by Sarah Jio
“I’m sorry, I interrupt?”
With the edge of her wrist, she quickly wipes away the tear on her cheek.
“Are you OK?” Luca asks, walking toward her. His eyes are big and filled with concern. She notices, for the first time, a scar beneath his right eye.
“Yes,” she says quickly. “I’m fine.”
“Sit down,” he says.
She nods.
“Why you cry?”
Another tear falls onto her cheek, and this time Mary doesn’t try to conceal it. “My husband isn’t coming home.”
Luca nods as if he understands, but he doesn’t. This world is too impossible for him to make sense of. Here is a woman, a beautiful woman, and her husband has let go of her hand, just as his fiancée let go of his four years ago. She walked into the café in that pale blue dress, told him about the other man, and broke his heart so badly, it still aches.
He doesn’t say anything. There are no words that will mend her, and besides, even if there were, he knows he could not string them together into a sentence that would be well understood, much less meaningful to her. So he sits beside her on the couch as the clock on the wall ticks, and he offers her his only gift: his presence. They will go over kitchen construction plans another time.
“I’m sorry,” Mary says, standing up quickly. “You must think I’m a lunatic.”
“A lunatic?” he says.
She smiles. “It means . . . a crazy person.”
Luca grins. “You are not crazy, no.”
“Well,” she says, reaching for a tissue from the box on the side table. “Maybe you can come back tomorrow. I’ll have my act together then.”
“Of course,” he says. “Tomorrow.”
The word echoes in Mary’s ears long after Luca has left. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. Tomorrow. The problem is, she heard the tone in Eli’s voice on the phone—the doubt, the hesitation. And while Mary’s tomorrows once looked bright, she now has to squint through the darkness to see.
Chapter 8
February 12, 2013
Dark, wet clouds hover low over Pike Place Market, and I feel mist on my face as I walk to the flower shop. I stop in to see Elaine and grab a chocolate croissant on the way.
“Hi, honey,” she says from behind the counter. Her eyes look more tired than usual. Dark shadows lie beneath. And she’s lost weight, at least five pounds. I wonder if she’s been sick.
“Eat something,” I say with a grin. “Nobody likes a skinny baker.”
Elaine forces a smile and readjusts her ponytail. “I haven’t had much of an appetite these days,” she says, pausing for a long moment before looking at me again. Then she shakes her head. “Actually, there’s something I’d like to talk about.” She indicates a corner table. “Can you sit down for a sec?”
“Of course,” I say. She grabs two chocolate croissants, and I follow her past pink and red heart decorations. I remember Valentine’s Day is in two days.
We sit down, and Elaine lets out a sigh. “I think I’ve been hibernating for a really long time.”
“What do you mean, hibernating?” I ask.
“I mean . . . ,” she says, pausing. “Sometimes we can just go through the motions in life. We pick up the dry cleaning and go to our kids’ soccer games and put a new box of tissue on the bedside table. We do it all again and again.” A tear falls from her eye. “Jane, I’ve been doing this for so long. I’ve been so numb for so long. Living a seemingly happy life, but not being truly present in it. Not feeling any of it. Hibernating. And then”—she pauses to wipe a tear away—“something woke me up. And, Jane, I’m scared.”
I reach for her hand under the table and squeeze it tightly. “Elaine, you can talk to me about this. Just let it out.”
She nods, just as Matthew walks in. “Hey, you two,” he chirps. “Jane, I’m about to come over to see you.” He wraps his arms around Elaine’s shoulders and gives her a squeeze. “Got to order this beautiful wife of mine her yearly two dozen roses.”
Elaine forces a smile. I can tell that whatever she was about to tell me hasn’t hit Matthew’s radar.
“Here’s the thing, Jane,” he says, giving Elaine a quick shoulder rub. “When you’ve been married as long as we have, there’s not much point in the element of surprise.”
I smile, but I can see fresh tears in Elaine’s eyes.
“I should get back,” she says, composing herself. “We’re slammed with Valentine’s Day prep.”
We both look up when the door to the bakery opens and a familiar face appears. “Mary,” I say, waving.
“Oh, hi,” she says, grinning.
“You remember my friend Elaine and her husband, Matthew, right?”
“Of course,” Mary says. “And, Elaine, I have to tell you, I’ve developed quite a craving for your black-bottom cupcakes.”
Elaine smiles. “It’s funny you should say that. I was just talking to a woman this morning who is thirty-nine weeks pregnant, and she says she’s eaten one every day for the entirety of her third trimester. And she’s as thin as a rail; go figure.”
Mary looks at me, then back at Elaine, and smiles knowingly.
“Wait,” I say. “Mary, you’re not . . .”
“Pregnant?” She is radiant, and yet there’s a flicker of sadness in her eyes too. “No. Impossible. But Eli’s coming for a quick visit next month, so it’s possible.”
Elaine walks behind the counter and returns with a small box of cupcakes. “For good luck,” she says. “Come back anytime. We’ll keep that future baby adequately fed on butter and sugar.”
Mary grins as she stands to leave. “Thank you.”
“Jane,” Elaine says, retying her apron strings. “Let’s catch up later.”
“Sure,” I say, catching her eye. I remember the connection I saw between her and Charles, the new neighbor who came over on Christmas Day.
Matthew watches as his wife slips back behind the counter, then turns to me. “Mind if I follow you back to the shop and get those flowers ordered for Elaine?”
“Of course,” I say, and we walk together to the door. The air outside is crisp, and the market is bustling. I confide in Matthew about my fears about Eli, how he hasn’t been home in months.
He frowns. “I just don’t get how a person can be that selfish, how someone could throw away such a beautiful life in search of greener pastures.”
In that moment I think of Charles. I think of Elaine’s hesitation this morning. Matthew is like a man standing on a hill on a calm, sunny day, unaware of the dark storm cloud creeping up behind him. I feel a pang of sadness for him. The atmosphere is changing, and he isn’t prepared for a new environment.
Back at the flower shop, I help him with his usual order of roses. “Do you think she’s happy?” he asks. His face is still, thoughtful. There’s concern in his eyes.
“Elaine, you mean?”
He nods and scratches his head a little nervously. “She’s just seemed a little off lately,” he says. “I don’t know, distant.” He sighs. “You know what my biggest fear is, Jane?”
I shake my head. “What?”
“It’s been my fear since we met, that crazy night in Belltown a thousand years ago. I saw her from across the room, and, I swear, the earth shifted on its axis. The atmospheric pressure changed. I had no idea why she even walked up to me. I have no idea why she chose me. I’ve never known. But she did, and it has been the greatest gift of my life. This beautiful, amazing woman chose me. And I’ll always be living in fear that one day she’ll wise up and realize that she made a huge mistake.”
“Oh, Matthew,” I say, placing my hand on his shoulder. “That’s not true.” But when I say the words, I feel a quiver deep inside, because what I’m about to say may not be true. “Elaine loves you. Very much.”
He nods and forces a smile. “Thanks,” he says
. “Well, listen to me going on and on. Must be something about florists.”
I grin. “Yes, we do have a way of getting people to share.” I point to the cards beside the register. “Don’t forget the card.”
He selects one from the rack and scrawls out a few words, then signs his name. He nods to himself and tucks the card into the envelope. “I don’t deserve her. I’ve always known it. I married way out of my league.”
Not many would agree with Matthew’s self-deprecating assessment. After all, he’s handsome, successful, and kind—all desirable qualities in a husband. And yet, he’s always taken a second seat to Elaine. Her personality is bigger, her wit sharper, her confidence bolder.
“That’s not at all true,” I say, trying to reassure him.
He runs his finger along the edge of the envelope, looking lost in thought for a long moment. “Well, every day I get to wake up with my dream girl. It’s the greatest joy of my life.”
I smile. “That’s beautiful. Did you write that in the card?”
He shakes his head. “No, I just wrote ‘Happy Valentine’s Day.’”
We both look up as Lo walks into the shop carrying two buckets of fresh greenery. Matthew says good-bye, and once the door’s closed, Lo asks, “Isn’t he your friend Elaine’s husband?”
“Yeah,” I say, watching him disappear into the market beyond the windows. “Something’s not quite right about those two right now, but I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Keep an eye on them,” she says. “It could be something for that ancient book of yours. Speaking of, have you thought much more about what that French woman, Colette, told you?”
“I have,” I say. “In fact, her words play on continuous loop in my mind.”
Lo nods approvingly.
“But,” I continue, “I did something really stupid on New Year’s Eve.”
She grins. “Oh did you, now?”
I roll my eyes. “No, that’s not what I mean. There was this man, this writer. I was really tipsy, and we got to talking about love. He had this compelling quality that made me want to tell the truth, and I just let it spill right out, about my gift.”
Lo looks thoughtful. “And what was his reaction?”
“He thought I was joking, of course. Or making it up.” I shrug. “I was stupid to tell him.”
“Maybe you told him because you liked him.”
I shake my head. “No, he’s really not my type.”
“Jane,” Lo says. “You don’t have a type.”
“Well, if I did, he wouldn’t be it. Besides, he’s a friend of Flynn’s. He knows how to reach me, and he hasn’t called. I mean, not that I expected him to or anything, but—”
“Wait,” she says, holding her hand to her forehead. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. There was a man who stopped in briefly last week looking for you. I’m so sorry, Jane; I completely spaced.” She bites the edge of her lip. “What did you say his name was? The writer guy?”
“Cam.”
“Yes, that was him, I think. Kind of tall, stubble on his chin. Dark glasses. A bit hipster.”
“Yep,” I say, perking up. “So he stopped by? What did he say?”
“It was busy,” Lo says. “There was a line of people at the counter, so I didn’t have time to talk to him. But he asked if you were in and said to tell you he stopped by. I’m so sorry I didn’t think about it until now. I should have.” She fumbles around in the drawer and pulls out a notebook. “He left his phone number.”
I tear the edge of the page and stare at his phone number and name. His handwriting is messy, like most men’s, but I like the way the C in his name is big and bold.
“So are you going to call him?” Lo asks with a grin.
“I might,” I say. “Or I might not.” I tuck the piece of paper in my pocket.
Lo grins nostalgically. “I had dinner with Grant again last night. He’s been texting me all day.” She sets a pair of shears down and turns to me. “He took me to Vashon Island.” She beams. “Can you believe I’ve lived in Seattle my whole life and I’d never been? Jane, it was so dreamy. And when we got to the restaurant, this little place along the beach, it was completely empty. There was just one table set up, with a single candle on it. He rented out the entire place so we could be alone.”
I remember the way my vision clouded when I saw them together, even in that first exchange they shared. It was real; I saw it. And yet, this man gives me pause. While his grand gesture at the restaurant could be interpreted as an incredibly romantic one, it’s also proof of his desire to keep Lo in the shadows.
“It was so . . . natural,” she says. “We love the same movies, the same music. His favorite place in the world is Key West.”
Lo loves Key West, and she once broke up with a boyfriend who had no interest in renting a convertible and accompanying her on her annual trip to the Keys.
“I’ve never felt this kind of connection before,” she continues. “And this is going to sound totally stupid and cliché, but it’s like I’ve found the other half of me. I swear, we can finish each other’s sentences.”
I smile at my friend, so beautiful and fierce. She could have any man she wants, and yet she chooses Grant, married and possibly unavailable. “I’m happy for you,” I say. “I really am. But take it slow with this one. You both have a lot to lose. You have the potential of experiencing great heartbreak. And he has children, a family, Lo. Don’t forget that I was once a little girl whose father left. I know how it feels.”
She sighs. “I know, and I hate it. I hate it so much that the love we’re forging could cause pain to others.” She closes her eyes. “But at the same time, I can’t deny these feelings. What if he’s the man I’m supposed to be with? What if he’s my one?” She lowers her voice to a near-whisper. “He told me that he believes he’s living the wrong life.”
“Do you think he’s being sincere?”
“I do,” Lo says. “He’s miserable with his wife. They couldn’t be any more different. He’s a dreamer, spontaneous. She’s measured, logical. They’re practically separated anyway. They don’t even sleep in the same bed. He’s always in the guest bedroom.”
“Be careful with your heart,” I say. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I never get hurt,” she says playfully.
It’s true—in love, Lo always knows how to keep the upper hand. But this time? I have a feeling that if a rogue wave hits, she might go down with the ship.
That afternoon, I pass Mel’s newsstand. He looks up from a box of magazines, beaming, in a shirt and red bow tie, a change from his usual jeans and sweaters with patched elbows.
“You’re looking awfully fancy today,” I say, smiling.
His eyes dart right, then left. “Have you seen her yet today?”
I don’t catch the reference. “Her?”
“Vivian.”
“Vivian?”
He takes a step closer. “The Queen of England.”
“Oh,” I say, recalling the British woman who gave Mel a talking-to about not carrying the Times, and whom I saw at Mary’s salon. “I do remember her.”
“Thinks she’s better than everyone,” Mel says, adjusting his bow tie. “I’m going to show her that we have plenty of class here in Seattle.”
I smile to myself. “I saw her getting her hair done. She’s an elegant one. You have a crush on her, don’t you?”
He frowns. “A crush? On her?” He shakes his head. “Not me. For starters, she’s—”
“You have a crush on her,” I say, grinning, as I reach for a copy of the Seattle Times, before waving to him and heading down the sidewalk toward my apartment. Just as I reach for my keys, I hear my name.
“Jane? Is that you?”
I turn around to find Katie, a friend from high school, who went on to attend law school and beca
me a successful immigration attorney. She’s just as beautiful as ever, with her shiny brunette hair and big brown eyes. She stands beside a man who is equally attractive. Tall, with the kind of chiseled, handsome face that you’d find in a fashion ad for Eddie Bauer or maybe Abercrombie & Fitch. “Josh, this is my old friend Jane,” Katie says, “the one I was telling you about, who I met when my parents moved to Seattle. Jane took pity on my eating lunch alone every day and invited me to share her table. She owns the flower shop in the market.”
Josh takes my hand. “Pleased to meet you,” he says with a smile, before wrapping his arm around Katie.
“Josh and I are engaged,” she says. “We’re getting married this summer.”
I immediately hug her. “Katie, that’s wonderful news!”
Josh caresses her cheek lightly, and she leans in closer to him. Their connection is electric, and my vision immediately clouds, but not in the typical hazy way. This time it’s a full-fledged fog, which startles me. I remember the bench on the sidewalk behind me, and I take a few steps back and collapse onto it.
“Uh-oh, you’re not feeling well?” Katie asks.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I’m just a little fatigued. We’ve been busy at the shop today, and I forgot to eat lunch.”
Josh points to the record store across the street. “You two have girl talk for a bit,” he says. “I’m going to run over and see if they have that Dylan album I’ve been looking for.”
Katie smiles to herself as he walks across the street. She watches his every step, then turns back to me proudly. “Is he the hottest thing you’ve seen in your life or what?”
I smile, grateful that my vision is returning to normal. “Yeah, I’d have to agree with you. He’s very handsome.”
“Oh, Jane,” she says, “and our chemistry is . . . well, let me just say that we can’t keep our hands off each other.”