow in my misery.” I managed a small smile. “I’m…I’m sorry I cried on your shirt.” I hiccupped. “I’ll be okay. I don’t know why this has me all frazzled anyway. I know it’s the right thing to do. I just figured George would admit he doesn’t love me. I thought he…he cared about Bernie. I feel terrible.”
I took a deep brea
th and sat on the couch, grabbing the bag of potato chips in the process. Charlie sat next to me. “You don’t need to stay,” I said. “It may get ugly. I’m going to down this bag of chips.”
Charlie nabbed the chips from my hand and set them back on the table. He pulled me into his arms and settled my head against the steady beat of his heart. I knew I should object but I was weak, and it felt good to be close to him. He placed a hand in my hair and gently stroked in a soothing motion. “You know what your problem is?”
“What?” I raised my face slightly to try to get a look at him, but he pushed my head back against his chest and resumed his gentle stroking.
“You expect people to act predictably. Like numbers. But we’re not numbers, Val. We’re people with the whole gamut of human emotions. We aren’t predictable and logical. You can’t place us in a spreadsheet and expect us to act a certain way.”
“When have I done that?” This time I managed to pull away and look at Charlie.
He continued as if I hadn’t asked a question. “You can’t label people one thing or another. We’re surprising. There’s a lot going on underneath the surface.”
I tried to look in his eyes, but all I had to go on was a side profile. Charlie wasn’t talking about George. Not really. “You feel I’ve misjudged you,” I said.
Now he did look at me, and what I saw nearly stopped my heart. Then, despite my guilt and worry over George, it began racing foolishly. My alter ego’s advice tapped out a rhythm in time with my heartbeat. Take a chance. Take a chance. Take a chance.
“Haven’t you? You’ve kept me at a distance since the moment I met you. I’ve been trying to build a bridge, but every time I do, you tear it down. You convinced yourself I couldn’t possibly be right for you, because I don’t have the right qualifications. You view my family’s money as a deterrent.”
Charlie grabbed my right hand and placed it over his pounding heart. He brought my left hand to his lips. Things were heating up in Lakewood, Ohio.
“Well, I’ve got news for you. We are right together. And I’m going to prove it.”