by Priya Grey
Chapter Seven
Jackson
I stumble out of the bar and feel the two whiskeys I drank work their way through my system.
I’m starting to believe that the universe is evil, or at least has a sick sense of humor. How else can I explain running into someone who looks exactly like Ashley? Except for the color of her hair, that girl was the spitting image of my beautiful wife. She even had the same captivating sapphire–blue eyes!
I know I must have seemed a little crazy to her. But I was at a loss for words. She looked exactly like Ashley! It was like seeing my beautiful wife all over again, in the flesh. Back from the dead! But when I realized it wasn’t her, and her friend threatened me to leave, that wave of loss came crashing down on me once again.
Running into someone who so closely resembles my beloved, departed wife was definitely a cruel, sick joke by the universe.
I miss Ashley so much. My life hasn’t been the same since she passed away.
I head back to my old apartment building. I hope I finally have the courage to unlock the door.
Terry greets me once again and opens the door for me as I enter the lobby. He can tell by the expression on my face that I’m still in no mood to talk. He simply offers me a subdued smile as I pass him and head toward the elevator.
I take the elevator back up to the fifth floor, still unable to get over my encounter in Nick’s bar. Why would the universe introduce me to someone who looks exactly like Ashley, only to have her spurn me away?
The elevator doors open onto my floor, and I begin the long, dreadful walk back to my old apartment.
I don’t blame that girl for thinking I’m crazy.
I am going a little crazy. I have been for the last nine months.
For a brief moment, when I saw that girl in Nick’s bar, I felt like I had been saved. I thought the universe was giving me the chance to have Ashley back in my life, to feel her presence once again. I guess I was mistaken.
You can’t come back from the dead, can you?
I stand in front of the door once again. The numbers 515 are in my sight. With another heavy sigh, I reach into my pocket to remove my keys.
I hope those two whiskeys have finally given me the courage to move forward.
Slowly, I insert my key into the lock and turn.
I gently push open the door and feel another wave of sadness wash over me. As I stand in the doorway, and stare into the darkness of the apartment, I realize I’m staring into the past. I take a deep breath, then a hesitant step forward.
I enter the place Ashley and I called home for five years.
I flip on the light switch.
Everything remains as it was. Nothing has been changed since that day, nine months ago, when I first got the news. For the last nine months, this apartment, our home, has been vacant, lifeless.
I notice a slip of paper on the floor, right next to the front door. I bend down and pick it up. I unfold the paper and see written – in what appears to be a woman’s handwriting – the following message:
I would love to talk to you about selling your apartment. Have many interested buyers. Please call me, Sandy 555 – 2134.
I fold the slip of paper back up and put it in my back pocket. Sandy, the realtor, must’ve heard from the other tenants in the building that my unit has been vacant for several months. Since this building is a luxury building with a doorman, there are always interested people wanting to buy an apartment. Sandy called me a month ago and left me a message, asking if I was interested in selling. I never called her back. I guess being a persistent realtor, she even stopped by and slipped this note under my door, in case I happened to come by for a visit.
I know it doesn’t make sense to hold onto this apartment, especially if I never plan on living in it again. But if I sell it, I’ll be saying goodbye to all the fond memories Ashley and I had here. I bought this apartment a month before we were married. As I slowly walk down the hallway, I glance at all the pictures of us adorning the walls. They are reflections of a happier time in my life – when I was excited about the future, and grateful for having such a wonderful woman in my life.
There’s Ashley, looking more beautiful than ever on our surprise trip to Bali.
There we are smiling for the camera at our wedding.
I still remember how lucky I felt that day, when we said our vows.
’Til Death Do Us Part.
I never imagined it would come so quickly.
There were so many dreams we had that were never realized… A family we both wanted but never created because of that stupid car accident.
As I stare at Ashley’s face in all the photos, I think about the girl I ran into at the bar. It’s striking just how similar they both look. The universe was definitely playing a sick joke on me. Not cool.
I walk through the living room and into our bedroom. I stop in the doorway.
The portrait I painted of Ashley on the first day I met her hangs over our bed. Ashley loved it so much that she insisted we place it in our bedroom. She wanted to look at it all the time. She said it made her feel special.
I reluctantly walk into the bedroom and take a seat on the edge of our bed. I grip the comforter with my hands and stare at the floor. Another heavy wave of sadness overwhelms me.
I was so happy in this apartment with her. We both wanted to raise a child in this place.
I thought I would have many more years of happiness with her.
I know life can throw you curveballs – that in a split second everything can change. I just never thought she would be taken from me so soon. I thought we would grow old together and raise the family we always talked about. We both came from broken homes, and believed that together, we could finally create the family we always wished we grew up in.
The buzz from my phone notifies me of a message.
When I reach for it, I see that it’s a text message from Harry.
Harry: Hey bro, I’m happy you’re finally going to sell the apartment. It’s time you move on to the next chapter of your life. There are great things ahead of you.
I don’t bother replying to his text.
I know Harry means well. Besides being my agent and manager, he’s also my best friend. But it’s hard to picture much of a future for myself anymore. After years of struggling, I finally made it in the art world. My paintings sell for millions of dollars. But it was my relationship with Ashley that made me truly grateful.
None of the girls I’d been with before Ashley ever made me feel so happy or grateful to be alive. With Ashley, I felt inspired every day. With her in my life, I did my best work. Now that she’s gone, there’s a deep void inside my soul. There’s a black hole that grows wider every day. It’s pulling me toward the darkness.
I suddenly feel exhausted. I lay down on the bed I shared with my wife. I imagine her lying next to me. I picture her describing her latest audition, or telling me about a role she’s excited to play. I imagine her smiling tenderly at me with those beautiful blue eyes. I picture myself kissing her, loving the taste of her lips and tongue against mine. Then I remember the incredible, passionate moments we shared in this bed, making love. Not only was Ashley the love of my life, but she was also the most passionate and intense lover I had ever been with.
After our first date – when I painted her – Ashley said I had set her free. Sexually. She said I made her feel like the woman she always wanted to be. Once her sexual spirit had been released, there was no holding her back. Together, we embarked on a passionate journey of love and sexual exploration.
It’s hard to imagine ever experiencing such a powerful yet intimate connection with another woman.
Lying in our bed, the scent of her still lingering in the room, I realize I don’t want to move forward. I want to go back. I want to relive the past. I just can’t let Ashley go.
As my mind replays all the wonderful memories I shared with her, I fall asleep.
Chapter Eight
Rebecca
&n
bsp; I watch as Todd lays down the crust for the next pie. I continue mixing the bowl of apple cranberry filling as I follow him. The filling tastes tart and juicy, and is sweetened with sugar. I pour the filling into the pie and then move onto the next pie crust.
“Have your folks evacuated?” Todd asks. “It sounds like this hurricane is the real deal.”
I nod as I pour the apple cranberry filling into another pie. “They’re staying with my aunt, who lives inland. I checked the news before coming into work today. They project the hurricane is going to directly hit my hometown.”
“Damn, that’s rough,” laments Todd as he finishes preparing another pie crust. He then steps back so I can pour in the fruit filling.
“At least they got out safely,” he adds.
“That’s what I told my dad when I spoke to him earlier.”
After filling the last pie with the fruit filling, I place the bowl down.
“If there’s anything you need, just let me know,” says Todd with a friendly smile.
“Thanks,” I say with a shrug. “But I guess everything is in God’s hands now.”
I’m really lucky to have Todd as a boss. He’s the head pastry chef in the kitchen and the person I report to directly. Todd functions as a buffer between Rodrigo and me, which I’m grateful for – especially when Rodrigo, the head chef, is in one of his foul moods, which is usually every day.
Our restaurant, The Blue Rose, only opened a few weeks ago, so we’re still working out some of the kinks in the kitchen. But Todd assures me that I’m doing a good job, and he’s happy I’m on his team.
“Todd!” I hear a man’s gruff voice suddenly shout. I turn as Rodrigo storms into our kitchen area. He’s holding a mini maple pecan tart in his hand. It’s one of the desserts I prepared. He looks at the tart with disgust and then drops it to the floor. “These maple pecan tarts are terrible. Abhorrent!” he yells with a look of contempt. “They taste like chalk.”
“Really?” Todd says confused. “I thought they tasted pretty good.”
“Are you telling me I’m wrong?” Rodrigo argues, staring at Todd with daggers in his eyes.
“No, chef,” says Todd with an easy sigh. “You’re right. The mini pecan tarts taste like chalk. I’ll modify the recipe.”
“Good,” says Rodrigo with a curt nod. He then notices me standing next to Todd. I instantly tense up under Rodrigo’s hard gaze. I’ve been working in this kitchen for a few weeks now, but Rodrigo still makes me nervous as hell. He points his finger at me.
“Are you shipping up? Or are you shaping out?”
I don’t understand what Rodrigo is asking, and I’m not sure how to respond. All I know is that he sends me into a panic attack every time he looks at me.
“Rodrigo, she’s fine,” says Todd, answering for me. “You have nothing to worry about.”
“I better not,” he declares, his gaze turning back to Todd.
Rodrigo then turns his wrath on the entire kitchen staff.
“Because I said it once, and I’ll say it again!” he shouts. “If you don’t ship up! You’ll shape out!”
“He keeps getting it wrong,” Todd mutters to me. “I tried correcting him once, but I guess he forgot.”
Rodrigo then leaves our kitchen area and I breathe a sigh of relief.
I quickly turn to Todd.
“I’m so sorry about the maple pecan tarts,” I say anxiously. “I probably should have added more caramel.”
Todd shakes his head and smiles. “They were perfect, Rebecca. Just ignore him. He’s a nervous wreck because we’re still waiting on some food critics to stop by and review the restaurant. He’s probably going to be in a worse mood than usual for a couple of weeks.”
“You sure the pecan tarts were okay?” I ask, still doubting myself.
Todd places a hand on my shoulder and nods. “Yes. I had three of them myself. They were delicious.”
I sigh with relief.
“Now, why don’t you check on the strawberry cheesecake,” Todd suggests. He points his finger at me playfully. “And remember, if you don’t ship up, you’ll shape out.”
I nod with a grin and go check on the cheesecake.
I leave the restaurant at 1 AM. I immediately check my phone to get updates on the storm. I think about calling my father, but then I decide against it. He’s probably glued to the television, worried, as he watches the storm approach our house. I don’t think there’s anything I could tell him right now that would help the situation.
I get on the train and head to my apartment on the other side of town. When I walk through the door, I see Kristi is still up and sitting on the couch, with a plate of my mini maple pecan tarts resting on the coffee table. I had prepared some samples earlier at home to make sure I got the recipe right.
The television is on, broadcasting news coverage of the storm.
“You’re still up?”
Kristi nods as I take a seat beside her on the couch and stare at the television.
“I just finished narrating a really hot and steamy romance book,” she informs me.
I reach over and grab one of the pecan tarts. “I thought you said you weren’t going to eat any more of my desserts,” I tease. I notice a map pop up on the television. It shows the pathway of the hurricane as it barrels toward North Carolina. The name of my hometown is highlighted on the map. It’s going to take a direct hit.
“I couldn’t help myself,” Kristi admits as she shoves another tart into her mouth. “After narrating that hot romance book, I got really horny. So, I masturbated with that new dildo I bought. It was great. But you know how when I orgasm, I get really hungry? I just had to have another one of your desserts. I’ve already eaten five of these.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I mutter, my eyes still glued to the news coverage of the storm.
“I know,” Kristi shrugs, her eyes also fixated on the screen.
She then turns to me and says concerned, “What do you think is going to happen to your house, Becca?”
I shake my head, mesmerized by the footage of trees toppling over and roofs flying off homes. “I think it’s going to be destroyed.” In a daze, I reach for another maple pecan tart.
Chapter Nine
Jackson
I used to paint every day – for hours, without taking a break. But this year, I can’t even manage to pick up my brush, dab it in some paint, and press it against a canvas.
I’ve been sitting in the warehouse I use as a painting studio for the last four hours staring at a blank canvas. I’m paralyzed, unable to move. I just don’t have the energy to paint anymore. Something I used to love to do, and was considered incredibly talented at, no longer holds my interest. I just don’t see the point. The world doesn’t need another painting. My inspiration has dried up.
My muse has been taken from me.
With Ashley gone, I’ve lost any sense of meaning in my life.
There’s a knock at my door. With a heavy sigh, I place my brush down and get up from my chair. I head toward the front door. Someone broke the lock to the front of my building a few weeks ago. It still hasn’t gotten fixed. So right now, anyone can enter the building and knock on my door. It’s really annoying. Fortunately, I don’t get too many visitors these days. As I approach my front door, I have a sneaking suspicion who it might be.
There’s another knock.
“Is that you, Harry?”
“How’d you know?” he answers back through the door.
“Lucky guess.”
“Jackson, I’ve been calling you for the last two days. You haven’t answered. Let me in.”
I shake my head, annoyed. “I’m not in the mood to talk. Just leave me alone. I’ll call you later,” I say through the door.
“If you’re painting, I’ll leave you alone. Are you painting, Jackson?”
I consider lying but decide to tell him the truth. “No.”
“Then let me the fuck in.”
I sigh and open the door. Harry stor
ms in with a wide grin. “Why haven’t you answered your phone?” he asks, patting my shoulder.
“Because I’ve been ignoring you.”
“I’ll try not to take that personally,” he says with another smile as he walks toward the center of the room. Harry is a few years older than me. He’s a good-looking guy with a wife and daughter. I owe all my financial success to Harry. He discovered me when I was a struggling artist. He was the one who bought my painting for $10,000 dollars and lifted me out of poverty. He had faith in me when no one else did. He’s been my agent / manager for the last fifteen years. But in actuality, he’s more like family to me than an agent. He’s definitely my best friend.
“If you’ve come by to tell me how I need to get to work, and finish the paintings we promised Amanda at the gallery, just save it. All right? I don’t want to hear it right now,” I rant.
Harry turns and shakes his head. “I’m not here to scold you, buddy. I just wanted to see how you were doing. Did you put the apartment on the market?”
“Not yet,” I mutter.
Harry shoots me a concerned look. “Sell the apartment, Jackson. It will bring the closure you need to move on.”
“We’ll see,” I reply with a shrug.
I just can’t bring myself to sell the apartment I shared with Ashley. I don’t want to say goodbye to all those memories.
“How you doing otherwise?” he inquires.
“I’m fine,” I mutter, although neither one of us believes it. With the dark thoughts running through my mind, I’m anything but fine.
“You don’t sound too convincing,” Harry replies, sarcastically.
“What do you want, Harry?” I ask with a sigh. I really just want to be left alone.
Harry beams and I notice a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
“I have some good news.”
I have a hunch what Harry thinks is good news won’t make me too happy.