Reserved for You

by Brenda Margriet

  Grace’s words echoed in Jemma’s head a couple of days later.

  She and Miriam went grocery shopping. It started well enough, with Miriam cheerful and lively, pleased to be out and about. As they puttered around the store, however, she drew into herself, growing quieter and quieter.

  Jemma turned from loading apples into a bag and stumbled into her. Miriam’s eyes darted up, down, side to side. “What’s wrong, Gramma?”

  She clutched Jemma’s sleeve and leaned toward her. “I don’t like it here,” she whispered. “I want to go home. Can we go home? Please?”

  “We’ll be done in a couple minutes,” Jemma soothed. “I’m right here with you. Will you be okay a tiny bit longer?”

  Miriam hesitated, and nodded. For the rest of the errand she stayed close to Jemma, clinging to her sleeve.

  The sky had been bright and clear when they’d left the apartment, but the quickly changeable coastal weather had blown in damp, dark grey clouds. A chill breeze ruffled Miriam’s loose curls.

  “Come on, we’d better put a move on,” Jemma encouraged as they rounded the corner to their apartment. “If we hustle we shouldn’t get wet.”

  Miriam stopped abruptly and glared. “Don’t you tell me what to do, young lady. I’m old enough to be your grandmother.”

  Jemma searched Miriam’s eyes for a hint of humour, of recognition. Nothing. She stuttered a reply. “I-I’m sorry. I was trying to help.” She battened down her instinct to argue, to explain, afraid it would tip Miriam further into confusion. But how to get Miriam home?

  “Do you live near here?” she asked tentatively.

  Miriam wagged a finger in her face. “Oh, no, I know how this works. You offer to carry my groceries to find out where I live. Then you and your gangster boyfriends break in one night and rob me blind.”

  Jemma restrained a hysterical giggle. It would be funny if it wasn’t so tragic. “Uh, fine, then. I’ll be on my way.”

  She trotted out of Miriam’s sight, making a quick left into the forecourt of a six-plex. Shrubbery separated the narrow yard from the sidewalk, and she peered through the branches at Miriam.

  She stood where Jemma had left her. The fierceness had faded from her face and her head swung back and forth. She set off hesitantly. Jemma dodged through a break in the hedge and kept her in sight, breathing a sigh of relief when she turned into the correct building.

  Picking up her pace, she joined Miriam at the elevator door. “Hey, Gramma. Taking a walk?”

  Miriam smiled at her. “Jemma! Home from work already? That’s nice. We’ll have a cup of tea together.”

  The day continued, a roller coaster of good and bad moments. They made it through dinner, and Miriam settled in her chair, remote in hand. Jemma had never been so ready for a quiet night of television. Tight muscles in her shoulders and neck slowly relaxed.

  Until the theme for Reservations for Two filled the room.

  When Paul had been shown the green room for the first time, before meeting the contestants, before being recognized on the street, before Jemma, he’d been surprised by its lack of drama. A simple square room, a few mismatched chairs, a window looking onto the set. No bright bulbs, velveteen furniture, garish paintings. It had been a jarring disconnect from his expectations.

  He felt even more disconnected tonight, and had for weeks. Since Jemma had been fired, in fact.

  He stared through the glass at the scurrying crew. Even now, if he saw a dark shadow out of the corner of his eye, a smile touched his lips. But only for an instant, before he remembered she wasn’t coming back. Because of him.

  Calynn entered the room, sophisticated in a lemon-yellow cocktail dress covered with sparkling bangles.

  “We go live in twenty minutes.” She stood next to him and watched the action on the other side of the window. “Ready?”

  “Sure.”

  She leaned one shoulder casually against the glass. He caught a whiff of hair spray, Calynn’s professional perfume. “The ride is almost over,” she said.

  He tilted his head toward her. “One more week, after tonight.”

  “Regrets?”

  He knew she knew about the fiasco with Jemma. “About taking part in the show?” He shook his head. “No. It did what it was supposed to—get Paulo’s out of debt, promote the restaurant to a whole new audience.”

  Her eyes searched his. To his shock she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good man, Paul Almeida.” She rubbed his skin with her thumb, wiping off the sticky residue of her lipstick. “Things will work out. You’ll see.”

  She tapped off in her slinky high heels. A moment later he saw her on set, speaking with Lainie, who nodded and headed in his direction. He was completely unsurprised when she joined him moments later.

  “Need anything? Water, chocolate, a pep talk?” she asked brightly.

  In the weeks following Jemma’s dismissal, Lainie had remained friendly and professional. But he thought he saw, behind her calm facade, a deep sense of disappointment, of betrayal.

  “You could tell me how Jemma’s doing.”

  After the debacle in Larrey’s office, Paul had tried to get a hold of Jemma. He’d called her cell phone more times than he cared to remember. Texted impassioned pleas to give him a chance to explain, to apologize.

  She refused to answer.

  He found the number of her landline and called. Miriam answered, but before he could ask to speak to Jemma the connection was broken. He’d envisioned Jemma taking the receiver from Miriam’s hand and hanging it up.

  He’d been reduced to begging Lainie for any scraps of information she might let drop. The morsels she fed him were few and far between.

  Her smiled dimmed. “You know I can’t. I promised Jemma.”

  “I don’t understand why you won’t at least tell me if she has a new job.” It was killing him, not knowing if she had found a way to support herself and Miriam.

  “At first she was so hurt, so pissed, she wouldn’t talk to me.” Lainie touched his arm. “We’ve been best friends since kindergarten, and I’ve only seen her that upset two other times. I’m sorry, but she needs me more than you do. I won’t put that at risk.”

  In the middle of the night, lying in bed with the city skyline at his feet out-glowing the stars, he contemplated pouncing on Jemma when she left her building and dragging her into his car. If she wouldn’t talk, he could make her listen.

  In the saner light of day he tossed out that plan. Going Neanderthal wasn’t in his personality.

  The pity in Lainie’s eyes was too much to bear. He turned away from her, staring out the window once again.

  Instinct told him he had no chance of convincing Jemma to give him a second chance until after the finale, after he was no longer part of the show. All he had to do was keep it together until after that. Then he would make it right, somehow.

  One more week.

  Jemma didn’t have to put herself through the torture of two nights of Reservations for Two each week. She could have hidden in her room. But Miriam enjoyed sharing her opinions on everything from the contestants to the cooking to the dating so much Jemma couldn’t let her watch it alone. The only person Miriam didn’t criticize was Paul. He could do no wrong. Every episode she told Jemma the story of how Paul had made her dinner. Every episode she asked Jemma when he was coming over again.

  And every episode Jemma said, “I don’t know,” instead of telling Miriam the truth. That the only way she would ever see Paul again was on a television screen.

  Miriam’s fascination with the show was an excuse. The perfect excuse for Jemma. The truth was the exact opposite.

  Jemma watched because it was the only way she was ever going to see Paul again.

  “This is it.” Miriam bounced in her chair. “After tonight we’ll know which women will go to the finale.” She turned to Jemma, her eyes bright and clear, and Jemma wished with all her heart they would stay that way. “Wasn’t last week a surprise, when Fenella was eliminat
ed?”

  “It certainly was.” Jemma was stunned when Paul sent Fenella home. The week after Jemma’s firing, Fenella had been one of the middle ranking contestants, and therefore safe. Last week she’d won the challenge and had been awarded a date with Paul.

  He had sent her home.

  If she believed Paul to be the vindictive sort, Jemma might have thought he’d done it for revenge, as punishment for Fenella’s role in Jemma’s dismissal. Regardless of the reason, she had to admit it warmed a corner of the ice block that was her heart.

  “Then this week, they changed the rules again. Paul dated everyone—Sappho, Evie and Yvonne—and now he has to decide who the two finalists are.” Miriam fell silent as Calynn Ferro began her opening spiel, her attention riveted on the screen.

  Jemma had been astounded at the crippling pain that arced through her, the first night she watched the show without being a part of it. She missed the sense of belonging, the edgy excitement before going live, the rush of adrenalin after the show wrapped. She missed knowing she had had a hand in aligning the pieces just right.

  And she ached for Paul.

  They’d spoken little when they were on set. Jemma saw to that. But she missed meeting his eyes during a commercial break. Brushing past him in the hallway. Watching him, ever the gentleman, as he dated the other women. Dated them because it was his duty, his responsibility, and his job. Not because he loved them.

  He’d said he loved her.

  Too bad she only realized she loved him after he’d destroyed her trust in him. The endless, stabbing pain had shown her where her heart lay.

  Crushed under the weight of Paul’s brutal honesty.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Jemma staggered through the apartment door. Her feet throbbed with each step, her back begged for a rest, and her hands stung from harsh cleaning chemicals.

  “Hey, Gramma. Mr. Chan.”

  Miriam tilted her head in mute acknowledgment, her eyes never leaving the television set. As her grasp on the world loosened, she sank deeper and deeper into the fantasies beaming to her through the screen. Jemma wished she could get rid of the damn thing, force Miriam to pay attention to what was going on around her, help her cling to reality a while longer. But she couldn’t snatch away the one activity that soothed Miriam, no matter how bad the day.

  “Hello, Jemma.” Mr. Chan rose to his feet, giving a small bow in greeting.

  “Thanks for staying with her. I didn’t want to pass on the extra hours.”

  “My pleasure.” He patted Miriam’s shoulder. “I’m going now, Miriam. Jemma’s home.”

  “Shhh,” she said irritably. “The show’s already started.”

  He smiled politely with closed lips, said goodbye to Jemma, and left. The first time he’d stayed with Miriam she offered to pay him. He made it clear in no uncertain terms she had insulted him, and she’d rushed to apologize. She was careful not to ask him to stay too often, afraid to test his goodwill.

  After twelve hours of changing sheets stained with unmentionable body fluids, washing threadbare towels smelling of mildew no matter how much bleach she used, and scrubbing toilets corroded with decades of shit, all she wanted was to soak in a shower and fall into bed.

  “Jemma, sit!” Miriam commanded. “Where have you been? You didn’t forget the finale is tonight, did you?”

  Her shoulders, already drooping from the merciless day, slumped further. “No, Gramma, I haven’t forgotten.” It had been one reason she’d taken the extra shift. She’d hoped to dull the anguish of knowing tonight was the last time she’d see Paul’s face. It had partially worked. She was exhausted and strung out, but the labour hadn’t made her forget that tonight the man she loved was going to propose marriage to another woman.

  “I have to have a shower. I’m filthy.”

  Miriam looked at her in a panic. “But you’ll miss more of the show!”

  “I’ll be as quick as I can.” She hadn’t had a long, luxurious shower in weeks. “Don’t move, okay? You don’t want to miss anything yourself.”

  She lingered under the hot water a smidge longer than normal, trusting Miriam’s devotion to Reservations for Two would keep her in her seat, then toweled off rapidly and squeezed water out of her hair. The bright pink at the tips of her bangs had faded to a sickly pastel, and long strands tickled her neck, but she couldn’t justify the expense of a cut and colour. Soon she’d hack at it with scissors herself.

  Shuffling through the kitchen she grabbed a can of pop and flopped onto the couch. On the screen, impossibly handsome men and women lounged beside an impossibly beautiful pool while showing off their impossibly white teeth, advertising alcohol or toothpaste or clothing. Jemma didn’t know and didn’t care. She tucked her feet up, sliding them comfortably inside the baggy cuffs of her ragged sweats.

  Miriam happily filled her in on what she’d missed. “Sappho and Yvonne both have to make a three course meal for Paul. They have to set the scene for a romantic dinner. You missed Yvonne’s. Paul was polite, of course, but he didn’t seem too impressed.”

  Jemma wondered if Paul ever thought of her. He’d tried to get hold of her after she’d left the show, when she was bitter and grieving and angry, but had given up after a few days.

  He was probably over his infatuation with her by now. She couldn’t believe he still loved her, wouldn’t believe it, or she might shatter into pieces. She stifled a squirm of embarrassment when she thought of how little she’d done to deserve his affection. She’d snarked and complained and pushed him away, and yet he’d looked past all that. He’d seen her, seen inside her, shown her wants and desires she hadn’t known she had.

  Not that it mattered, now.

  When the commercial break ended, she stared at the screen, but did her best to blank out her vision. If she concentrated, she should be able to think of something, anything else, while fooling Miriam into believing she was paying attention.

  This disconnect helped her through Paul’s date with Sappho. But when the final segment began, she couldn’t sustain it. These were the last few minutes she would ever see him. She had to watch.

  Paul and Calynn sat in their low leather chairs. Jemma blocked her ears to what Paul was saying, trying to absorb the rumble of his voice without hearing the words that would bring her so much pain. She studied his face hungrily. Had he lost weight? The clefts in his cheeks seemed sharper, the lines radiating from his warm brown eyes deeper. When the video cut to a close-up she balled her hands into fists to quell the ridiculous urge to touch the screen.

  Sappho and Yvonne appeared through an arched trellis, insipidly festooned with white roses, pearly tulle, and fairy lights. Paul joined the two women, and she forgot everything else in the masochistic urge to learn which one he had chosen.

  “These last few weeks have been an amazing experience,” he said. The camera swung smoothly behind Sappho and Yvonne, framing Paul between them. “I’ve learned so much, about myself, about relationships, about love.” The shot cut to the two women, tension obvious in wide eyes and parted lips, then transitioned back to Paul. “I’ve learned how horribly easy it is to hurt those you love, even when you want what’s best for them.”

  Jemma’s heart thudded, hard.

  His gaze rested on the women before him. “I’ve enjoyed the time I spent with both of you. You are warm, caring women. But I can only choose one of you.” He paused. “I can only choose one of you,” he repeated.

  “Come on, Paul,” Miriam encouraged. “Tell us which one you are in love with.”

  The camera zoomed in on Paul’s face.

  “I agreed to the role on Reservations for Two because it would be an adventure.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. A sad smile, Jemma thought. “In all honesty, though, I didn’t believe I would fall in love with a woman on the show. I didn’t believe I would find the love of my life. I was wrong.”

  Miriam leaned toward the screen. “Here it is,” she whispered. “He’s going to...” Her voice faded,
too wrapped up in the drama to finish her sentence.

  “Sappho, Yvonne. I’ve made my choice. You are both lovely, wonderful women, and you will make lovely, wonderful wives. For other men, just not for me. I’m sorry.” He turned away from them and stared into the lens of the camera. “Jemma, if you’re watching this, please, listen to me. I love you. I’m sorry I messed up. But believe me. I love you, with all my heart. Jemma, will you marry me?”

  Time stopped.

  “What?” Miriam turned from the TV in bewilderment. “What did he say?”

  A cold flood expanded from Jemma’s chest, froze her limbs, halted her heart. Her cheeks tingled and her body felt weighted, clumsy.

  “What’s going on, Jemma?” Miriam’s high-pitched tone warned her confusion bordered on hysteria. “Who is Paul talking about? Why is he not picking Sappho or Yvonne?

  “I don’t know what’s happening.” Her voice sounded tinny and thin. “Let’s keep watching and see.”

  With a frown, Miriam turned back to the TV.

  The camera was still focused on Paul. Jemma could imagine the consternation filling the control room at his impromptu announcement. He wouldn’t have told them what he was going to do beforehand. Benedict and Larrey would never have agreed.

  The shot changed to show Sappho, Yvonne, and Paul, the two women blank faced in astonishment. Calynn joined the group and smiled reassuringly. “This is an unexpected development,” she said playfully. “Paul, what is this all about?”

  “First, I should apologize to Yvonne and Sappho.” He nodded at the two women. “It wasn’t my intention to slight either of you. Until a minute ago, I fully intended to propose to one of you, and then break the news I couldn’t fulfill my promise once we were off air.” He made eye contact with the camera. Jemma felt the jolt of his gaze deep in her soul. “But I couldn’t. When it came right down to it, I had to be honest.”

  Jemma hunched forward on the couch, her arms wrapped around her waist, unable to take her eyes from the screen. She could barely take in what he was saying. It was as if he were speaking an unfamiliar language, one where she understood a few of the words, but even those words made no sense in the context he was using.