Alistair leaned forward and said in a low voice, “It’s not the same as before. You don’t have to worry about all that. We’re both established, and I can take ca—”
“No!” My protest was louder than I intended. Alistair gave a slight flinch.
I leaned forward, my face contorting with emotion. Rage. Worry. Flooded with the reality of bitter inequality, the unfairness of it all.
“That’s not the point,” I hissed in anger. “The point is that I have no business getting pregnant now. Just like before. It’s not even an option. I don’t give a shit if you have enough money to trust fund the kid five generations deep.”
I glared at Alistair, daring him to continue, to argue. Why was it that I suffered every time we made a mistake? I had to be the one who got judged by the pharmacist and some surfer working at a Malibu diner.
Alistair always made out unscathed and untouched.
He was able to wash his hands of the “situation,” of me, of her, of us. And I was chin-deep in everything, every struggle, every tear, every agony, physically and emotionally. Years of acrid resentment threatened to burst out in this moment, at his words in response.
But Alistair’s expression softened and he reached over to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry.” My body twitched slightly in shock. “It was my responsibility and I should have been more careful.” He pulled his hand back and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head as all the anger dwindled down. The panic had slowly ebbed after I had taken the first dosage, and my micro-blowout had expelled all my rage. I couldn’t have a kid. I couldn’t get pregnant. Sure, I was better off than I had been back then, and logistically we could more than take care of a child. But to go through that again? While I was fighting to figure out the mystery of us?
I gave a deep sigh and ran my fingers through my hair.
“Okay. Yeah, so that’s why I left this morning. I couldn’t wait around for waffles or anything.”
Alistair nodded.
“What do we do now? Where do we go from here?” I asked.
“I want to start over. I want it to be clean.”
I opened my mouth to retort, but Alistair continued.
“I love you, Florence,” Alistair said. At the look I gave him, he added, “No, I don’t expect you to feel the same way yet, but I want us to be together. And I know you do too.”
I leaned forward with my elbows on the edge of the counter. I fussed with a napkin, tearing it into small strips.
“Did you request me for the article? Was this all a trap or something?”
“No.” Alistair shook his head. “It was just a coincidence. It was chance that brought us together.”
“What about the article?” I chewed my lip. “I can’t be seen dating you and then have the article come out. It’ll destroy all my credibility,” I continued, needing desperately for him to understand. “My job, my career—it’s important to me, Alistair. I won’t throw it away. I’ve worked too hard.”
Alistair nodded. “You won’t.”
“I mean, my career is one of the few things I have that are truly mine. That’s not tainted.” With you, my mind finished.
My home. My family. My heart. My body. My memories. My soul. It was all his, they all had traces and tracks and potent punches of Alistair. Until this profile, my job was the only thing that had fallen outside that, and I liked it that way.
Now, I had no idea where it stood. Perhaps everything I had was now his, and that prospect terrified me more than anything could, even pregnancy.
“I understand, Florence.”
I lowered my eyes; looking directly into his gaze was too difficult. “I don’t know if dating is a good idea.”
Alistair reached over and pulled my hands towards him. His fingers were strong and warm, and the feel of them sent tingles radiating down to my toes.
“Don’t think about it too much. I’d just like to spend more time with you, beyond you being forced to for your job.”
I smiled awkwardly. “You really suffered having me around these past two weeks, huh?”
Alistair grinned back at me. A real grin, a dimpled one that reached his eyes and produced those furrows that twisted my heart and soothed me into thinking everything was going to be okay. “You have no idea how badly.”
“Oh yeah?”
“That first day you wore that pencil skirt? I nearly lost it every time you bent over. Mercy mercy, Ms. Reynolds.”
I laughed, but Alistair’s face turned serious.
“I’ve been sleeping like shit. Last night was the first time in ages I was actually able to relax. And then I woke up and you were gone. I almost had a heart attack.”
I grimaced. “Sorry.”
“No, I’m sorry. Just … don’t do it again. I’ll take care of you, I promise.”
I nodded, my heart just south of believing him fully. He had made promises before. Reassurances. And look where those had gotten us. But I didn’t have it in me to bring it up. I didn’t want to ask and be faced with the truth, because there were secrets I had kept from him, reservations of the soul and promises I had broken as well. I preferred to keep those in the past.
But Alistair, in his sheer excitement, stood up and rounded the table. He plopped down next to me, pulled me into the crook of his arm and kissed my forehead.
It was such a painfully sweet gesture. My throat seized.
“I don’t want you to worry about anything anymore. It’s all going to be okay.”
“Okay,” I whispered.
Alistair smiled down at me. “Now, how about those waffles?”
Chapter 27
“You’re happy.”
I was shaken out of my thoughts and thrust back into the present. Tracy slunk into my office, posture low and fluid. She slipped into the seat across from me, a single eyebrow raised in question.
“Hm?” I asked with a tilt of my head.
Tracy adjusted her glasses, fingers popping the frame up and down from her temples. “You’re happy. You seem happy.” She pointed a finger at me.
I shrugged, averting my gaze. “Maybe I am happy. What? A girl can’t be happy?”
“Oh no. Not you, you’re never happy. Or specifically, in recent times, you’ve been every emotion but happy.”
“I can be happy.” I smiled. “See? Happy. Familiar look on me, I’m sure.”
Tracy narrowed her eyes until they took on feline-like slits.
“Something happened in California. Something big.”
“Weather was nice,” I said banally. “You should go sometime.”
“Excess sun makes me suspicious. Just like you smiling.” Her attention swept up and down my form. “Excessively. Suspiciously.”
“Aren’t you always telling me to lighten up?”
“Lighten up? You’re practically in the stratosphere. Spill it.”
I shrugged. “California was nice.”
“Alistair was nice?”
I paused and couldn’t stop the slow smile that spread across my face. “Real nice.”
Tracy popped a grin, satisfied this conversation was going somewhere. “Oh yeah? How nice? Nice how many times?”
I rubbed the tip of my nose, hiding my now-cheek-to-cheek grin behind my slack hand. “Maybe three-times-a-night nice.”
Tracy slammed her palm facedown onto my desk, rattling the pens in my stationery container. “You little slut! How was it?”
I laughed. It had been two days since we had all flown back from Los Angeles, this time with my seat set squarely next to Alistair’s. Train had sat with Gertrude, who was stony-faced and ignoring a bewildered Thomas, who himself was cast aside, alone in the back aisle. I wanted to ask what had happened of their day off, but I’m sure I would have received an equally welcoming remark from Gertrude.
So I let it lie, and the flight back was without incident. Outside of the fact that I was willingly sitting next to Alistair and not mutinous and angry. I was also trying no
t to think about all of it too much, trying not to mask our relationship or fight the pathetic, useless fight to appear neutral. Alistair didn’t try to hold my hand or engage in anything obvious, but I allowed myself to smile and laugh in conversation.
I was allowed, wasn’t I? I could flirt and, yes, maybe be happy.
“Damn, finally!” Tracy collapsed back into her seat, arms askew and legs splayed. She swept the back of a hand across her forehead, grinning at me. “Feels good? Emotional constipation over? Took that sexual laxative, didn’t you?”
I scrunched my expression tight. “Not when you put it that way.”
Tracy twirled a finger in the air. “So? Get on with it, tell me what’s up.”
I shrugged. “I … just …” I didn’t know where or how to start. Things had changed so drastically in the last two weeks, I could hardly catch my breath about it all. I was still reeling from the California trip and all that had transpired there.
“Most important question: Are you happy?”
“Yeah, I’m happy.” I smiled. “I’m really happy.”
Tracy gave me such a completely, sincerely solemn nod that I almost burst out in laughter. “Then that’s all that matters.”
“We … we just talked in California. Well, he kind of forced my hand. I was supposed to stay in a hotel, but he had me room in his house. I ran into him one night and we talked. He was really upfront and honest, and I just couldn’t lie to myself anymore.”
“Ran into him with your naughty bits?” Tracy waggled her eyebrows.
I exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Not the first few times, no.” Then I shrugged before continuing, “I suppose the tension just reached critical mass. We couldn’t handle being so close to each other anymore. When I called you I was at the edge of losing it all. He felt the same way.”
“And that’s all she wrote?”
“That’s all she wrote. I guess we’re just trying. I’m working really hard not to obsess about what I’m going to tell Gordon.”
Tracy scoffed. “Who cares about Gordon? You did the article, it’s going to be amazing, he should be so lucky. Are you done writing it yet?”
I gestured towards my computer screen. “Finishing up the article now. Have a couple more questions to ask him, but I think it’s done. I could turn it in by early next week. Gordon gave me four weeks, but the timing worked out and I got good stuff the first week and then in California.”
“Ahhh! This is so exciting!” Tracy kicked her feet and squealed. “Finish the article and then you guys can move on! Happily ever after and all that good stuff!” She clapped and beamed at me.
“We’ll see.” I returned her an indulgent smile. I didn’t want to put too much stock in our relationship 2.0. I had thrown myself headfirst into the first iteration and I had gotten completely brutalized. This time around I wanted to be more even, more practical, to enjoy the moment and not think about the future.
I cared for Alistair, I felt for Alistair—that much was true. How much, how fervently and how real it was and not situational loneliness or just our lives smashed together in tune with nostalgic longing—that, I supposed time would reveal. I just had to give it opportunity, to stop overanalyzing and not immediately revert to the worst-case scenario in life.
I could manage this. It could work out.
I now gestured towards Tracy.
“So you’re feeling better? Over your cold?”
“Yep, yep, Nicolas brought me some soup and meds. Unfortunately, I was not at my most seductive when he arrived.” She pouted her lips and made loud kissing noises.
“Gross. And thank God for that.”
There was a soft knock on the door, and after Tracy’s holler of “Enter!” our front-desk secretary popped her head in.
“Hey, Florence. Tracy.” Tracy gave her an enthusiastic wave. “Florence, something came for you.”
I pushed myself out of my chair. “What is it?”
At my words, the secretary elbowed open the door and revealed a gigantic spray of flowers in an ornate arrangement flowing from a grand crystal vase.
“These came for you,” the secretary said with a grin. She marched in, her petite figure nearly obscured by the botanical wonder of Midtown.
“Did you walk that through the entire newsroom?” My heart jumped with anxiety. People would wonder who the flowers were for, who they were from. It wouldn’t take much more than a couple of coworkers with a taste for gossip and conjecture to make a connection.
The secretary set it on my desk so that both her and Tracy’s faces were blocked. “I took the side edge, near Payroll, since the desks were kind of empty. You know how they like their afternoon teatimes.”
“Oh. Okay. Thanks for that.” I stood there dumbly, struggling to find words to explain or justify this sudden appearance.
“No card?” I asked.
“No card.” The secretary left the last syllable dangling, waiting for me to supply a clue as to who it was from.
I examined the arrangement of tulips and roses.
“Know who they’re from?”
“Me!” Tracy announced before I could answer, standing up suddenly and launching herself into my arms. She hugged me tight. “Happy birthday, best friend!”
The secretary was surprised. “It’s your birthday?”
I nodded hesitantly, but Tracy cut in. “I wanted to celebrate her being back and being here with us.”
“These flowers must have cost a fortune.” The vase alone was pushing the concept of excess.
Tracy made a huffing noise. “I can afford flowers for my dearest friend! Besides, I got a good deal.”
“Oh … okay …” The secretary wasn’t totally convinced, but after a quick goodbye, she left. Tracy scurried after her, shuttering the door and then whirling around to face me.
“Liked my diversion?”
“Top-quality stuff. You know, my birthday isn’t until December.”
“They don’t know that.”
“My employment record knows that.”
Tracy knocked my facts out of the air with a casual swipe of a palm. “Oh, who cares? That’ll throw them off the scent for a hot second.” Tracy took a step back, crossed her eyes, and studied the flowers with a tilted glance. “Alistair flowers?”
I fingered a rose petal, a gorgeously robust pink bloom. “For sure.”
“How do you know?”
“Because … because of tulips.”
“Is that your flower? Like your teenage love song? Knowing you, it’d be some totally dated Elvis song or something.”
“We didn’t have a song. There’s a city near us that has a tulip festival every year, so I guess there’s some significance.”
Tracy snorted a laugh. “Tulip festival? You Midwesterners are so lucky. In Florida, all we had were hurricane festivals.”
I was quiet, running my hands softly over the flowers. The tulips here were fluorescent in shade, crisp and proud in their posture. They weren’t anything like the ones from Holland.
Tracy glanced at me askance. “Are you freaking out? Don’t freak out. The dude gave you flowers, we should all be as lucky.”
“I’m not freaking out.” My voice was convincing enough.
“You positive? You sure look like you’re freaking out.”
“I’m trying to be more calm about this stuff. This … normal relationship stuff. If we continue dating, people are going to find out sooner or later.”
“So … focus on the later, right?”
“Just don’t want to be pressured into this too quickly.”
“Right, right, I got you. Okay, well, call him! Say thank you!”
So much for lack of pressure. “Uh. I’m seeing him later on tonight. I’m supposed to go to his offices for a last-minute interview.”
“Boring! Call him to say thanks now!”
Tracy bustled about my desk, digging through my purse for my phone, talking a mile a minute. “To do the girlfriend thing, you want to thank the boyfriend for
doing the boyfriend thing.”
“Are we boyfriend and girlfriend?” Labels seemed so perfunctory at this point. He was Alistair, that was it.
“Well, you sure as hell aren’t anything less than! Call the poor guy. He’s probably waiting to make sure it got here.”
She thrust my phone into my resistant hands. “I’d dial the freaking number myself if I knew your unlock code. Do it before I call him myself.”
“You just want to be the fly on the wall for this conversation.”
“And you’d be foolish to think of me as anything less than nosy.” She jabbed the phone with her finger. “Now dial!”
I did as asked and dutifully pulled Alistair’s number up as Tracy hovered around me, topping on how much enthusiasm was possible for one person.
The phone rang twice, and then—“Blair.” His tone was curt and all-business. He must have not seen my number on his phone.
“Excuse me, I’d like to speak to the manager of this establishment. I have some complaints to file.”
Alistair chuckled and there was a low sound of a chair creaking in the background. He must be leaning back, grinning. “I’ll make sure to pass on the sentiments. How can I help you, ma’am?”
“Someone sent me flowers.”
“Someone did? Well, that is unacceptable. I should kick his ass.”
Tracy gesticulated wildly, her arms waggling in the air. She was mouthing long strings of sentences to me, but I couldn’t understand, so I turned my back towards her and walked towards my narrow window. The view was nothing at all Alistair-worthy, but it peeked over over a small alley where some more sentimental residents had set up a long line of potted plants.
“So you got them okay?”
I peeked at the flowers over my shoulders. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”
“You’re beautiful.”
Despite myself, I blushed. My chest constricted at those words. When had Alistair learned to talk like that?
The Beginning of Always Page 39