Chapter 11

Eleven

SARA

I almost wishedhe hadn’t texted me after our date last Tuesday, because after the anticlimactic end to our magical evening, I went up to my room and iced my sadness with a hearty bowl of Rocky Road and accepted the fact that the fairytale had ended before it even started. A part of me was actually glad it had ended so sourly because it cemented the fact that love simply wasn’t in my cards, and at least things went up in smoke before any true feelings formed.

He’d spared me of a potential heartache.

Then he sent me that text and while he didn’t say much, it kinda sparked hope in me again—despite my better judgement—that he was actually still thinking about me and that I hadn’t done anything wrong to turn him off. I knew it was stupid of me to think like that, to allow myself to imagine that he was still interested in me. Love had been the furthest thing from my mind in the last four years and I’d been okay with that until this man had butterflies fluttering around in my stomach.

And boy did those butterflies feel so so so good. I’d forgotten what it was like to be kissed like that—like he couldn’t get enough of me. I’d forgotten what it felt like to have a man’s hands on me or to be looked at like I was the most beautiful woman in the world. And that stupid text filled me with unnecessary and unwanted anticipation that I would get another chance to see him and to taste his lips again.

But after Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday went by without a single text or call from him, I slipped back into self-pity mode, completely doubting everything and hating the fact that I’d allowed myself to dream again.

Sure, I could’ve texted him or called him, but I guessed a part of me was still old-fashioned, believing that the man was supposed to do the chasing. Not to mention that Jen warned me against being the one to reach out. That isn’t how the game is played, she’d said. I needed to play hard to get, apparently. According to her, all I needed to do was forget about him, immerse myself in other things, and convince myself I was the prize. If he was meant to be in my life, he’d find me. And if not, good ridden.

Forgetting about him was impossible, no matter how hard I tried. And I secretly hoped he wouldn’t just disappear. I wanted him to text me. Wanted him to simply show up at my doorstep with flowers and a huge smile on his face, apologizing for making me feel like I’d been nothing but a Tuesday date.

I sounded so foolish.

By Saturday morning, he still hadn’t made a peep and his silence mutated me from sad and lonely to gloomy and grouchy. It was actually Jen’s birthday, and she’d planned a very packed day of festivities, but I couldn’t find the energy to be happy. Remaining under my blankets, dressed in sweatpants, and sulking all day about Mr. Avoidance was more appealing than taking a shower and getting dolled up for a full day of drinking and potentially thinking even more about how coffeeless I was.

Men suck.

I rolled to my side and stared at the clock. The minutes seemed to tick by in slow motion, prolonging the misery of waiting for his call or text. My cellphone sat on the night table, quiet as ever. No blinking lights or notification beeps. A part of me hoped he’d messaged me sometime throughout the night. I was afraid to pick up the phone because it would confirm he hadn’t texted me. At least if I didn’t look at it, the possibility he messaged me still existed and somehow that made me feel better. Perhaps my phone wasglitchy and the lack of the blinking blue light, which usually told me a message was pending, wasn’t working. Maybe I had lost reception for no effing reason.

Maybe…

Maybe I’ve hit a completely new low level of sad, lonely person.

For a brief moment, the sunrays of reason broke through the doomsday clouds that smudged out my common sense. I managed to roll out from under my covers and sat up in bed. If I could only manage to go a day or at least a couple of hours without thinking about him, I might have the energy to go about my day without feeling so emotionally and psychologically exhausted.

Looking for some orange juice, I strolled into the kitchen and found Marco, Jen’s boyfriend, whizzing around the stove. He drove down from Boston on Friday night to spend the weekend with us and now appeared to have transformed into our morning chef. There were broken egg shells on the counter and an open milk carton sat by the sink. Flour clouds hung in the air, some coated his favorite maroon Boston University T-shirt, and there was a pot or pan on all four stovetop burners.

Marco was a walking cliché—tall, dark, and handsome. He’d inherited most of his Cuban mother’s features, but the emerald-colored eyes he got from his Irish father. His brown hair was shaggy in that on-purpose sexy way and his skin was flawless and olive toned. If he were any better looking, he probably wouldn’t be from this world.

“Morning, Marco.”

“Why are you up so early?” he asked, draping a kitchen towel over his muscled shoulder.

“It’s seven in the morning. It’s hardly early,” I replied, taking a gulp of my pulpy OJ.

“It’s Saturday,” he reminded me as he flipped a flour patty over the griddle.

“It’s Jen’s birthday Saturday,” I reminded him.

“Oh yes, you two are going out for birthday…”

“Manis and pedis. And yes, your girlfriend doesn’t believe in sleeping in on her birthday.”

“I’m making my famous pancakes, want some?” he asked, pointing the nonstick spatula toward a stack of perfectly round and fluffy cakes.

“Famous, huh?”

“Oh, you doubt me?” He plopped a freshly warm, cooked pancake on a dish, dabbed on some butter, and poured real Vermont maple syrup very gingerly. “Please, take a bite.”

The gooey and sweet pancake hit the spot. The touch of vanilla and cinnamon played with my taste buds. He made a mean pancake. “Okay, you are going to make my friend a very happy wife one day. I’ll place an order of your famous pancakes with scrambled eggs, bacon, and some fresh fruit.”

“I didn’t know this was full service.”

“If you’re going to offer breakfast, then you better be prepared to serve breakfast. Now, chop-chop, I’m starving.”

“You’re sure you’re not the birthday queen this morning?”

“Speaking of birthday queens, where is my BFF?

“Sleeping,” he said as he continued to cook breakfast.

“Really? I hope she didn’t make me get up while she sleeps and has pancakes in bed.”

“It’s her birthday,” he said, laughing.

“And I’m going to give her a birthday wake-up.”

* * *

Later that morning at the spa—my birthday gift to Jen—I failed to concentrate on my e-book. The pedicure was a much-needed small indulgence and the pedicurist was doing a fabulous job, but I couldn’t relax.

Jen flipped through her latest gossip magazine. “Sara, can you believe it? Tanya Swimmer broke up with her boyfriend.”

“This is a shocker to you, why? She changes boyfriends like I change underwear.” I pretended to read my book and didn’t even bother to look up.

“Why are you such a sourpuss today?”

Her words made me snap my gaze up at her. I guess I was being a bitch. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” Sucking in a deep breath, I said, “So, who else did you invite out with us tonight?”

“Promise you won’t get upset?”

“Why would I get upset?”

“Lisa called me last week and told me she was going to be in town, so…”

My eyes bulged and my hands trembled, causing my e-reader to slip through my fingers, the loud thud cutting off Jen mid-sentence. The device missed landing inside my dirty pedicure water. “Lisa…” I whispered, hoping I’d simply misheard or perhaps Jen didn’t mean Lisa Buckley, Josh’s little sister.

Jen nodded, confirming my fear.

“Why the hell would you invite Josh’s sister out with us?”

With a fidgety hand, Jen twirled one of her blonde curls around her finger. “We haven’t seen her in a while and I thought…I thought it would be nice to catch up.” The frown between her eyes told me she knew I was going to explode.

“I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you sooner, I just didn’t know how. But were such good friends with her and when she asked if we were busy tonight, I told her about the club.”

“I don’t know, Jen. After the way things ended with Josh...”

“Sara, she’s not him.”

“No. But she’s his little sister,” I continued, “and I’m sure she talks to him. I don’t want her knowing my business. I don’t want him knowing my business.”

Jen crossed her arms, her magazine now discarded.

“When he left,” I said, “Everyone thought I was going to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. I was miserable and devastated. He left me right after my mom died to go chase his dream, and you know what? Last time I heard, he was still living his dream—photographing rhinos on the savannah or some crap, so excuse me if I’m not jumping at the opportunity to a) get reports on his adventures from his little sister, and b) let him know my life pretty much still sucks.” I paused. “My dreams…my dreams never happened.”

“I’m so sorry, hon.”

“Why did you wait until now to tell me?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I’ll cancel.”

“No, you are not cancelling anything,” I told her. “I’m being a big baby about this, and it’s your birthday. Since you want her there…I’ll just suck it up.”

“I should have known better.”

“It’s fine. Really.” I turned from her and stared out the window, watching as the city went on with its life.

“What’s really bothering you?” she asked.

I turned to her and showed her my phone. “No calls. No texts.”

“Still thinking about that jerk?”

“Does this sort of thing really happen to people?”

“Love at first sight? Marco and I knew each other for a while before we started dating. I’m not the right person to ask.”

“I wouldn’t call it love. Love is…more. I barely know him. This feeling, though, it’s unlike anything I’ve ever felt before and it’s driving me crazy.”

“I know I told you not to text him, but if it’s really driving you that mad not knowing, then ask him.”

“Ask him what exactly? Why he hasn’t called or texted me?”

“Yeah…”

“He’s going to think I’m desperate.”

“And you’re not?” she asked, but it felt more like an accusation, and her hiked up eyebrow didn’t help.

“You’re his defense attorney now?”

“I love you, hon, but honestly, I just don’t want to see you miserable because of this guy. Seriously, just text him and get it over with. If he ghosts you after you text him, then you know it’s definitely over and you can move on. You need to return to the world of the living.” She stood up from her chair and waddled over to the manicure table with her toes spread. “Can we please stop talking about Mr. Ghost for a bit and focus on just having fun today? Where should we go for lunch? We need some afternoon margueritas.”

* * *

A few hours later, I stood in front of my closet, staring blankly at my clothes. I couldn’t decide what I was going to wear. I was still pissed at anti-Charming for not calling me since Tuesday night. I was left with little choice but to deal with my anger issues by wearing something slutty and perhaps tearing it up on the dance floor with a sweaty, hunky stranger. Problem was, I didn’t really own anything slutty.

A shimmery black, loose fitting dress would have to do. It was off the shoulders and came up mid-thigh. I styled my hair into long wavy curls and dotted on some dark eye-shadow and red lipstick. After strapping on a pair of my highest heeled sandals, I looked at myself in my floor-length mirror and smiled. It wasn’t as slutty as I’d hoped, but I looked cute and ready for a fun night in the city.

As I walked through a mist of perfume, the intercom in the living room buzzed, announcing the arrival of Jen’s guests along with the moment I was dreading—seeing Lisa. I smeared a fake smile on my face and trotted out to greet them.

After so many years, seeing Josh’s little sister felt awkward, especially when I tried to act like it wasn’t. She hurried up to give me one of those overly affectionate fake hugs with double-cheek-kiss combos. “Sara, you look fabulous, girl. What have you been up to?”

I fought rolling my eyes. “Oh, you know, working…stuff.”

“Can you believe it’s been like, four years, right? You and my brother had just broken up.”

“Yeah, I’m not really keeping count,” I responded with a short smile that I was sure never reached my eyes.

I regretted not letting Jen cancel on her. Of course, she still looked gorgeous. She could be Josh’s twin—big blue eyes, thick blonde hair, sun kissed skin, and a sprinkling of freckles adorning her cheekbones. She wore some hot, red skimpy dress that perfectly hugged her outrageous curves, making me feel less slutty and a little flatter and formal.

We did the pleasantries. She brought two friends with her, Derrick and Taylor. They looked like cutouts from a fashion catalogue. They barely talked and couldn’t look more disinterested to be there if they tried. Jen’s med school friends arrived also. They appeared tired and worn, but eager for a night out. We sang happy birthday and ate some of the tres leches cake Marco brought for Jen.

After I downed about four glasses of champagne, Jen brought me to her bedroom and showed me the beautiful charm bracelet Marco bought her. She couldn’t stop talking about all the charms and what each represented.

I tuned her out. She was so ecstatic and dripping with happiness, it only highlighted how miserable I felt. It wasn’t her fault, and I was a shitty friend for feeling that way, but the happier she was, the sadder I felt. Marco and Jen were deeply in love, and tonight I couldn’t stand it. On a different night, I’d be jumping up and down with her, but at the moment, I struggled not to throw up.

When the champagne hit me, my blood pulsed with tingly bubbles, the buzz reaching my brain. I thanked the heavens for the mental relief. My inner vixen slowly emerged, numbing me into the shadows of my subconscious. I even flirted with Taylor, giggling at everything he said. Well, my vixen did, the real me had no idea what was so funny.

At around eleven, we headed to the club in a couple of cabs. Jen, Marco, and I took off in one, the rest of the group tailed behind us. I stared out the window of our cab, watching the blur of city lights as we drove through Manhattan. My head spun. I’d definitely had too much champagne. As badly as I’d hoped flirting with Taylor would erase all thoughts of Tom, all it did was make me think of him harder.

All I could do was wish I could see him, that he’d come find me and rescue me from this nightmarish day. So, as we pulled up in front of BLISS, one of the trendiest nightclubs in the city, I finally relented and did the one thing only my intoxicated vixen could do. I pulled out my phone, and started typing away.

Me:At BLISS. Wearing a short black dress. Nothing underneath. (well, I was still wearing panties, but he didn’t need to know that).

Anti-Charming: …

He saw the text. He started typing, but then the dreadful dots disappeared. My heart sank. And at the same time, I felt relief weave through me. I’d taken the reigns and it felt damn good to finally take control of my own destiny. If he wanted me, he needed to come get me. And if not, I was determined to have the best night of my life either way.