by B. E. Baker
And if I’m honest, I’m sick of being the one who always shows up alone.
I’m happy for Mary, Geo, and Trudy. I don’t know her as well, but I’m happy for Brekka, too. If anyone knows what it’s like to struggle alone, it’s her, and Rob deserved someone amazing. I’m happy for all of them, but this year, I’m not really looking forward to pasting a smile on my face and pretending that I don’t feel sorry for myself.
I hate feeling this way. I didn’t feel sorry for myself before I met stupid James. Not at all. In fact, if I hadn’t met him, I’d feel right at home with the kids. I’d be in my element harassing the pregnant ladies by slurping down sushi and shellfish. I’d be perfectly content out-eating all the engaged girls who are trying too hard to fit into their dresses.
But for the first time in a long time, I had someone I cared about next to me at that party in Vienna, and I liked it.
It makes the thought of this holiday so much harder. I spend Thanksgiving Eve watching every breakup movie I can think of, which is stupid since I wasn’t even really in a relationship with James, and technically, I’m the one who dumped him. And it happened weeks and weeks ago.
Even so, I feel better when I finally fall asleep after crying my way through Someone Like You, Legally Blonde, My Best Friend’s Wedding, and Bridget Jones’ Diary.
By the time I’m done with my hair and makeup the next morning, my armor is back in place, and it’s cinched up nice and tight. I’m ready to be happy-go-lucky Aunt Paisley again. Because I can’t bear to be a pathetic, moody wretch. I can’t let anyone know that I miss my hawk so badly that I want to weep. I won’t ever admit that I’ve looked up his number on my cell phone account and thought about calling or texting him again. I will not kick myself for deleting our text chain.
I don’t need someone who can’t make me happy. I’m plenty miserable all on my own.
When I show up with three pies, Amy’s face fills with unbridled glee. “I call cherry,” she says.
I kick the door closed behind me. “It doesn’t work like that. You can’t call a whole pie.”
“Uh, standard shotgun rules,” Amy says. “It does so count.”
I catch Mary’s eye. “A little help here.”
Mary shrugs. “She’ll forget.”
“Will not,” Amy shouts as she sprints back to the playroom. “Cherry is mine. You can have the pecan.”
“Pecan’s better anyway,” I mutter under my breath.
“Nothing is better than cherry.” Luke meets me at the door and takes two of the three pies out of my hands. “Once I set these down, I’ll take that one, and then help you with your coat.”
I turn my nose upward. “I don’t need help. Haven’t you heard? Liberated woman, right here.”
Luke doesn’t argue. In fact, no one argues with me today other than Amy, not about anything. Even when I really poke and poke at them. It annoys me, like they’ve discussed my life and concluded that I must be treated carefully or something.
“You’re looking way more than three months pregnant,” I tell Geo. “Are you sure it’s only one baby?”
Her eyes widen and Trig’s nostrils flare. Now I’ve got them.
“I think I’m just carrying high.” Geo sets her hand on Trig’s arm and he forces a grin.
“Okay, that’s it.” I set my pie fork down and stare at Amy. “What gives? Did all the adults make some kind of pact to be nice to me today, no matter what I say or do?”
Amy’s head whips around toward Mary so fast it practically blurs. “I need help.”
I laugh. “Now I’ve got you.” I grab Amy’s hand. “Didn’t your parents teach you to always tell the truth?”
Amy’s lip wobbles.
I go for the kill. “Did they say Aunt Paisley is sad and needs you to be kind?”
Amy shakes her head.
Wait. They didn’t?
“We’re worried you’ll move,” Trudy finally says. “So no matter how cranky you are about your family not being here, we’re not going to fight with you.”
They think I’m upset about my family. Well, they’re not wrong. I do miss them, but that’s not why I’m such a mess. On second thought, since Luke knows James, it’s better that they don’t know. I exhale gustily. “Well, stop it. I missed you guys way more while I was back in Liechtenstein than I miss them now that I’m home.”
“You did?” Geo asks. “Thank goodness.”
“And you don’t really think she has a big belly,” Trig says, his tone a little sharp. “Right?”
I laugh. “Of course not. That was an obvious ploy to get her to snap at me. Or you. It was my test.”
He makes prayer hands and whispers, “Thank you. You just saved me months of her asking about her belly.”
I snort. “You two are ridiculous.”
“Wait until you’re pregnant,” Geo says. “You’ll be just as bad.”
It only takes me a nano-second to recover from that gut punch, but when I meet his eyes, I know Luke saw it. “I’m going to go get something to drink from the garage fridge,” I say. “All the Martinellis bottles in here are empty.”
Luke follows me out, darn him. “I’ll help.”
The second we clear the doors, he leans against the wall. “Care to share?”
I reach for the fridge, but he blocks me with his hand. “You don’t need sparkling cider.”
“I don’t need sparkling cider,” I agree.
“And you don’t miss your family either,” he says. “At least, not that much.”
I’m suddenly really interested in the bike rack next to Mary’s Lexus SUV. I notice the pink bike with tassels on the handles has Dora’s face on it. “I didn’t even realize people were still watching Dora the Explorer.”
“Paisley.” Luke’s tone is so kind, he could be auditioning to play Mr. Rogers.
“Luke,” I say.
“You miss him.”
I inhale and exhale. “Him who?”
His smile is crooked. “He misses you too. Pretty badly, but he says you blocked him. That’s a pretty clear signal.”
I flinch. “I doubt he cared. I’m sure he’s currently building his very own money bin for the three point whatever billion dollars his grandfather is about to dump on him.” I clap my hand over my mouth. I should not have said that.
Luke tugs my hand down. “You don’t need to stress. He told me about that, and I also know that he’s not going to make it. One of his businesses lost its FAA approval. He’s going to be twenty-million short, give or take.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” I say. “I suppose he’ll have to console himself with his measly billion dollars.”
“I feel awful for him too. One more paltry ‘almost’ billionaire.” Luke smirks. “We’re a dime a dozen, I hear.”
“I was worried you might spring him on me,” I joke. “You know, invite him here as some kind of bizarre set up attempt.”
Luke cocks his head. “Would that have had a hope of working?”
I gulp. “No, I mean, I’m totally kidding. That would have been the worst.”
He narrows his eyes. “It would have been. No one even likes him except for me. Mary would have freaked if I suggested it.”
“Right. I can’t stand him.”
“Because he’s so selfish that he ruined your family business.” Luke’s voice is too question-ey for my taste.
“Exactly, and he’s vindictive. I could never trust someone who destroys people like that.”
“He didn’t tell you much about his parents, did he?” Luke asks.
I shrug. “They ignored him, and they turned their backs on him. I get it.”
“It was far worse than that.” Luke opens the fridge and pulls out four bottles of sparkling cider, two in each hand. “It’s not for me to tell you the extent of it. But suffice it to say that the reason James even had those test answers is that his father paid for them. One of his father’s contacts had a man on the inside, and his father had those sent to his son’s room. Bu
t when James got caught, for trying to share them with someone he considered a friend and he was kicked out, his father cut him off.”
“That part I knew.”
“His father wasn’t upset he was cheating,” Luke says. “As far as I know, James never cheated, but beyond that, his father wouldn’t have cared. No, his father was upset that he was stupid enough to be caught. He told James that his willingness, no, what did he say? His stupidity in sharing the test answers was catastrophically flawed, and that he couldn’t fix someone that idiotic. I heard his dad yelling at him. His father distinctly told him, ‘those classes are curved. Even beyond the judgment issues that displays, sharing the answers would have lessened your accomplishment. I can’t believe anyone related to me could be so stupid.’”
His dad sounds like a piece of work.
Luke closes the fridge. “Look, I’m not trying to insert myself into your life, I’m really not. In fact, until tonight, I thought you were well rid of him. Mary can’t handle the guy and neither can Paul, even though I’ve always liked him. Deep down, James has always wanted to do what’s right. But imagine if you were blindfolded from an early age and spun around so many times you didn’t know up from down. You might make a sequence of missteps that even your grandmother shouting ‘Marco’ couldn’t lead you out of entirely.”
“He’s an adult,” I say. “Surely—“
“He’s a grown man,” Luke says, “but I’ve watched him scramble around looking for North. And the closest he’s ever come is when he was with you.”
“That was always a lie.”
“Was it?” Luke asks. “I’m beginning to wonder.” He turns and heads back inside, but I take a minute to think.
And I have an idea. Probably a very, very bad idea. But it keeps growing in my head, growing and growing and it won’t let go.
By the time I drive myself home that night, my idea has sprouted wings, its hooks sunk deep into my brain. I go ahead and book my flight to New York. Because if this is going to work, I only have a few days to pull it off.
16
James
I don’t enjoy Thanksgiving, and I abhor Black Friday. It’s a day of complete excess, followed by a day to celebrate avarice. And they wrap the whole thing up as though it’s some kind of do-gooder celebration. “Give thanks,” they tell you, and then, “spend all your money,” they whisper.
Which is why I order takeout from a dozen places on Thanksgiving, eating a few bites of whatever I want, and then I pass out alone.
Every year.
It’s still worlds better than when I sat at whatever boarding school I was attending alone, hunched over a box of cookies from Gigi. Even so, this year seems worse than usual. I wake up on Black Friday and work out like always, and then I open my laptop. I spend a few minutes scrolling through the barrage of emails trying to sell me something and don’t find a single thing I want. What hurts the most is that I don’t even have anyone to shop for, other than myself. Because I’m such a miserable sod, no one wants anything to do with me.
Actually, I don’t care about anyone other than Paisley, and she blocked my number. Pretty final, so at least I don’t make a fool of myself pining.
I pull out my leftovers from yesterday and eat way too much of all of it. Instead of sticking the rest back in the fridge, I toss it all in the trash. I already lifted weights for today, and the weather outside is absolutely horrible, but I have nothing better to do. Plus, I feel like punishing myself a little bit. So I change into my warmest sweats and tie up my favorite pair of Saucony’s, and I go out for a run.
Central Park is empty, which is a little odd, really. Do dogs not need to poop today? Are kids not snot-nosed and full of energy? Where did everyone go? I push a little harder than I should, and I’m utterly winded when I finally drag myself back to my building.
I’m exhausted enough that I practically run over some poor woman lugging a suitcase into my lobby. “Excuse me,” I say, my mind only half on what I’m doing.
“Oh,” she says.
My heart stops cold. It may never beat again, because I know that voice.
I almost knocked over Paisley. I open my mouth, but no words form. I clear my throat and try again, but I have no idea what to say. “Are you lost?” I finally blurt out.
She smiles. “Uh, no. I called Cooper, actually. And let me tell you, that man did not want to give out your personal address.”
“You got my address from Cooper?” My brow furrows. “Seriously?”
Her voice is practically a whisper. “I didn’t want to ask Luke. In case you say no.”
I shake my head, worried I’m hallucinating. “I’m sorry. I just ran a really long way, and I think my electrolytes are out of balance. Are you actually here? In New York? Standing in my lobby?” I glance down at her hands. “Carrying a suitcase?”
The muscles in her mouth work, and she swallows. “This was a bad idea. I’m so sorry.”
She spins around and starts walking toward the exit.
I lunge for her and only manage to grab her scarf. “Wait.”
Her head yanks backward, and she nearly falls. I steady her with one sweaty hand. When she turns back around, her eyes are uncertain. Her lashes flutter like she’s clearing her field of vision. “Why?”
“You said, in case I say no.”
She bobs her head.
“That means you came all the way out here to talk to me about something.”
She nods. “I did.”
Hope threatens to strangle me. “Okay, well, look, I want to hear it, whatever it is. But I’m really sweaty, and I smell bad enough that I can’t smell anything else, not even your lavender smell.” I frown. That sounded pathetic. “Would you be willing to follow me upstairs and let me shower before you tell me why you came?”
Her eyes widen.
“Or.” I hold up my hands in a way I hope is not threatening. “I’ll call my driver. Oscar can take you to whatever hotel you’d like, if you’ve booked one, or I can book you one. I can shower and meet you at whatever restaurant you want, my treat.”
“That sounds like a lot of trouble.” Her shoulders slump. “I’ll just wait upstairs while you shower.”
I smile. I can’t help it. I hope it doesn’t scare her off, but the thought of her in my apartment floods my chest with joy. I can’t explain why, really, except I never imagined it would happen. “Okay, that’s great. Follow me.” I hold my hands apart. “But maybe give me some space. I wasn’t kidding about the smell.”
She giggles, and I wish I could bottle up the sound for later. For when she leaves. My heart lurches at the thought.
“Hey Leonard,” I say to the doorman. “Paisley and I are going up.”
He swipes his card on the elevator and hits the buttons for me.
“I hope you had a very happy Thanksgiving,” Paisley says.
Leonard beams. “I did, thank you miss. How was yours?”
She swallows and clutches her luggage tighter. “Lonely.”
“Well,” Leonard says. “Then I’m glad you’ve made it here safely. Mr. Fulton was lonely too.” He winks at me.
I don’t know whether to hug him or kick him, but Paisley doesn’t seem agitated, so I’m leaning toward a hug. Although, Leonard would probably prefer a large tip, and that I can most definitely do.
The elevator whizzes upstairs, my heart beating erratically along with it. Paisley doesn’t say a word, and neither do I.
“Your hair is long,” she finally says at the same time as the elevator dings.
I reach up and run my hands through it. I’m badly overdue for a haircut. “Right. Yeah, I’ve been busy.”
I walk her inside and look at my apartment, seeing it anew, as she must see it. Penthouse. Modern. Shiny everything. White, silver, black. Windows overlooking downtown. Black sofa, white floors. It’s so boring, so clean, so sanitized, so unlived in.
I hate it.
How did I live here for two years and never realize how much I hate it? Well,
it’s too late to do anything about that now. “I’ll just be a minute,” I say.
She sets her luggage down and walks into my living room. I expect her to pull out her phone, but she pulls out a book instead.
I tilt my head to see what she’s reading. Displaced. “Is that book any good?”
Her eyes shoot upward to mine. “Uh, well, it’s intense. I mean, I like it. It’s this author that Mary loves, and Geo won’t stop talking about her either now. I didn’t read her first series, because it’s post apocalyptic, and I find that so depressing. But this one is about—” She gulps.
“About what?” I ask, interested in spite of myself.
“It’s about a princess,” she says. “Who has a twin.”
I don’t laugh, but it’s hard not to. “So you’re reading about yourself?”
She shakes her head. “The twins hate each other, and they’re sisters, and Noel wasn’t my twin. But it’s still interesting.”
“Maybe I’ll borrow it when you’re done.”
“Um, the author makes money when you buy the book.”
I laugh. She’s always thinking about other people. “Okay, but if I like that one, maybe I’ll buy other books she writes.”
Paisley smiles. “Fine. I’ll loan it to you when I’m done.”
“Great,” I say. “I’m going to shower.”
She nods and tucks back into the book.
I’ve never showered so fast in my life. I’m gripped with an unreasonable fear that she’ll change her mind and leave. Or that I imagined the entire thing, and Paisley isn’t sitting on my boring black sofa that shows every speck of dust in New York. That she’s not the only bright spot in my dull, monochrome life.
But when I race out, barefoot, my hair dripping on my blue polo shirt, she’s still there, and my heart eases just a little. “Are you hungry?” I ask, and then I wince. Because I threw out every speck of any food I had right before she came. “I can order something.”
She opens her mouth, and then she closes it. She sets her book on the end table and stands up. She clasps her hands and then releases them.