by Fiona Cole
From: Lana Designs, Inc.
To: Evelyn Valero
Hello, Miss Valero. This is Lana from Lana’s Designs. I know sometimes things can get lost through email and I wanted to touch base with you to see if you received our proposal. We noticed that you haven’t responded, and we are unfortunately running out of time. If you have any questions, you can always contact me through this email. I hope to hear from you soon.
Ciao!
Saturday:
Me (9:23am): Lu … I’m taking the job.
Lu (10:46am): Have you told Jameson?
Me (10:46am): No.
Lu (10:59am): …. Evelyn.
Me (11:00am): I know.
Saturday was the worst. I thought the worst was Thursday when for the first time Jameson didn’t call, but it was really Saturday. Because that was the day I said aloud that I was taking the job in Italy.
Shouldn’t it have felt better than the hollow pit sinking in my stomach? Shouldn’t I be excited to get out of bed and open my computer to let them know I was coming?
It didn’t.
When I walked past my computer on my coffee table on the way to the kitchen, I just stared at it like it was my worst nightmare. Like if I touched it, it would burn me.
I turned away and kicked on my coffee maker for the first time since the previous Sunday. While I waited, I redid my greasy ponytail. I had showered once that week. And that was only because I was desperate to try and get myself out of my bed. I didn’t care if I was clean or not. I just wanted to feel human again. All week I had been burrowed deep under my covers, ordering food and only getting out of bed for the essentials.
Who was this person? Who was this person who didn’t wake up until eleven each day, only to roll over and grab a granola bar as she turned on the television? I’d cringed each time my phone would go off. I knew it was Jameson, and I thought time would make it easier to not respond. I thought time away would make it easier to tell him I didn’t want to be with him anymore.
It didn’t.
And instead of turning off my phone, I kept it on and let the tears fall as I let the ring continue without answering. My body ached with the need to reach over to pick up and ask him to come hold me. To make me feel better. Instead, my masochism mixed with my depression and I scrunched my eyes waiting for it to end. I started taking a sleeping pill just so I could be awake less. Being awake hurt.
I walked to the bathroom and stared at the shell of a woman in the mirror. My hair was a greasy, tangled mess. The dark circles under my eyes stood in stark contrast against my pale skin and dull blue eyes. My jaw clenched staring at the woman in the mirror I didn’t recognize. I turned away in disgust and reached over to get my shower started.
When I first woke, I started a new mantra for that day. I was going to get out of bed. I was going to stop being a chicken shit and call Jameson. I was going to shower. I wasn’t going to cry anymore.
But I failed as soon as I started thinking about seeing Jameson and not holding him and kissing him. This was what my mother warned me about, and amidst the crushing pain in my chest and nausea rolling around my stomach, I couldn’t think of a way to make it better.
When I thought about asking Jameson to make it work with me, my mom’s words came back, reminding me that it would feel so much worse later, because by then I would have lost myself along with Jameson. Sometimes I would imagine making it work anyway, or even possibly turning down the position. But my mom had never steered me wrong. Never. I had to have faith in her. It had gotten me where I was, and it wouldn’t let me down.
The confusion washed over me and mixed with the hot water. Giving in to the storm of upset raging inside me, I cried. I decided it would be the last time and then I would put makeup on and get dressed, and eat, and email my acceptance to go to Italy.
When I got out of the shower, I looked at my phone out of habit and my plans of makeup and leaving the house flew out the window.
Jameson (1:01pm): I miss you.
Three simple words that hit me like freight train. This was Jameson. My best friend’s brother. The man who I’d teased for years. Who I loved to make blush and frustrated.
This was Jameson.
And I couldn’t let my sadness and confusion about whether or not I would leave him lead him on anymore. I had to end it sooner rather than later.
But, with my finger hovered over the call button, I backed down and brought up a text message instead. I was such a chicken-shit. Jameson would have laughed in my face at how weak I was being.
Me (1:53pm): Jameson. I don’t know if Lu told you, but I’m going to take the job in Italy. I’m sorry I haven’t returned your messages; I’ve just been crazy busy with getting everything ready to go. I leave next month. But with this decision, I realize I need to focus on myself and what I need over the next couple of weeks. You know I’ve had tons of fun over the last couple of months, but we are two different people who want different things in life. Rather than dragging it out, I figured I was going to be so busy, and I didn’t want to have to split my time. I know you understand. You’re my family, my brother, and we will still see each other at Sunday lunches.
I hit send with my trembling finger and dropped my phone to the floor and walked like a zombie back to my room. I’d made sure I laid it on thick. Even going as far as to call him my brother. Jameson was the furthest thing from a brother I could imagine. But he was a stubborn man, and if I showed an inch of doubt, he would wedge his way in and change my mind. So instead, I lied.
Not even bothering to shed my robe, I crawled back into bed and burrowed under the covers, hoping they would give me an ounce of comfort and hide me from the world.
The hardest part was over.
The next day would be easier.
This ache would slowly fade, and each day would get easier.
I had already told one lie, what was wrong with a couple more to help me sleep?
I jerked awake, looking around my dark room to find what had woken me. A loud banging came from my door and I squinted my eyes at the clock to see what time it was: eight thirty-two. I’d been asleep for five hours. Fuck. I never slept that much. Dragging my hands over my face and hair, I tried to focus.
The banging came again, and I stepped out of bed. I didn’t know who could’ve been knocking on my door, but I had an idea. I stepped lightly on the hardwood, making sure I didn’t make any noise and didn’t turn on any lights.
Leaning in, I looked through my peephole to see a tired Jameson scowling on the other side. With tears pricking my eyes, I let myself take him in through the tiny shard of glass. Even with dark circles under his eyes to match my own and more facial hair than usual, he looked stunning in a heather gray shirt. He took up the whole area I could see with his broad shoulders. Lost in my perusal of him, I jerked when the pounding came again.
I eased myself down on the floor next to the door and waited him out. I wasn’t strong enough to let him in.
“Evelyn. Open up!” he shouted. “Please!” he said more quietly. I didn’t know if he knew I was on the other side. “I know you’re in there. I saw your car in the parking garage.” Fuck. “I don’t know why you’re doing this.” His words had gotten even quieter. “I don’t even know if you can hear me. But I hope you can. Unlike you, I’m not some chicken-shit too scared to say things to your face,” he delivered with a small laugh. He knew I had a hard time backing down from a challenge. But my body was tired, and I sat silently on the floor.
A hard thud hit my door, and his words came out muffled like he’d dropped his head to the surface. “I love you.” My chest pinched, and the tears I’d been fighting began to fall down my cheeks. “I really do, and I think we all know how shocking that is considering the amount of bickering we do. But I do love you. And I think you love me too. But I think your mom put some thoughts in your head and scared you. Which is funny, because the Evelyn I know would never run scared. Would never send a text message to break up with me. But I …” he pause
d, and for a second I wondered if he was going to walk away. “But I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to reach you. Because while you usually aren’t a chicken shit, you are always stubborn. So, I guess …” My eyes were closed, shutting off my other senses so I could savor the deep sound of his voice longer. “I guess I want you to know that I’m more stubborn, and I’ll wait you out. I’ll even wait you out of Italy. You’ll come back and I’ll be here.”
I shook my head against the wall, not wanting that from him. Jameson had been through so much, and he was on the cusp of finally doing things for himself. I wouldn’t be the reason he held back any longer. I didn’t want to always make him wait for me. Because there would be other opportunities that took me away and I didn’t want to keep asking myself if I was sacrificing myself for him. And I didn’t want him to do the same for me.
“I love you, Evelyn. Every sassy, stubborn, pain-in-the-ass inch of you. I love you.”
And he was gone. I heard the heavy fall of his shoes on the carpet outside my door, slowly fading away.
Finally opening my eyes, they landed on the laptop on my coffee table; which had mocked me all week. I should’ve gotten up and responded to that email. Instead, I rolled to my feet and resumed my spot on my bed.
Twenty-Six
Luella (2:34pm): Are you ever coming back to family lunches? Jameson told me what happened, and while it sucks, you’re still my family and I expect you here. Don’t make me come drag your sad ass here next week. Final warning.
I didn’t get out of bed Sunday, so when Monday rolled around, I’d had enough of my own shit. I smelled, my stomach was full of junk, and my apartment was starting to stink bad from all the takeout. I needed to put an end to this. I had never been really depressed before, but I figured getting up out of my own funkiness was a place to start.
I was a woman on a mission; armed with a cute new dress, fuchsia pumps, and lipstick to match. Deciding to get out of the apartment no matter what, I grabbed my laptop and headed to my usual coffee spot to get some work done.
I still ignored the email from Italy. It could wait until I didn’t feel like vomiting every time I looked at it. I was in the middle of responding to a different email when I heard a familiar voice.
“I’d recognize those legs anywhere.” Looking up, I did my best to hide my cringe at seeing Taylor at my table. It was amazing that after being with Jameson, someone who I thought was beyond handsome before was just okay then.
“Hey Taylor.”
“I’ve been hoping to see you around. I know our first date didn’t end the way we wanted and I was hoping a guy could get a second chance.” He smiled down at me and I paused to take time and remind myself that he looked like Scott Eastwood and he wasn’t so bad.
Despite his looks, my immediate reaction was to say hell no.
“Come on. I always see you working so hard here and I would love to treat you to a nice dinner and drinks,” he asked softly. I was reminded of the saying the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else. I physically shuddered at the thought of being with Taylor or anyone else. “Cold?” he asked, mistaking my reaction. “Why don’t you let me buy you another drink to warm you up before I leave.”
It was nice. And while I was nowhere near ready to be physical with anyone, I reminded myself I needed to get out there and figured, why not Taylor. So, hesitantly, I agreed. “Sure. To the black coffee and the date.”
His excited smile did nothing to pique my interest more for our date.
Which led me to the following Tuesday night when I was walking out of my apartment and waiting for Taylor to pick me up for a date. He pulled his Porsche up to the curb and leaned over to open my door. I already regretted the night but I needed to push on. The first time was going to be the hardest, and I needed to get it over with.
“Hey, Beautiful.” My stomach churned when he said it. Jameson called me that and it sounded so much sexier and sincere coming from his deep baritone than from Taylor’s nasally voice. Why was I here? To move on. It didn’t mean anything, I just needed to move on.
“Hey.” My response lacked excitement and emotion.
“So, I was thinking about our last date, and I remembered you knew the owner of King’s. I figured we could go there.”
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. My world spun on its axis, my stomach bottomed out. Of all the fucking places. My mouth was dry and I was unable to form words as all the possibilities went flying through my mind.
But then I remembered how Jameson said he would wait for me. I didn’t want that from him, and I knew he was stubborn, not easily deterred. I needed to make it clear to him that I wasn’t going back to him. He needed to remember that I didn’t do relationships. I didn’t want him hanging around and putting his life on hold any longer.
Despite the chills of dread breaking out across my skin, I knew it was the best thing to do, and I didn’t say anything to change our date that night. Who knew … maybe Jameson wasn’t even there.
Walking into King’s with Taylor’s hand on the small of my back, I knew immediately that I was out of luck. Jameson was standing behind the bar. My heart kicked up the pace at the way his muscles flexed when he lifted the bucket of ice. I drank him in while his back was turned to me.
“Where should we sit?” Taylor asked, bringing my attention back to him.
At another bar was the first thing that crossed my mind. Instead, I pointed and suggested, “Maybe the back corner.”
“Nah. We’ll never get good service back there. They’ll forget us. Let’s sit at one of these center tables.”
Clenching my jaw, I bit back my sharp retort, wanting to call him out for even bothering to ask me when he was just going to ignore me.
Pulling my chair up, I lifted my head for one more glance at Jameson, only to have my heart stop when my gaze collided with a stormy, angry blue under lowered brows. My initial shock pulled a sharp breath from my chest and I stood there lost for a moment before swallowing and letting an indifferent mask cloak my face. With my eyebrow cocked, I forced a close-lipped smile infused with the confidence I used to have.
Unable to hold his glare, I turned away and sat down. It wasn’t long before Angela, one of the waitresses, came walking over with her blonde ponytail swinging behind her. When she took in our table, her head tipped to the side in confusion. Not wanting to explain in front of Taylor, I gave her a friendly smile and pretended nothing was wrong with the fact that I was on a date with someone who wasn’t the man I had been with last week.
Fuck.
“Hey, Angela!” I forced joy into my tone, praying she didn’t ask anything. “How are you? This is my friend, Taylor.”
“Good,” she responded slowly, still uncertain. “And is this your business friend?”
“Business?” Taylor laughed, like it was hilarious that I could have anything to do with business. “That’s cute. No, this lucky lady is my date tonight.”
Staring at him, I thought there was no way I was going to make it through the night. If I did, I was going to end up assaulting him. How did this man seem attractive before? Had so much changed in the past few months? Had Jameson ruined me for any other man?
“Nice,” her eyes flicked to mine with a forced smile and eyebrows raised. “So, what can I get you two to drink?”
“This little lady will have a red–”
“White,” I interjected.
“Right. A white wine. And I’ll have a scotch on the rocks.” He winked at me before continuing. “And since of course we’re friends of the owner, we thought maybe we could … sample … some drinks. Friend to a friend.”
“Taylor!” My eyes shot wide. I could not believe he’d just asked for free drinks. The man who flaunted his wealth was asking for free drinks. He only shrugged like it was no big deal. Fuck, my blood was boiling. “Ignore him, Angela. He’s being a dick right now,” I ground out. “We’ll just take the drinks. I’m not hungry.”
“Yeah. Sure.” She turned to walk
away but gave one last glare to Taylor before going to get the drinks.
A hot rush infused my cheeks from a mixture of embarrassment and anger.
“I don’t see what the big deal is. I know plenty of business owners and they’re always willing to help me out. I pay them back with golfing trips and beer.” He waved his hand like he was swatting away my annoyance.
“I’m going to run to the restroom.” I needed a minute to calm down.
Walking away, I kept my head down to avoid looking at anyone. My focus was on reaching the bathroom so I could calm down enough to go back out and tell Taylor what a giant mistake our date was and then to leave. Pushing the door open, I was blissfully alone. I leaned onto the sink and turned on the cold water, running a paper towel under it and bringing it to my neck to cool down.
I stared at myself in the mirror, trying to reconcile the eyes I saw looking back at me. They were both familiar and completely strange to me. What had happened? Who did those eyes belong to? Because they didn’t look anything like the confident ones that I’d been staring at three months ago. And they didn’t look like the shining blue ones filled with happiness just over a week ago. They were dull and heavy, filled with sadness and doubt.
I shouldn’t have come. The date was a mistake. Going to King’s was a mistake. Everything was a mistake, and my body felt weighed down by all the mistakes I was making, each one chipping away at my already weak confidence.
Squaring my shoulders, I stared myself down in the mirror and remembered my anger. I was going out to tell Taylor that he was a dick and to fuck off. I was doing at least one thing right.
Walking out of the bathroom, I stopped dead in my tracks, almost choking on my heart where it was lodged in my throat.
“Jameson,” I whispered, all previous bravado gone.
He leaned one shoulder against the wall in the dim hallway watching me. His broad arms crossed, his body backlit from the bar beyond. Even in the dimness, I saw his jaw ticking.