“I’m Meredith,” she tells him, starting to describe an article of his that she ‘really’ liked. He answers her politely, his lack of interest painfully obvious. He never dates any of the girls from Gilt. I was his one exception, and for a long time, I told myself it was because we had something special, now I couldn’t care less.
After Meredith finally leaves, Jack looks from the flowers to my face, his eyebrows raised questioningly.
I ignore him. My heart is already racing, and I know, without reading the card, who sent the flowers. Why would he do that? Especially after this morning? I don’t need any more reminders, any more reasons to cry. I suddenly wish the flowers would disappear, along with every torturous memory of Landon Court.
“Aren’t you going to see who they’re from?” Jack asks. There’s a tightness in his voice that wasn’t there before.
I’d rather not. I’d rather ignore them and pretend that I don’t care, but with Jack here, I can’t do that. My hand trembles as I reach for the card, pulling it out of the plastic stick to read the words in Landon’s hard, slanted handwriting.
Great Article.
That’s all it says. Nothing else. I remember his face from this morning. The flash of emotion when I told him once again that he can’t give me what I want.
Why do you keep pushing me away?
Slowly, I stroke a finger over the velvety surface of the card, overcome by an intense, painful yearning. You’ll regret walking away from him, a reproachful voice accuses in my head. You’ve made a huge mistake in letting him go.
“From Court?”
I blink at Jack, realizing that I’d almost forgotten that he was here. Hastily, I drop the card on my desk, ashamed of how easily I’d been affected by just flowers and a card. In the space of a few moments, I’d almost forgotten all the reasons why I walked away in the first place.
“Yes.” I clear my throat and give Jack a small half-smile. “They’re from Landon.”
“Getting serious?” His eyes are questioning.
No, actually it’s over. I don’t say that. Instead, I give him a tired look. “Are you going to warn me again? About how heartless he is with women, how I shouldn’t fall in love with him?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “I believe you’ll find out for yourself.”
I lower my eyes to my desk. I won’t find out, I think silently, because I’ve already left him. “Come on Jack,” I say with a lightness I don’t feel. “You have more important things to do with your time than to speculate about my private life.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “What’s more important than you?”
I roll my eyes and he laughs, then his face turns serious. “Rachel, I hope you know that I’m here for you. Whenever you need me.”
He looks so sincere. I sigh, looking from his face to the flowers on my desk. They’re exquisite, and they’ll make me think of Landon all day. When I get home, he’ll be there too, in my memories, in Laurie’s silent disapproval… I have nowhere to escape him.
“So tonight…?” Jack prompts with a hopeful smile, interrupting my thoughts. “Please don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”
I look into his gray eyes, the familiar smile, and that lock of hair flopping onto his forehead. Hopefully, the few hours I spend with him will not be full of thoughts of Landon.
“Well,” I smile, “at least tell me where we are going.
AFTER Jack leaves, I throw myself into my work, emailing drafts to the features editor, replying my emails, and checking social feeds for interesting ideas. By the time I leave the office, I’m mentally exhausted.
I have a dinner reservation at Angelos, a Greek restaurant we’ve included in a food wave article about places to eat Greek in major cities. On my way over there, in the cab, my mind slowly loosens from the whirl of the day and inevitably goes back to Landon.
Why did he send the flowers? Was he trying to tell me something? Was it a final footnote, a small gesture to mark the end of our affair? I can’t pretend to understand his motives, especially after this morning.
The flowers were probably nothing, I decide finally. Something he had already planned and decided not to cancel. They’d probably be the last personal communication we would ever have, leaving me with only my thoughts to conquer. Maybe one day I’d run into him at an event, or at a restaurant. Maybe by that time I would be over him, and I wouldn’t completely fall apart.
At Angelos, a wait staff leads me to a table. The restaurant is quiet, with only a few diners. At my table, I take the cushioned seat set against the white brick walls and go through the menu, deciding on roast fish and vegetables, with the signature custard cream pastry.
The food is superb, and I haven’t eaten all day, so for a few moments, I concentrate only on the taste and flavor. Later, I type a few notes in my phone while sipping the remaining wine from the glass I ordered. At one of the other tables, a woman laughs at something her companion said, then takes the forkful of food he offers her. I turn away, my chest suddenly tightening. How l
ong will it take until the ache goes away?
My phone vibrates. It’s a text from Jack.