“Think of it as my penance.” The gruffness in his voice is hard to miss, as his fingers reach the very edge of my scar. The tone of his voice breaks my heart, filling in the cracks with the need to assuage his guilt. The ache from the residual pain slowly fades from that spot with each tender affection he shows it. It’s become routine how he starts at the top slowly winding his way down along the side of my knee until he reaches the thinnest part of the scar.
Charlie drops onto the edge of the bed, eyes watching me finish getting ready. He’s wearing jeans and a cranberry red sweater that has two neat buttons on the top near his neck. With his hair combed back, he looks like he just walked off a Ralph Lauren catalog page. I can’t help but think about how amazing he looks and how lucky I am to be with him. The circumstances that it took to find each other may not have been ideal, but I don’t think I would change it. If someone offered me the chance to undo the accident, I don’t think I would take it. The thought of losing what we have isn’t something I even want to think about.
I change into the wool dress and a pair of leggings, hoping that it looks good enough for an Upper East Side brunch. I hope that the outfit is cool and sophisticated and doesn’t say desperate to reconnect. I am desperate to connect. I’m desperate to talk to Vivian. Someone who knew me before. Someone who knows my secrets and dreams. But also, I want to have someone else to talk to, someone I can laugh with. As much of a joke as it was about needing someone to swoon with about how great Charlie is, I do need that. I feel isolated and alone otherwise. I need a friend.
I stand between his legs as he sits on the bed, reading an email. He’s always reading an email. I take his phone and drop it to the side. He immediately looks at me, his phone and email forgotten.
“This hostess with the mostess that got you this reservation, is she a former fling?” I ask, knowing I had a jealous streak in college. Knowing what an incredible man Charlie is only makes that jealous streak stronger. He’s a catch, and I, well, I’m a mess. It’s a dark, insecure thought that needles at me, but the reminder that it’s my body he’s touching helps shut that voice down.
I know that information like this will just hurt me, but I have to ask. I thread my fingers through his hair, pressing my nails into his scalp. If he were a cat, I think he would purr, the way his eyes start to drift closed. Realizing I’ve asked a serious question, his hands are on my hips to steady me, and he looks me straight in the eyes.
“Yes, but a very distant one. She’s more a friend than anything else. She’s in business school now at Columbia and does the hostess gig to pay her way. We went to Dartmouth together,” he admits, ready to put every card on the table.
“Quite the pedigree,” I say casually, thinking of my state school education. Most of the kids I went to school with came from working class families with not many aspirations past earning a basic degree because our guidance counselor in high school said we had to. Even I had to admit that my chosen field had led nowhere for me. Before the void of memory, I was working as a secretary. It seems like my missing time was filled with doing commission work: drawing book covers and fan art, taking temp jobs, trying to find a way to cover my bills.
I feel lost not knowing what direction my life was taking before the accident. Was I drawing because I liked it or because I felt the need to monetize my hobby and earn money? For months I’ve been able to hide from it, under the purview of focusing on my healing, but what would come next for me?
“I like your pedigree better.” He moves lightning quick and flips me over so I’m on my back. I let out a surprised yelp. “Believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about.”
His words jar me from the unexpected downward spiral in my thoughts. The one thing I miss most is the self confidence that I had before. How can I be confident if I don’t really know who I am?
“I do. I trust you,” I say, because it’s the truth. In the short time I have known him, he has been up front and honest about everything.
The kiss we share is long and deep, his fingers running through my hair before drawing away from me. As much as I would love to let him distract me from this brunch, I know I have to get ready. I still have to fuss over my hair and make-up. Charlie pulls back, rolling to the side of the bed so I can get up.
I used to be skilled at blow drying my hair, easily turning the brush in my hand, the heat encouraging me to quickly move through the motions. My hands are clumsy now in a way I don't remember them being before. I hate that I have no idea if it’s because of my nerves now or a change in my habits in the last five years. Did I not do it as frequently?
I pull my hair back into a ponytail, away from my face before letting it down. I toy with the blonde strands. Even after all these months have passed, looking at the light color surprises me. I twist the edges, running a hand through the top, flipping it this way and that before putting it back up again. I let my thoughts stray to getting it colored back to my natural shade, or as close to it as I can get. Charlie lets me panic and sort out my anxiety on my own, knowing I need the headspace for myself. He lets me carry on until I have no choice but to leave it and hope that things with Vivian aren’t beyond repair.
Chapter 13
Whenwepullupto Claudia Jean’s, I stare at the building and the people on the street finishing their last minute shopping. I hesitate before opening the door.
“I’ll be inside the whole time,” Charlie reassures me. Ever the gentleman, Charlie opens the door to the vestibule erected by the restaurant for the cold winter months. I steel my nerves, pushing ahead to the second door, and walk in before I change my mind. A pretty redheaded hostess is ready to greet whoever enters or to be the fierce gatekeeper to the inner sanctum. Her hair is mostly pulled back with a few strands framing her face as she studies the seating chart in front of her.
“Name?” she asks, barely looking at me.
“If this is the sort of service you offer, I’m sorry I got you this job.” Charlie’s voice is booming as he teases her, soliciting a response. Her head snaps up, finally looking at Charlie and then me. I’m quickly forgotten as she flashes her perfect white teeth, coming around from behind the podium to squeeze him in a tight hug. I feel a jealous twist to my heart and I hate it.
“Chuckie!” she exclaims, kissing both of his cheeks, beaming at him. Her attention shifts to me and she drinks in the sight of me. The plain ponytail, the edge of the wool dress peeking out from beneath the parka, something that is thankfully my own. “You must be Elia. It's so nice to finally meet you. Charlie was giving me a rundown via text last night. I’m Taryn.” She’s trying to put me at ease but her gregarious nature is overwhelming. I want to retreat back to the safety of Charlie’s penthouse, away from prying eyes. Taryn stretches out a hand so we can shake. She seems to sense that I’m a frightened bird, ready to flee. The look she shares with Charlie makes it all the worse.
“Vivian is already at the table so I’ll take you to her.”
I’m confused that she knows Vivian’s name but assume it’s because she checked in ahead of us.
Charlie swoops down to kiss me. It’s soft and gentle, a barely-there brush of the lips. Another element to our relationship seems to have been added to the mix. Gone are Bora Bora Elia and Charlie; in their place Elia and Charlie in New York emerged, and now, a third facet of our relationship: Elia and Charlie in public.
“I’ll be here the whole time,” he promises again, squeezing my hand before walking further into the restaurant, leaving me to follow Taryn. My heart slams against my chest and I wonder if it’s possible to break a rib this way. I inch my way through the cramped walkways of the bustling restaurant, worried that I made a mistake.
Vivian is sitting alone in a booth, scrolling through her phone. I can see the massive canary diamond on her finger, accompanied by her perfect manicure. She glances up when she sees Taryn approaching and when her eyes land on me, my heart stops in my chest. She looks so happy to see me and it hurts how surprised I am by that. Why did I feel like this was going to be awkward? Vivian looks happy and healthy, her auburn hair loose around her shoulders, falling in picture perfect waves.
This crushing weight of heartache and loneliness hits me from nowhere. I suspect it's feelings I can’t pinpoint because they’re from the last five years. She pops out of her seat, initially reaching to hug me, but she hesitates, the past five years hanging over her in a way that they don’t for me. Whatever happened that we lost touch is still there for her, putting me at a loss. One of us is going to have to make the first move; she’s already opened herself up to reconciliation by accepting my request and responding to me, so I take the next step forward.
I open my arms to her awkwardly, without thinking about what I’ll do if she rejects this advance. Vivian doesn’t hesitate when she steps forward, arms folding around me. It settles me in a way that I didn’t know I needed, giving me the reassurance and security I was missing. Charlie has done everything right since we met, but nothing can beat the arms of someone who has known you and loved you through some of your darkest moments. Vivian was there for me when my parents died and after a brutal breakup in college. She was there for me when I got my nipple pierced on a drunken dare and was there to help inspect it when it got infected and I had to take it out. It's not always about the men in your life, but about the women too. The ones who are there to hold you up when you don't think you can do anymore and to help build you up when you have nothing left to give.
“I’ve missed you so much,” she whispers, squeezing me tighter. I feel her face shift into my shoulder against the hood of my jacket.
“I’ve missed you, too,” I say, feeling my eyes well up.