Last-Minute Love (Year of the Chick series)

by Moondi, Romi

  It was official: I had never worked with a bigger moron. The one thing that shocked me most was...hadn’t anybody else even noticed? They must’ve, in which case...what the hell did it take for someone to get fired around here? Did he have to sexually harass me? Maybe I could accidentally fall into his tiny elf arms, and say that he was trying to molest me. At least I have options.

  I let out a big sigh at the state of my life, which for the moment seemed to be in both personal and professional shambles. I still had one salvation though, and it was hiding in the bottom of my drawer. I opened the drawer and dug my arm straight into the back, pushing past the bag of organic rice cakes, the box of waterproof bandages (weird combination), and finally pulling out a Cadbury’s Dairy Milk chocolate bar.

  Mmm...Europe does it best.

  I was already halfway down the slippery slope of poor productivity, so with a mouthful of chocolate I decided to ditch my work and surf the Internet.

  These days, surfing the Internet meant checking my book sales. To my relief, sales were still steady at thirty books a day, even though it’d been a whole month since my giveaway. That was at least one reason to smile, and a second later I had another, as my phone buzzed to life with an instant message: “Your ranking is holding steady I see. You’ve come so far this past year. I’m proud of you.”

  For a brief moment, the shit storm at work and the shit storm in my personal life faded away. He didn’t say much, that guy named James, but lately it seemed to come when I needed it most. It was enough to make me pack up my chocolate and get my lazy ass back to work.

  Didn’t I write a novel, after all? This is child’s play...

  ***

  A few hours later, with a coffee in my hand and spreadsheet print-outs scattered across my desk, I was definitely in the zone. Unfortunately my zone fell apart at the sound of my desk phone. I looked at the display and was surprised to see a call from “reception.”

  Did someone send me flowers that I need to pick up? Yeah right.

  “Hi Jane,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “I have someone from UPS who called the switchboard for you. Should I transfer the call?”

  Had someone really sent me flowers? Was it James? Because he was so damn proud of me? Maybe that’s why he’d sent that message, because he knew they’d be arriving today. Oh James, you clever chap!

  “For sure,” I said. “Transfer away!”

  The phone beeped for a few seconds, and when it stopped I heard someone coughing on the other end.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Hi Romi.”

  Without any warning, my heart became lodged in my throat.

  I said nothing.

  “Hello? Romi are you there?”

  I came to my senses which really made me wonder what the hell was happening. “Erik, why are you calling me at work? And now you’re a UPS guy?” I tried not to smile at the thought of him wearing those shorts.

  “I think I could do a good job at UPS.” His amused tone was one that I’d missed, but he and I were way past joking.

  “Seriously why would you call me at work? So you can make me upset when I have so much to do?” I was losing any semblance of workplace professionalism, as I looked around the office to make sure the coast was clear.

  “What was I supposed to do, Romi? Every time you see my name on your phone you ignore it; I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for almost three weeks!”

  I looked out the window at the snow falling gently on the cars below. “Three weeks...” I said. “Time flies doesn’t it? Three weeks have passed and there’s three more to go. Then you’re gone.” He didn’t say anything, so I decided to vent while I had the chance. “By the way, I can’t believe you would even suggest that we stay in touch once you go back home.” I thought of his recent e-mail and rolled my eyes. Maybe we can still be “friends”?! NO THANKS.

  “Maybe I just hoped there was a way I wouldn’t lose you,” he said quietly. “Or maybe I was in denial.”

  I closed my eyes. “Won’t it hurt more to drag this out?”

  “No matter what happens someone gets hurt. And I don’t even know what ‘this’ is.”

  My eyes shot open. “Neither do I! I met you once, ONCE! And it was thousands of hours ago…and I may never meet you again.” I did another scan of the office to make sure no one heard this emo display. I spotted a middle-aged guy from the Finance department using a nearby photocopier. Our eyes met and he awkwardly looked away. Damn, I guess my voice carries.

  “I think I have to go,” I whispered.

  “No wait! Just one more minute, please.”

  I let out a sigh. “What is it?”

  “You said we may never meet again, but what if there was another way to look at it?”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What kind of way?”

  “The way where we meet one more time before I leave, because if we don’t, I’ll regret it forever….and so will you.”

  I put my hand over my mouth to stop from getting all emotional, because a hand over a mouth was so damn good at preventing tears. Right.

  A heavy silence hung in the air until I finally spoke. “You want this? Even if it screws up everything for you?”

  “I want this. Because there’s just no way I could go on with my life, always wondering about that girl I could talk to so easily, and what would’ve happened if we’d connected one more time. What about you?”

  I suddenly frowned. “What ABOUT me? I know what happens to me. I have an amazing time with you...I want you even more…and then you leave me.”

  “Romi...”

  “Hold on, I’m not finished!”

  “Okay, sorry.”

  “I was also going to say that I realized something a while ago, I just hadn’t had a chance to apply it yet.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yes. It’s something I realized when I was talking to Cleopatra.”

  He laughed. “On one of your nerdy museum visits?”

  I finally smiled a little. “Yes. I realized that if you spend your whole life too afraid to ever take a risk, because you’re worried it’ll never work out or you’re worried of what other people will think, you’ll never actually end up living in the present. Ever.”

  “That has never felt truer in my life than now.”

  “Agreed. Which is why sometimes, you just have to roll yourself up in a rug---or an airplane in this case---and at least try to make the grand gesture.”

  “Okay then so here it is. Romi, in three weeks it’s my last weekend in New York.” He paused. “I want to spend it with you.”

  My heart was bursting with joy but I was so afraid. And there was still a little matter to settle first.

  “This is all very exciting, but there’s something we need to clear up.” I leaned my elbows on the print-outs, which had quickly become so unimportant to me.

  “Is it the New York thing?” he said. “Because believe me Romi, I would definitely come to Toronto instead of making you travel to see me. It’s just I have to wrap everything up in New York before I leave. But if you want...maybe I could visit Toronto for one day, although that wouldn’t be enough time...”

  “No it isn’t that! I’ll come see you, no problem. It’s something else.”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s just...well this all sounds great for you, like one last fling before you settle down, but that’s NOT what this will be.”

  “I know---”

  “Let me finish dammit!”

  “Sorry.”

  “I want you to know that if you think you can screw me then leave me, for the glory of living in the moment and getting laid by a Bollywood princess, you are out of your retarded little mind.”

  Erik laughed but I could barely hear him, with the clickety-clack of man-heels less than twenty feet away. There was a pause, after which the man-heels slid and clacked away in the opposite direction. Phew!

  “Seriously,” I went on, “my grand gesture does not extend beyond spending the wee
kend with you, because even in the one percent chance of you ever coming back, what reason would you have if you already saw the whole show?”

  He laughed again.

  “I SAID I’m serious, ‘cause hopping on a plane to see you is grand enough. Like prepare to get your world rocked. But if you only want sex, then go to Times Square and find a hooker.”

  “Times Square doesn’t have prostitutes anymore---”

  “Whatever! You know what I mean. This weekend would be more like a beautiful goodbye. And would I rather do that in person versus over the phone?” I paused. “Yes. So will I see you in three weeks?” I paused again. “Yes.”

  The other end of the phone was eerily silent. Had I gone too far?

  “Are you still there?” I asked, getting more and more nervous by the second.

  “Romi you are beyond scary.” He chuckled softly. “I’ll see you in three weeks.”

  We hung up a few moments later, as I wondered what the hell I was doing with my life…

  Chapter Eighteen

  A few days later after a grueling workout (which I planned on doing every day until my trip to see Erik), I was checking my latest book sales with a smile. I couldn’t figure out exactly how it had happened, but through better visibility across the site, I was experiencing big bursts in sales. Sometimes I was selling nearly eighty books a day. As expected, that meant a lot more positive reviews and some harsh ones as well, which was usually the case when reaching a mass audience.

  I did the calculations, and realized that my royalty checks from December to February would total up to three months of salary, which would all be in my bank account by May. Being the Indian math nerd that I was, I continued my projections and realized that even if my March and April sales were half as much, in August I’d have enough money saved (along with my regular savings and bonus) to survive six months in Paris. As long as I lived conservatively.

  By the time I’d return, I’d be a totally broke thirty-year-old with no savings to her name. Unless of course I released and published a sequel while I was there…it’s possible! There was no guarantee that a sequel would sell as many as my first, but that’s why I cherished my Facebook fans so much. Each new fan seemed excited for the sequel, and for that I was incredibly grateful.

  I closed my laptop with my smile still on, putting no thought into how I’d break the Paris news to my parents. It was all just a dream right now; maybe a “two years from now when I actually have balls” kind of dream. On the other hand, could I actually wait two years, without jumping from my cubicle window screaming profanities? It was debatable.

  For now I couldn’t sweat the details, I just knew I needed something to look forward to, in the likely event I lost Erik in a couple of weeks.

  Likely event or CERTAIN event? I’m screwed...

  ***

  With my network of three close friends now down to two, I was cruising through the mall with Eleanor and Amy, for some last-minute shopping before my trip to see Erik. As for Laura, neither she nor I had made any move to re-connect, and there was no way in hell I could tell her I was going to New York. Not when she’d already lost so much respect for me. It was upsetting, but for now I had to focus on the very-near future.

  The girls and I stopped in at a typical women’s clothing store, which supplied the usual paradox of business suits and nightclub wear. The club beats blared throughout the store, as unfazed moms watched their teenage daughters try on halter tops. Gotta love those easy-going white parents.

  “Nothing too fancy,” I told the girls, as we browsed a rack of strapless dresses. “Are you sure?” said Eleanor, as she held a black mini-dress against her perfect frame.

  I smirked. “Trust me we’re casual people. I already know we’re going to a hockey game...and the museum!” Eleanor seemed bored already, but I knew how to snap her out of it. “Plus there’s a ‘secret trip’ outside of Manhattan,” I said. “But he hasn’t even given me any clues!”

  Eleanor’s eyes lit up but it was Amy who grabbed me by the shoulders. “Is he taking you on a Caribbean getaway?”

  I laughed. “I’m only going to be there for three days. Well...three and a half.” I thought about my seven a.m. return flight, on the Monday once our weekend was over. I’d lied and said there weren’t any Sunday night flights, as a selfish way to spend the maximum amount of hours in his presence. This of course assumed that we’d have such a great time we would need all the hours we could get. That’s not a big assumption, is it?

  My eyes came back into focus and I realized Amy was gone. Seconds later she appeared out of nowhere holding two sexy tops. One was black and sequined, but the other was purple and low-cut. “Huh? Huh?” She moved her eyebrows up and down suggestively.

  “Hmm…” I said. “Well in case we go dancing, I guess.”

  The tops fit perfectly, so I paid and we started strolling around the mall again.

  Eleanor surprisingly stopped in her tracks, facing me now with her hands on her hips, in her usual domineering way. “What kind of bras are you taking with you?”

  I shrugged my shoulders. “The usual push-up ones?”

  Her eyes widened.

  What’s the big deal?

  “Okay,” she said. “But you know...this isn’t a first date situation...I mean...he’ll probably feel you up.”

  I was suddenly blushing. “Huh?”

  “Like remember when you were about to meet James last year?” she went on. “That was the first time you were meeting him...EVER. Plus he’s all conservative and British, so we knew he wouldn’t feel you up.”

  “But this is like a first date too!” I insisted. “And a last one.” I sighed. “I think that’s why he’s planning all these activities. So we don’t get distracted by…each other.”

  “But dude,” said Amy. “Is it like a first date though?” She stopped in front of me too now, her hands on her hips just like Eleanor.

  I was literally being cornered by girly wisdom in the mall, whilst standing in front of a “Buy and Sell Video Games” store. The incidence of twenty-something gaming nerds who probably wore those head-sets when they played online was high.

  “She’s right,” added Eleanor. “Your first date was probably on that boat nine months ago. THEN you talked endlessly…THEN you gave him song lyrics…THEN he made you a song…”

  “Stuff’s gonna happen this weekend Romes,” concluded Amy. “Deal with it.”

  I shook my head quickly. “No really, we already had that talk. This cow is not for sale so he doesn’t get any milk. Or something. I mean he already has a cow back home in the barn. Or a girl. Whatever. Trust me it’s not happening.” I nodded with conviction but only for a moment, as I started to have a thought. “Except…”

  “Except what?” Eleanor looked at my slyly.

  “I just…I mean after he’s gone, I don’t know when I’ll meet another guy. And I mean…how long can a drought last?” Years. Fucking YEARS. Well no-fucking years, to be exact.

  “You guys are totally gonna do it!” Amy elbowed me and laughed.

  “’Do it’?” I rolled my eyes. “I’ll be thirty in less than two months, so let’s not call it ‘do it.’ God I’m gonna be thirty…” I was veering off track by the second.

  Eleanor grabbed me by the shoulders. “Focus!”

  “Okay, but can we please have this talk AWAY from the video game store?”

  She nodded, and ushered me forward several steps, until we stopped in front of a conservative old ladies’ store. It was the kind of store that sold sweatshirts with screen-printed cottage scenes on the front. I will shop there one day.

  Eleanor cleared her throat and resumed. “My point is, even if you don’t have sex, that doesn’t mean stuff won’t happen. Which is why I asked what kind of bras you’ll be wearing. Because you, like me,” she scowled at her not-huge chest, “are fans of the padded technology.”

  I smiled. “I know right? Thank god for double push-up bras.”

  “Yes, they’re grea
t. But they’re not the kind of bras you wanna be wearing when you’re getting felt up.”

  I looked like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh my god, it’ll be like he’s groping foam…”

  “Just take it off right away,” suggested Amy. “That’s what I always do!”

  I looked at her amazed.

  “If the lights are off,” she went on, “he won’t even notice half your boobs are still in the bra. Then put it back on when he isn’t watching, and voila! They’re back!”

  “Okay…” I said.

  “But what if they’re in a cab or something?” said Eleanor. “She can’t go topless in a cab in winter.”

  “A cab?” said Amy. “What is she, a college girl?”

  I watched two wisdom-givers unravel right in front of me.

  “Guys,” I said. “Guys! Maybe we’re over-thinking this.”

  “Really, Little Miss Foam-Boobs?” said Eleanor.

  I gasped and started blushing again.

  “The point of this entire topic was to find a solution,” said Eleanor. “And the thing is, you don’t have to look huge to him, right? Like he doesn’t need to gawk at melons with a sexy shirt over top. So you just have to wear a push-up bra with like five-percent padding. Big boobs? No. Cleavage. YES. Now come on. We’re going to ‘Victoria’s Secret.’”

  Before I could even weigh in, I was now being steered in the direction of sexy-lady central.

  The only thing I’d learned from this entire exchange was that I envied all women with big knockers. I really did.

  ***

  With one week left until my weekend with Erik, my parents had been informed so I was home-free.

  Until a totally different topic came about.

  I was nearly done clearing the table when it happened.

  My mother started it off, by standing in front of me with her arms crossed.

  “Did you sell a million books yet?” she said.