by S. L. Scott
He stirs, his arm searching into the empty space beside him. Watching him as he shifts to look, I whisper, "Oh, Chase. What have we done?" Just as he starts to follow the sound of his name, I'm gone.
Grabbing a cab, I make a stop at my apartment down the street to shower and change clothes. With only fifteen minutes to spare, I’m back out the door with no time to dwell on mistakes and memories that I’ve made. I grab my suitcase and walk to the door. With keys in hand, I study the apartment for a second then leave, firm that I’ve made the right choice.
As I settle into the back of another cab, I slump down, closing my eyes. Last night started off innocently enough…
"C’mon, Lydia. We're gonna be late!" Chase shouts from the kitchen. He believes the world will come crashing down if we’re ever late to anything.
"What's new?" I shout back then laugh to myself. He gets so anxious if we’re not on time, and I love to rile him up. I start to twist my dark brown hair up in the back, but at the last minute decide to leave it down, knowing Chase likes it best that way.
"Guess they’ll have to wait since you’re the guest of honor," he says, standing in the doorway to my bedroom. "Can I come in?"
I glance over at him "Aren’t we polite? You don’t have to ask, and you know that. Come in."
"Here." He hands me a glass of champagne. "You look incredible, you know."
"Shut it! I'm trying not to cry tonight."
"Why would me saying you look incredible make you cry?" He taps his glass against mine.
I stop, really taking in the moment, a lump forming in my throat. Looking down at my glass, I watch the bubbles fizz toward the top and burst. When my gaze lands back on him, and I can tell he feels the weight of tonight as much as I do.
"Come here." He sets his glass down on the bathroom counter. His right arm swings out and pulls me to him by the waist. Comfort and security. This feels right. He always feels right.
"Am I making the right—"
He cuts me off, not letting me back out of pursuing my dream. "You have to do this. It's why you've worked so hard the last two years."
"I need you—"
"I'll visit. You'll visit. Whenever we can, okay?"
I nod my head against his chest, hoping this is true.
My memory is interrupted by the taxi coming to a jolting stop at the airport. I pay my fare, and get left curbside with my large suitcase. Standing there, I look around. San Francisco International Airport doesn’t have the warmth of the city. It feels different. I feel different, at a loss, and feeling a little lost. Raising my chin up, I grab the handle of my suitcase and go inside, leaving this life behind.
After landing, I pull my bag off the luggage belt then stand in line for a taxi. I turn my phone back on, and look up the address again. I haven’t memorized it yet.
I duck into the back of a taxi and give the driver the address, my new address. Scrolling through texts, emails, and finally the missed calls, I decide to deal with the least invasive one first—the text messages.
There are four. I mentally brace myself for the worst, knowing I shouldn’t have snuck out like I did, but shame took over, and then logic. I left not wanting to face the consequences of my drunken actions—too embarrassed by my behavior.
Why did you leave so early? No goodbye? C.
Where are you? We need to talk before you leave town. I’ll drive you to the airport. C.
Lydia, please call me before you leave San Francisco. Please. C.
I look out the window as pain swells in my chest. I should've at least said goodbye. I didn't have time, I justify to myself, though it doesn't make me feel any better.
I read the last one.
Goodbye. C.
Damn! I throw my phone back into my purse, ignoring what I know I shouldn't.
"We're here," the cabbie says, his arm draped over the front seat, looking at me in the rearview mirror.
"Oh, okay," I respond, paying. I get out of the car and stand in front of the shiny, mirrored Manhattan high-rise building that towers above me. “My new home.”
Chapter Two
Almost One Year Later
"So, you're going back to San Fran?" Mitch asks, surprised by my announcement.
I cringe from the nickname he calls the city I love. No well respecting San Franciscan would ever call it San Fran. "Yes," I answer then drink the last of my martini, tilting the glass up to make sure I get every last drop.
"How long will you be gone?"
"What is this, Mitch? The inquisition?" My tone is sharp, leaving no room for niceties as I study his short, dark hair. He gets a haircut every other Tuesday at a barber near his office. He’s a trader by day, my boyfriend by night. We’ve dated for four months. I’m not in love, but I wish I was because it seems like life would be easier that way.
"Whoa!" Mitch puts his arms in front of him in surrender. "I didn't know I wasn't allowed to ask you personal questions or be concerned about you. Fuck, Lydia, you sure know how—"
"I'm sorry," I say, turning to him on the barstool. "I'm just so stressed, and this trip isn't wanted on my part.” I rub my temples with my fingertips. “I've been guilted into it by my parents. My mom's afraid to fly, and it's the holidays. I also have some unfinished business I need to take care of." I whisper the last part, hoping to slip that in without any questions.
He takes my hands in his, and says, "Listen, you've been working eighty hour weeks. You're stressed out. I get it, so stay. I want you to stay with me. Screw San Francisco. It's your first holiday living in New York. Spend it with me. We'll stay in the city, and just chill. No airports, no crazy shopping, no chaos. Heck, we don't even have to exchange presents if you don't want. Just you, me, and a bottle of Grey Goose on Christmas. Sounds pretty fucking perfect, if you ask me."
"Yeah, it does," I say, exhaling. I’m not ready to go home, to see my friends or Chase, so this new option comes as a huge relief.
"So, you’ll stay?"
I respond instantly knowing I'm not ready to face my past. "Yes."
Christmas Eve
I have already ordered the Chinese food from the place around the corner, and just opened the wine when my phone chirps, signaling a text. "If you're late again, Mitch, I'm gonna kick your ass," I mumble, reaching for the phone. He’s late more than he’s on time. It drives me nuts, and has lead to more than a few fights. I guess some of Chase rubbed off on me.
When I slide the display on the phone open, I read: Just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas. I still miss you every day. C.
I gulp as memories of the party the night before I left invade my thoughts.
"To the funniest, smartest, and prettiest girl I know. May all her dreams come true. To Lydia," Chase says, toasting to the gathering of our friends at our favorite restaurant. "New York won't know what hit 'em."
We laugh, and all drink to that as I look around at my friends. Each of them hold a place in my heart filled with good memories, and my chest aches knowing I won’t get to see them. I won’t be having my Wednesday morning coffee with Caris down at the corner shop anymore. No more midnight runs to the Thai place near Michelle’s house for the best spring rolls in the city. Heather won’t be able to stop by on her way home from work with a bottle of wine and stories of her crazy boss when I move away. Jack, Liam, and Mark—boyfriends to my besties and besties to my boyfr… I stop myself from finishing that thought. Chase is… Chase is… he’s my Chase.
I tip my glass in his direction at the other end of the table, and mouth, "Thank you." His dark blue eyes sparkle tonight. He looks happy. I want to say it's the alcohol, but something deep down inside tells me that isn't the only reason. Jack’s been talking to him, and out of politeness, Chase turns to respond, breaking our connection.
I rest my chin on my hand, my elbow on the table, and attempt to give my full attention to Caris, who is describing, leaving no minute detail out, her upcoming nuptials. Caris and Jack are moving in together, but I can't focus enough to enjoy her happi
ness. My gaze keeps landing back on the other end of the table—on Chase.
"So, are you just dying? New York is going to be insane. I'm so jealous!"
I hear Caris speaking, but I'm too involved in another conversation—a silent one taking place between me and Chase. He tilts his head, asking me without words, ‘What's up?’
A small smile crosses my mouth, and I shake my head while looking down at my hands in my lap. When I look back up, he's walking toward me. "Excuse us for a moment,” Chase says to the group. He pulls my chair out then takes my hand, pulling me up. With his lips barely gracing my ear, he whispers, "Let's go to the bar."
I don't need to verbally respond, my body is already in motion, my hand in his as he leads us out of the small party room.
"Two Crown and Cokes, please." He holds two fingers in the air to the bartender down the way. Leaning his elbow on the bar, he turns to me—his playful smile ever present. I’ve dubbed it his sexy smirk. "How’re you holding up in there?"
"I'm having fun. I think it's really nice you did all this for me." I slide onto a barstool, and spin to face him, my knees touching his inner thighs. Neither of us is uncomfortable by the closeness. "I have to admit that I'm not feeling very entertaining tonight, though."
"You don't have to be ‘on’ with me. You know that. But I meant every word of the toast."
"You’ve always been a good friend to me."
"Just because you'll be in New York doesn't mean this ends." He runs his hand through his already messy hair, looking around the bar then back at me as if he's going to share a secret. "I'm gonna mis—"
"I know. I'll miss you, too," I say, feeling the exact same way, but not wanting to talk about it. I’ll get upset, and I don’t want to be upset my last night here.
"It's kind of the end of an era, and if you have a few minutes, there's some stuff I want to talk—"
"Don't. It will just make it harder on both of us."
The drinks are set down on the bar, breaking the tension that was thickening around us. He pays the tab and smiles, knowing that I can't handle goodbyes. We take our drinks, clinking them together and sip. Our eyes stay locked as Chase’s hand rubs up and down my hip several times before he stops and lightly squeezes.
I look away, feeling my heart speed up and my breathing deepen.
"Lydia, I—"
"Chase, we—"
"There you are," Caris interrupts.
Chase’s hand drops to his side, and he takes another sip, or maybe it’s a gulp.
"It’s just like you two to sneak off and leave us all in there while you have a private party out here. Lydia, dessert just arrived, and then we're heading to the club. Come on," Caris says, dragging me by the hand with her. I glance back at Chase who turns towards the bar, seeming to settle in.
That image of Chase is still burned in my mind so clearly, even after a year. His text has immobilized me as tears fill my eyes. I miss him so much, but I ruined us. We can't go back to what we had, and there would be no point anyway. I'm in New York. He's in San Francisco. It's pointless.
A tear hits my phone screen just as it fades to black.
~New Year's Eve~
"Lydia! Ooooh, Lydia!" Mitch bellows down the long hallway.
We jump in excitement. He’s found us.
"You better get out there," Ally says, and starts giggling.
"I haven't even used the toilet yet," I laugh, leaning against the counter, waiting my turn.
A loud knock at the door makes both of us jump then squeal with excitement.
"Found you!" Mitch says, knocking the secret knock on the door.
I can hear the happiness in his tone. I’m happy, too. I’m also drunk and feeling giddy. Slowly, I open the door against Ally’s playful protests.
Mitch pushes the door open wide, and says, "Gotcha." He grabs me around the waist and kisses me hard.
While clearing my throat, I signal to the right, alerting him to our present company.
As his lips leave mine, he sees Ally standing there with her arms crossed. She raises her hands up, and says, "As much as I love you two, I'm not into the voyeur thing."
We laugh as Mitch holds the door open, a silent invitation for her to leave. He closes the door then locks it after she leaves. Pressing his erection against my middle, he kisses my neck. "I've missed you." His warm breath covers my neck as he nips a wet path up toward my ear.
"Not here. Later," I whisper, wanting privacy from the party, but to continue the celebration with our friends. I take his hand and pull him back into the living room.
Checking his watch, he says, "It's almost midnight. I'll hurry and get us drinks."
He walks away backwards, smiling and blowing me kisses. Goofball!
My phone buzzes in my purse. I unclasp it, and pull out the phone to check my messages. I figure it's my mom because one of our traditions is to touch base at midnight on New Year's Eve.
"Ten… Nine… Eight…" I hear everyone around me chanting. I look down at the message as I hear, "Seven… Six… Five…"
It's been a year today. You've not contacted me or replied. Your message has finally been received loud and clear. I won't bother you again. You've moved on. It's time I do, too. I love you. Goodbye. C.
"Happy New Year, Lydia." Mitch leans down to kiss me, but I turn away from him, wiping the tears that came on with the sudden heavy emotions of my heart. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks. I swallow hard, needing to calm myself. "Lydia? You okay?"
I turn back around, hiding my face against his chest. "Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, my voice cracking from the pain I feel.
"No, you're not. Lyd, talk to—" He sees my phone, and snatches it out of my hand.
"Give that back!"
"No. I want to know what upset you. You were fine before you looked at your phone."
I jump up and try to get it, but he holds it high above his head. He angles the screen to face him, so he can read it, and my heart sinks knowing he'll be hurt.
"Mitch, I'm fucking serious. Give me my phone back right now!"
It’s clear the moment the text registers in his mind. He lowers his arm, and hands the phone back to me. He looks at me confused as if I'm a stranger. The crowd is celebrating all around us, and yet, it feels eerily quiet and cold where I stand.
Reaching out, I rub his arm, trying to comfort him. "Mitch?"
"Don't."
I step forward, wanting a chance to explain something that I won’t be able to without hurting him, but he steps back. "Don't, Lydia." A couple who is kissing bumps into him, and it's like he's been knocked into the reality of the situation. He leans forward, his eyes narrowed at me in offense. "I've put up with these messages from this C person for…" he says, punctuating his words with a humorless laugh, "… The entire five months we've been together. Together?" He looks to me as if he's trying to figure out if the word defines us properly. "We've never really been together, you and me. You've kept a wall up the entire time. You've kept your secrets hidden and your feelings closely guarded…" He turns, and walks away not even bothering to finish his sentence.
Hurrying after him, I reach forward to grab a hold of his sleeve that eludes me as he weaves his way through the partygoers. "Mitch!" I call, quickening my pace. "Mitch!" I finally catch him at the elevator outside the apartment. "Mitch, I can explain—"
"I can read, Lydia. This guy says he loves you—"
"He also said goodbye."
"So, like this is something that's been going on while we've been toget—dating?" He crosses his arms, protectively, and looks up at the ceiling. He appears to be struggling with his emotions and it’s all because of me.
"No, you read it. I haven't been in contact with him. Mitch, please, it's nothing."
"It's? Don't you mean he's nothing?" He looks at me with glassy eyes.
"I will do anything to convince you that I care about you, but—"
"But you can't say he's nothing, because he is something to you. He's been in there," he says,
tapping me on the chest, "the whole time, hasn't he?" He glances quickly to the elevator as it dings and the doors open. "Lydia, I care about you. You know I… that I love you, but I won't stand in line for your affections only to come in second place." He steps onto the elevator, and holds the door open. "You really need to figure your shit out. Your life is consumed with work and guilt. You're the one who loses in the end." He leans back against the far wall of the elevator, and, as the doors close, he says, "Goodbye."
As I watch the steel doors closing, ending our relationship, I realize he’s right. We never had much of a relationship because I never let him into my heart. There just wasn’t enough room in there to hold onto all the memories I shared with Chase, and add new experiences with Mitch. I lean my back against the wall and slowly slide down until I’m sitting. Maybe it’s just as I know it to be. Seems so easy to see when I acknowledge that my feelings weren’t deepening for Mitch.
I miss Chase. I miss hanging out together and the way he was always there for me. I miss my old life, but I ruined that when I slept with him. He might forgive me for instigating us falling into bed, but he won’t forget. Chase will never look at me the same. Tears fill my eyes because I remember just how good life was with him in it.
Chapter Three
True to his word, Chase doesn't contact me again. Another year passes while I’m immersed in meetings, climbing the corporate ladder, and long hours. I still find myself thinking about him all the time, but it's getting easier to wash away the memories and regrets from our night of demise. Embarrassment colors my face, remembering how I took our friendship and tainted it with jealously. I had never been the jealous type. We were friends, nothing more. That last night, maybe it was because I’d mixed my liquors all night, or maybe it was the impending separation that weighed on my heart more than I let on, but my emotions were all over the place.
Seeing Chase with another girl on my last night in San Francisco just made all my fears surface and bubble over. I wanted all of his attention, and if I had been honest with myself back then, I really wanted all of him.