One Week

by Roya Carmen

  My breath catches. My heart is pounding. “I remember the first message you ever sent me,” I tell him. “When you told me you loved my art. You have no idea how excited I was.”

  He smiles. “Really?!”

  “And I…” I wince at the thought. “I thought you were a woman.”

  “What?!”

  “I’d never seen any photos of you,” I explain. “And the name ‘Kelly’ threw me off, I guess.”

  He laughs. “Wow. So you definitely did not have a crush on me,” he says. “Or did you?” he says with a wink.

  I crack up. “A little bit… even before I saw your insanely gorgeous face. I was in love with your art and your words.”

  He shakes his head, and his gaze shifts. He’s adorably bashful, and it baffles my mind. Does he not realize how beautiful he is?

  “And when we started chatting, I kind of went insane,” he says. “And I knew that you were across the ocean, and happily married, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

  “Me too,” I confess. “Same.”

  We stare at each other without a word for the longest time. Finally, I break the silence. “Do you think we could be soulmates?”

  He smiles. “You never know.”

  I shouldn’t have gone there, I realize instantly. It’s one thing to sleep with him, but this emotional intimacy is going over the line. John and I agreed on sex only.

  “Uh…” I say. “I nearly fell off my chair the first time I saw that photo of you… the one on the Vespa.”

  He smiles. “You liked it, I assume.”

  “I thought you were catfishing me, I really did.”

  He laughs so hard, the couple next to us turn in our direction.

  “You were too beautiful to be true,” I tell him. “You still are.”

  His gaze clings to mine, and I stop breathing for a second. “You are too,” he says quietly.

  God, this is going nowhere good, and fast. “Um… isn’t the food here great?!” I say, attempting to change the subject, not so subtlely.

  He shoots me a tight smile. “It’s one of my favorite restaurants.”

  We turn back to our food, and make small talk. I consciously stay away from anything too intimate. And I realize that I will constantly need to remind myself not to profess my undying love.

  This is just sex, I remind myself.

  Extraordinary, beautiful sex.

  I have a husband and kids.

  An ocean separates us.

  I need to say goodbye in five days.

  But damn, those eyes.

  God, Why are you so cruel?

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  FLOYD IS FULL OF ENERGY, and very curious. He’s still a young dog, only two years old. He’s already done his business, so he’s happy. Every now and then, he stops to smell something. I’m just as curious as he is. Although I’m not stooping to sniff benches, my gaze darts around Eli’s very interesting neighborhood. I snap photos with my phone; the cool buildings, quirky coffee shops, colorful street art, and the vibe and energy of the place; young families, fellow dog walkers, artists carrying large canvases and boxes of who-knows-what.

  “How long have you lived here?” I ask him. I want to know more about him — I want to know everything.

  “Well, I’ve been at Albert’s for two years. He took me in right after the break-up, and he gave me Floyd to cheer me up. I was in a really bad place.”

  “Really?! Albert is awesome.”

  He smiles wide. “Yeah, he’s a great friend. We’ve known each other for years, and it’s thanks to him that I’ve been so successful getting in the shops.”

  “Cool.”

  “But I’ve lived in Copenhagen for over twelve years. I met Clara right out of college when I was out here on a backpacking trip with my buddies, and fell head over heels. Or head over hiking boots, to be more accurate.”

  I smile at his bad joke, and my insides drop a little at the thought of him being so madly in love with this woman. I wonder if he’s over her yet — I bet not. I decide to change the focus of the conversation because I really don’t want to hear about Clara. “Wow, twelve years is a long time. Do you miss your family?”

  Floyd tugs at him when he becomes particularly interested in a newspaper box. “Well, I don’t know my father, and as you know… my mom…”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have asked.” That’s just like me — I can be so nosy sometimes.

  “No, it’s fine. Well, there’s my sister, and she still lives in my hometown. We used to be super close when we were young. We were practically inseparable, but then, the whole thing with my mom happened.”

  I desperately want to know what happened, but I don’t want to pry. “That must have been hard,” I offer, not quite knowing what else to say.

  “Well, when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I was already here with Clara, and married. We were thinking about having a baby. I couldn’t be there for my mom. I couldn’t do that to Clara. I wanted Clara to give me an out. I wanted her to say ‘go be with your mother. I can wait,’ but she never did. I knew she’d be angry if I left her to be with my mom.”

  “That’s awful,” I say. “I would have let you go.”

  He smiles. “I know… that’s the person you are. But Clara, she was never close to her parents so she didn’t understand. And she wanted to start a family.”

  “You must have been close to your mother,” I say. Something tells me he was.

  We meet another couple with a dog, a black and white furry thing. The dogs sniff each other, and we exchange pleasantries.

  “Have a nice day,” Eli says as we leave them.

  “Yeah,” he says. “My mom and us kids were incredibly close. We were all best friends. I think that’s pretty common with single moms.”

  His words tear at my heart — it’s so true. It was for me anyway. “I know exactly what you mean. My sister and I and my mom were inseparable too. My dad left us when I was a baby. I don’t even remember him. Deadbeat dad.”

  He smiles, but it’s a bittersweet grin. “We have a lot in common, you and me.”

  “It’s true,” I agree. “We both had deadbeat dads… we’ve both lost our moms... and we’re both artists.” I look down at Floyd. “And we both love dogs,” I add with a smile.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” he says. “I love cats too.”

  “Oh, that’s good, because I don’t think we could be friends if you didn’t.” I smile at my words. I know that we’re more than friends, and I also know that he’ll never meet my little Elsie.

  “Anyway, like I mentioned before, when my mom went downhill, my sister called me, and I took the first flight out. I had… one day with her,” he says and his voice cracks. I pray he’s not going to start crying because I’m not sure I can handle that. “One fucking day,” he goes on, “after all she’s done for me. She raised me and my sister as a single mom with no money. She was always strong for us, and always made us smile. We never had fancy clothes, traveled or ate out because we just couldn’t afford it, but we would dance in the living room, make cupcakes and cook, watch silly sitcoms, and play card games. And what do I do?”

  I’m speechless.

  “I leave her and move across the ocean to be with some girl who steals my heart, and then cheats on me.” His voice is hoarse. “I should have been with my mom. She deserved more than one day. You know how many times I came back to visit her throughout the years?”

  I don’t know what to say.

  “Three times,” he says. “And she came to see me only once. She couldn’t afford more.”

  This is so heartbreaking.

  “I resented Clara so much when I came back, I just couldn’t love her anymore. That’s when it all went downhill for us. We stopped having sex, we stopped talking, and playing… no wonder she cheated on me.”

  The man desperately needs a hug, but we’re walking down the street with the dog. And… fuck it.

  “Eli,” I say and stop. He stil
ls, and Floyd jerks on his leash, a confused expression on his furry face. I reach for Eli, and stand on the tip of my toes, wrap my arms around him. He squeezes me tightly. “I understand you,” I tell him. “I feel exactly the same about my mother.” I’m crying now — I just can’t help it. Our stories are so similar, it’s insane. He doesn’t let go, I know we must look odd standing in the middle of the sidewalk like this. I wonder if we were meant to meet, if Eli and I are more than chance, if we are destiny.

  Floyd tugs at us and yelps. I reluctantly let go. “I’m sorry… I just had to do that.”

  He smiles, his beautiful eyes wet. “I’m glad you did. I needed that.”

  We set out walking again. Floyd shoots us both a look, as if to say, “We’re walking here people, get with the program.”

  “I’ll tell you about my mom one day,” I promise. As I utter the words, my heart sinks. ‘One day’ will have to be soon since we don’t have many days left.

  “I’d like that,” he says.

  After a beat, he turns to me, and in the light of mid-afternoon, he’s so perfect. I thought he was stunning when I first saw him, but every day spent with him makes him more beautiful to me. What’s inside is just as amazing as what’s outside. So great in fact, I can hardly stand it. “Tell me about your kids,” he says.

  I think about Emma and Theo. I check my watch, and know they are still in school this very minute. Soon, John will pick them up from school. That’s usually my job, and I miss it. It’s my favorite part of the day. “They’re amazing. Sweet as pie.”

  He smiles. “Well, no wonder,” he says. “Just look at who they take after.”

  I laugh. “Oh, you flatter me too much.”

  “They’re great because they have a great mom,” he says. “I mean that.”

  “Well, it’s true,” I agree. “I mean, just look at you. You obviously had a great mom, and I think you’re the sweetest human being I’ve ever met.”

  He blushes.

  “But I can’t take full credit,” I tell him. “John might not be faithful, and a bit of a workaholic, but he’s a great dad. I can’t fault him on that.”

  Eli’s face falls, and I know I shouldn’t have mentioned John. “I just...” I stammer. “I just… when I met John, I knew he’d be a good dad, and a good provider, and it was what I was looking for. I didn’t want my kids to have a deadbeat dad, and didn’t want them to want for anything. I wanted them to have decent lunches; fruit, cheese, real milk, and not have to suffer through the winters with worn boots, like I did. My mother was wonderful, but we struggled so much.”

  Eli seems shocked by my words. It’s hard to believe, looking at me, with my designer clothing, giant rock on my finger, and a watch that costs more than a small car. It’s hard to believe I was ever hungry. I probably had it worse than he did. A school scholarship and a man saved me. A man I’ll be going back to in four or five days.

  “I’m so sorry,” he says. “I had no idea.”

  We’re silent for a beat, but before long, Eli says, “Tell me about them… your kids.”

  I tell him all about them. I tell him about Theo’s piano lessons, and current obsession with Legos, and how he absolutely refuses to eat anything green. I tell him about Emma’s dancing, and her new fascination with nail polish. “We have about a hundred bottles. Sparkles, metallic, glossy, in every color of the rainbow.”

  “I used to love wearing nail polish,” he confesses.

  I crack up. “Really?!”

  “Well, you know, I grew up with just a mom and an older sister. I didn’t know any better. I always cleaned it off before stepping out of the house.”

  I find this ridiculously funny. “I’m picturing you as a kid, with red toenails. You’re adorable.”

  “Oh, I was.”

  “It all makes sense now,” I say. “You’re not a typical man; not into sports and cars. You love cooking and you have remarkable good taste for a man… the way you dress, and your bedroom is gorgeous.”

  “Totally not gay, though,” he jokes. “Just so you know.”

  “Oh, I know.”

  When we get back to his place, Eli makes me a delicious charcuterie platter with cheese and meats and fancy olives, and something he calls Moscow Mules, served in cool copper mugs. They’re freaking delicious, spicy ginger beer and lime.

  “I think this might be my new favorite drink,” I tell him.

  “I can’t wait to show you my studio,” he says. “I’ve got a few things to do,” he adds. “I wanted to take the whole week off to be with you, but I just need to finish this order. Do you want to come and bring a book?”

  “Sure, I’ll bring my iPad,” I tell him. “I’m reading a book right now.”

  Chapter Thirty

  HIS STUDIO IS FABULOUS, and larger than I initially thought. I’m mesmerized when we first walk in. One end is very industrial and a little scary, the other is full of color. By the entrance, there’s a cozy corner with a sleek red sofa, coffee table, and a little kitchenette. Cool framed vintage posters and art dot the tall grey concrete walls, and there’s an art table in the corner, and tons of shelving. Shelves with finished pieces; vases, pitchers, decorative glassware, in all the colors known to man. There are shelves of different glass sticks in every hue — I feel like I’m in a candy store. On the opposite wall, there are hundreds of glass jars containing colorful powder.

  “I have a lot of supplies,” he tells me. “Come here,” he urges, takes my hand, and leads me to the finished pieces. “These are ready to go to the dealers.”

  “Wow, this all seems like a lot of work,” I say. “There’s so much to think about, the business end…” I used to work in Marketing, and I wonder how he goes about selling all this stuff. “How do you promote yourself, how do you sell?” I ask, being quite nosy again but I can’t help it.

  “Well, I have a website,” he tells me, “social media, and cards I give out at art shows, but that’s about it,” he says. “Thankfully, Albert takes care of all the sales. He’s great at what he does. He has contacts all over the world. He’s in New York right now.”

  “You seem like you’re doing pretty well,” I offer, taking in everything around me.

  “I’ve been lucky,” he admits. “I’ve made a name for myself so I can charge a decent fee for my work. I’ve poured everything I have into this studio, which is why I could never afford rent, clothes, travel, eating out, and the luxuries of life.” He smiles. “It’s why I don’t have a house or a car. And the rent on this place is kind of insane. This city is crazy expensive. ”

  “I know. I’ve heard.”

  “I just paid everything off a few months ago.” He’s beaming. “I’m officially debt free.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Actually, this guy came over a few months ago and was asking me if I was interested in selling. He had one of those long crumb catcher beards, and was a little scary.”

  “Oh wow,” I say. “And are you… selling?”

  He grins. “Never. What would I do with myself if I didn’t have my studio?”

  I study the beautiful pieces, the swirls of color, and the delicate details. What he does is truly incredible. There are tall vases, intricate bowls which look very breakable, and heavy glass balls. He reaches for one of the balls of glass. “I want you to have one of these,” he says. “It’s small and has no delicate edges,” he explains. “It shouldn’t take too much space in your suitcase, and shouldn’t break. It’s a paperweight.”

  “Oh wow,” I say and reach for my favorite color — orange. “Thank you. The glass is cold and heavy in my hands. I study its insides carefully, swirls of oranges and tiny bubbles. “It’s really pretty. It’ll be perfect on my desk.” I know I’ll never forget Eli with this constant reminder. But how could I ever forget him anyway? He will be a part of me forever.

  We continue our tour into the industrial part of his studio. There’s an industrial oven, which kind of looks like an old-fashioned wood burning stove, somethi
ng from another era. “How hot does that thing get?”

  “About 2500 degrees,” he tells me.

  “Holy shit.”

  There’s a shovel leaning against the wall, a giant floor fan, and strange steel contraptions. I can’t even imagine what they’re for. There are tons of scary looking tools; giant scissors, plyers, and clamps. “This place looks like a torture chamber,” I point out.

  He shoots me a creepy smile. “Yes…” he whispers. “How well do you really know me, Gabriella?”

  I laugh as he inches closer, and wraps an arm around the small of my back. “Maybe it’s all been leading up to this,” he whispers in my ear, his tone ominous. “I even have the oven to burn your body parts after I cut them up.” And then he plants the softest sweetest kiss on my cheek.

  I let out a weak laugh. “You scared me there for a minute.” He really didn’t, he just made my heart beat a little faster like he always does. I feel a little weak in the knees.

  “What is this weird chair for?” I ask. It’s an old theatre-like leather seat, sandwiched between two steel rods. It almost looks like something pre-historic, some kind of a torture chair.

  He sinks into the chair and grabs one of the poles next to it, and rolls it along the steel bars. “I spin the glass on here.”

  “Oh, very cool.” Damn, he looks sexy sitting there. I immediately have very inappropriate thoughts.

  I reach into a steel bin of glass shards — they’re rough, but not sharp. “This place is amazing.” I’m still awestruck by my surroundings, so much more interesting than my little studio, or the boring grey office cubicle I used to work in when I had a day job.

  He hops out of the chair and closes the distance between us. He presses his tall frame against my back, and wraps an arm around my waist. I close my eyes. My body is instantly aroused. Just a touch, and I’m on fire. “I’ve daydreamed about this,” he whispers against my ear.

  “About what?” I ask.