Meet Me at Taylor Park
Jason W. Chan
Copyright 2011 by Jason W. Chan
All rights reserved. No parts of this book shall be reproduced, stored or transmitted by any means, except with the written permission of the author.
Synopsis
What would you do if you ran into your high school sweetheart and the passion flared up all years later, just as you are getting married to someone else? Katie and Brandon were in love as teens, before life sent them their separate ways.
Brandon finds her again, but she's engaged to a wealthy and caring man. Katie spends a sizzling night with Brandon, agrees to leave her fiancé for him, but then changes her mind. When Brandon storms her wedding, Katie is torn.
Will she choose the man she knows is the love of her life, or play it safe? Can she ever go back to Taylor Park, not just the place where she had her first date with Brandon, but the ideals of her youth? Or would she be making the worst mistake of her life?
Meet Me at Taylor Park is the story of a second chance at first love. Inspired by a true story, this love story explores the nature of regret, the fire of passion and the tenacity of unconditional love.
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Author’s Mission
My mission as an author is to spread hope and happiness through my uplifting, inspirational stories.
Visit me at:
Blog: www.jasonwchan.blogspot.com
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/A-Romantic-Ghost-Story/347390105277211
Twitter: https://twitter.com/JasonWChan
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Meet Me at Taylor Park
Prologue
2011
Katie Simpson was in the kitchen when she heard the front door open, and then slam shut.
“Ashley,” she called out. “Is that you?”
There was no answer, but she heard feet stomping up the stairs.
Katie knew to expect a lot of door-slamming and foot-stomping from a 16-year old daughter.
She went upstairs and knocked on her daughter’s door, but there was no answer.
Quietly, she opened it. Ashley was lying facedown on her bed. Katie could hear soft weeping.
She sat down on Ashley’s bed, and didn’t say anything. She merely put her hand on her daughter’s back and rubbed it.
“Honey, you OK?”
Ashley looked up from her pillow. Her face was tearstained. Her eyes were bloodshot. Her long brown hair was in disarray.
“Kyle broke up with me,” she said in between sobs. “I thought he was the one. He really understood me. He’s the first boy I ever felt anything for.”
Katie patted Ashley's shoulder. “It’s OK.”
Ashley sat up and wept onto her mother’s shoulders. “Is it supposed to hurt this much?”
“Yes,” Katie said. “But it gets better soon.”
For a while, she let Ashley sob. The spring sunlight shone on her daughter’s shaking head.
In the other room, someone was coughing like they had the whopping cough.
Katie continued to hold onto her daughter. “I should check up on your father soon.” She continued to let her cry.
When it became clear that Ashley was not going to stop any time soon, Katie patted her daughter on the shoulders again, and whispered, “Hey, kiddo. You know, a lot of people don’t end up with their first loves. And it’s OK if you don’t.”
“But I thought I would.”
“But maybe it wasn’t the real thing. Love has to be proven.”
Ashley pried her face from her mother’s shoulder. “Maybe. Is daddy your first love?”
Katie let out a long breath. “Let me tell you a little story, about my own first love. You’ll find out if daddy was my first love. Maybe it’ll make you feel better. Maybe it won’t. But maybe you’ll learn something.”
Ashley stopped crying and looked at her mother attentively.
Katie cleared her throat. “I’m going to change the names to keep you guessing.” Then, she began her tale.
***
Chapter 1
1994
One evening, Katie Simpson and her boyfriend Steven Solomon were sitting on the couch in their living room in the suburbs of Toronto.
Katie was staring at Steven while he watched Monday Night Football.
Katie leaned forward. “Honey, I want to watch a Disney movie.”
Her boyfriend did not reply.
Katie cleared her throat. “Steven?”
“Again?” he said, waving one hand dismissively. “But you’ve seen it already.”
“Not in the last few months,” she said. “It’s my favourite. I love the adventure, the passion, the romance. The fairy tale wedding.” Her voice and face got all dreamy.
“That’s great,” Steven mumbled, his eyes glued to the TV screen.
He then jumped up. “Touchdown!” He jumped up and down like an excited child about to go to the carnival.
Katie glared at her boyfriend, and he did not seem to notice. He was still celebrating, doing some bizarre dance that Katie, were they in public, would have been embarrassed by. Heck, she was embarrassed even when they were alone.
She looked at Steven and wondered why they were still together after six long years.
Katie looked at Steven with his short black bangs hanging over his forehead, his glasses, his pouty little mouth.
She knew it wasn’t just about looks. Katie was not that shallow. But as she watched her boyfriend bouncing up and down as a result of a touchdown and paying her no attention, she knew she had to do something.
“Alright,” she said. “You’ve had your fun. Now can we do something I want to do?”
“We could get a head start on our taxes.”
Katie waited for a grin to appear on Steven’s face, but she had a gut feeling that he was serious.
She frowned. "No."
“Why don’t we discuss it over dinner?”
She sighed. “Alright. What are we having? The same time TV dinner? Roast chicken and mashed potatoes?”
“Bingo,” he said, smiling.
“This is the fourth time we’ve had that this week.”
He frowned. “Don’t complain. Maybe if you learned to cook, we wouldn’t have to eat the same damn thing all the time.”
“Why is cooking my job?” She felt her entire body heat up.
“You expect me to bust my ass all day at the office and then come back to cook?” He adjusted his glasses, as though trying to see clearly. “And you only teach half a day. So what are you doing half the time?”
She felt her face melt into a scowl. “My art. Fashion design is important to me. It’s called a passion. Maybe you should try getting one.”
“Why are you wasting your time with that? You can’t make any money with it.”
She twirled around, her back to him. She was trying to calm her breathing, but was failing. She waited for Steven to comfort her.
Seconds passed. No touch or comforting word.
She stormed across the room. She heard no scrambling, apologetic footsteps coming after her, but she did hear a voice.
“I thought we were having dinner.” It was a clueless and confused voice.
She started to march up the stairs, but then stopped halfway.
“Microwave it yourself,” she said, without turning around. She marched up the rest of the stairs, entered their master bedroom, and slammed the door.
There was silence.
She sat down in front of her the mirror. Her dark brown eyes were starting to fill with tears. She brushed them away with a tissue. She noticed that her long brown hair was messy, so she used a brush to tidy it up.
I will calm my breathing, she commanded herself. I’m fine.
&nb
sp; As she continued to brush, she began to doubt that Steven was really the right man for him. Six years.
Why are we still together? she wondered. Because I’m afraid of being alone? Because it’s routine and comfortable? Because I’m afraid of change? Because I love him?
After a little while, she heard the expected footsteps on the stairs.
The door opened and Steven poked his head in timidly.
“I don’t know what I said to make you so angry,” he began. “I wish I were better with girls, but you know I’m not. I’m sorry.” He hung his head.
He stepped into the room and moved behind Katie.
“I’m learning every day, and I appreciate your being patient with me.”
Katie looked at Steven in the mirror. She saw how nervous he looked. It was almost cute. He cleared his throat and reached into his pocket.
“I know we’re young,” he said. “But I think life is too short not to be married to the girl I love. I wasn’t going to do this for another few months, until I make partner at the firm.”
Steven took out a ring box, and then knelt down beside her. “Katie Simpson, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Katie looked at the ring. It was a sparkling diamond.
She saw an anxious expression on Steven’s face, but said nothing.
Steven knelt there, fidgeting with the box.
“We are the lucky ones,” he said. “Not a lot of people get to marry the right ones. Please say yes and make me the happiest man in the world.”
Katie continued to stare at her boyfriend.
She started to nod, but horrified, she stopped. She had not expected this. Katie looked into Steven’s black eyes, but could not read his emotions.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes, I will.” She knew she had to smile, but she could not get her jaw muscles to conform to that position.
“Yes?” Steven asked, smiling. “Yes?”
She stood up and he grabbed her around the waist. She expected a kiss, but none came.
Instead, he said, “That’s great.” He let go of her waist. “We can set a date in the morning and I’ll call all our friends and relatives.”
“Call them?” she said, horrified. “I’m not going to tell my mom I’m engaged over the phone. First thing tomorrow, I’m going to buy a plane ticket to Vancouver and tell her in person.”
“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’m gonna take a shower.”
And just like that, he disappeared into their en-suite washroom.
She picked up her brush and continued to brush her hair.
Did I just say I would marry him? She thought. But it’s where we’re heading. It’s natural to move forward.
She thought about how he had proposed. There were no roses, stars, moons, or other romantic paraphernalia that she had envisioned. Instead, it was in their regular bedroom.
And he had said, “Life is too short not to be married to the girl I love. Will you do me the honor of being my fiancée? Please say yes and make me the happiest man in the world.” She noticed there was no mention of you or we.
*
Later that evening, Katie and Steven were at their dining room table with two sets of Swanson’s TV dinner in front of them.
Steven was holding a carton of milk in one hand, and a carton of apple juice in the other.
“Honey, do you want milk or juice?”
Katie stared at him, amazed that he did not know her favorite drink by now. “Juice,” she said, her voice icy. “You know it’s my favorite drink.”
Steven went over and poured her the juice. “So it is,” he said.
Katie sat down. The table was long, and they were sitting on opposite ends.
Kate looked across the table to see her fiancé buried in a copy of The Economist.
He might as well be in China, she thought.
“So,” she said. “How was your day?”
For long time, there was no response. He turned the page of his magazine. Then, he said, “Good.”
He turned another page. “Yours?”
“Well, I taught my kids the names of the seasons. You should have seen them. They were so cute. One of them mispronounced autumn. He kept saying oo-tom.” She chuckled to herself, and looked across the table.
Steven still had his head buried in the magazine.
“Steven?” Katie said.
He looked up. “Hhhmmmm?”
She let out a breath. “Never mind.”
He returned to his reading.
After a while, he looked up again. Katie looked at him with anticipation. He pointed to her TV dinner. “Are you going to eat that apple cobbler?”
Katie’s face returned to blank. “No, go ahead. I’ve lost my appetite.” She got up and left the table. She turned back once, and saw Steven help himself to her dessert.
*
Later that night, Katie was lying in bed with her new fiancé. She stared at the ceiling, and then tossed and turned.
She turned around and looked at her future husband’s back. She put a hand to his back, and he shifted away from her.
She put a hand to his back again. “Sweetie, I want to be close.”
“Sorry, I need to sleep. I got work tomorrow,” he said in a muffled voice.
“But it’s our engagement night.”
“I need to work to provide for us. When we’re married, I want us to live more comfortably than this, and be in a financial situation to have kids.”
“I’m just asking for a little hug,” she protested.
He rolled over and she could see his gentle face in the moonlight. He reached over and stroked her cheek.
“You look so beautiful in moonlight,” he said. He hugged her quickly, but she felt no warmth.
After a while, he rolled back over.
She tried to spoon him by latching onto the curve of his back, but it was very awkward, as though she were forcing a piece of jigsaw puzzle onto the wrong piece.
Before long, she could hear snoring on his side. Giving up, she rolled over and stretched out on her side of the bed.
Katie tried to imagine sleeping like this every night, but was unable to.
“Brandon would have given me a better hug,” she mumbled.
She expected her fiancé to say something, but he simply muttered sleepily, and then shifted in his position.
A cold draft drifted in from the open window. She wrapped her own arms around herself. Then she shivered.
*
Chapter 2
Earlier that evening, Brandon Morrissey was at the florist in Toronto in preparation for his blind date.
“Give me three red roses, please,” he said to the florist, pointing to the roses behind the counter.
The florist, a tiny old Asian lady, smiled, and turned around, her back to him. “Three? You got hot date tonight?”
Brandon smiled. “Yeah, my friend set me up.”
“Roses, huh?” she asked, turning around and wrapping them in fancy paper. “She must be really special.”
“Oh yeah. A girl this fine I have to romance. You know, she’s a pediatric nurse.”
“A nurse, huh? Then you know she’s the caring type. Maybe even the marriage type.” Brandon leaned in a little closer. “Well, I don’t want to jinx it, but just between you and me, I’m 24. I’m ready to get married soon.”
The Asian lady’s smile broadened, revealing barely any teeth. “You a family man! That’s so nice to hear. Not a lot of young men these days are family men. $7.99, please.” The old lady handed the flowers to Brandon in exchange for a ten-dollar bill.
Brandon took the flowers and inhaled their scent. The pleasant fragrance made him relaxed. “These smell so good.”
“Your lady friend will love them. All girls like flowers.” The lady grinned, and handed him his change.
“I hope so. I haven’t had much luck with the ladies lately,” he admitted.
The grin disappeared from the shop owner’s face. “No luck? But you so tall, dark and hand
some. How tall are you?”
“No luck,” Brandon replied, his face reddening. He hated compliments like this. “I’m 6’1.”
“Wow, the world has changed,” said the old lady, her eyes and mouth opened wide.
“Good luck on your date,” she said, waving her bony arms.
“Thanks,” he said, turning around. Then, under his breath, “Luck will help a lot.”
*
At 6:45 that evening, Brandon sat in the dark restaurant in his Levi jeans and an ironed dress shirt. He put the bouquet of roses on the table, next to the candle. He had chosen to meet at Maxi’s, a trendy restaurant that specialized in east coast dining. With the candlelight and live music, it was also the most romantic restaurant that Patrick, a Torontonian and the friend who had set him up, could find.
Brandon looked into the mirror next to him, making sure he was presentable. His short brown hair was worn in a casual-style, a faux hawk that could never quite be tamed. His deep Irish green eyes were relaxed, but he hoped that they also conveyed interest. He didn’t want his date to think he was boring.
Then, he sniffed his shirt.
I smell fine, he noted with relief. Thank God for Calvin Klein cologne.
He looked around the dim restaurant. The other guests, families, elderly couples, and twenty-something couples, were all chatting. He snuck a look at the couple at the next table.
They were twenty-somethings, and were looking deeply into each other’s eyes. He saw the girl rubbing the guy’s knees under the table.
Brandon looked away and glanced at his watch. Anita was supposed to meet him at 7pm. It was now 7:15pm.
She’s just a little late, he told himself.
But when 7:15pm dragged into 7:30pm, she became a lot late.
Maybe she can’t find the restaurant, he thought. He went outside and stood under Maxi’s neon sign. He looked in both directions of the sidewalk, but there was no beautifully dressed girl in sight. All he saw was the wind battering the leaves of the trees, making them all flutter down in an array of green, red and orange.
He went back inside, and decided to leave.
The waitress came over to his table. “Will the rest of your party be joining you soon?”
He shook his head, hoping she couldn’t see his red cheeks in the semidarkness. “I don’t think so….”
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