Avery

It had been exactly one month since I’d last seen Luke. We did not go back to working or flirting together like we had before the Bahamas. We had not Skyped or spoken on the phone, we had only emailed. Since Bucket’s merger had passed the six-month mark, there was no longer anything urgent for Luke and I to communicate about, and it was too soon for me to officially start looking for a new transatlantic business opportunity for Bucket. His big wedding ceremony was coming up in May, and between now and then he was doing a lot of surfing stuff in Australia. I had received a fancy invitation to Ingrid and his London nuptials, but I hadn’t RSVP’d yet.

I had done a pretty fair job of throwing myself back into work after Luke had left, and only every so often I’d realize that I had been studying the neighborhood surrounding Luke’s office building on Google Earth, wondering where he had lunch, who he ate dinner with, who he went home with. It was creepy and stalkerish and I couldn’t stop even though it made me anxious and sad and so very mad at myself. I had driven away happiness, and now I was punishing myself.

I ran around the Central Park reservoir—twice, just to torture myself. Every step of the way, remembering the sound and feeling of him running along beside me, me trying to keep up with him, him slowing down to match my speed. The casual, unspoken intimacy of it. How we were both icy cold and blowing on each other’s fingers. Now I was cold and alone, with nothing but my own voice in my head.

I cried—sobbed, for the first time in many years. I cried for my Dad leaving, my Mom dying, the time I wasted not being honest with Luke, the terrible short uneven bangs I got in high school that took an entire year to grow out properly. I cried for Charlotte’s Web, the chocolate peanut butter ice cream I’d eaten all of in one sitting, the empty jars of marmalade in the cupboard that I would never throw out, the way I’d pushed Luke away when he was clearly so willing to be close to me. I cried because I tried to get back together with Mr. Potter, but he seemed so angry and impatient and impersonal now.

I remembered what the massage therapist at Chandra had said. I tried to breathe into the pain. But then I pictured myself breathing into my heart, and I started laughing, but then I started crying again because laughter and happiness reminded me of Luke. Yeah. I was a freaking mess.

Fortunately, my wonderful assistant Natalie was always there to cheer me up at the office and keep me on track. Until she wasn’t. She walked in, one morning, and placed a piece of paper on my desk, along with a bottle of green juice. She was convinced that I just needed more live enzymes.

“What’s this?” I said, opening the bottle of green juice, and not looking at the piece of paper.

“My two weeks notice,” she said, a slight quiver in her voice.

I put the bottle down. “Shit.”

“I’m sorry. I will help you hire someone amazing to replace me and I will train her—I actually already have three resumes to show you.”

“Are you going to McKinsey?”

“No,” she said, giggling. “I’m moving to London.”

“London, England?”

“That’s the one!”

I sat back in my chair, gripping the bottom of the seat. “You got a job in London?”

“Not yet. I will.”

“So why are you moving to London?”

“To be with William!” She practically sang the words.

“Oh. Who’s William?”

“Luke’s assistant.”

Whuck? Oh!...Oh?”

“We’re in love!”

“Ohhh…That’s great! When did you meet him?”

“When you started working with Luke, of course. On the phone, and then we were emailing and then texting and FaceTiming and Snapchatting.”

“But have you met him in person?”

“Not yet. But we’ve FaceTimed a lot. I mean…A lot. And I’ve always wanted to live in London, so why not?”

Why not? “Um. Did you ask if he’s willing to come here?”

“He offered, but I’m an anglophile. It just makes more sense for me to go there.”

“But Natalie.” I thought you were smart. I thought you were sensible. I thought you were sane. “Shouldn’t you just go for a visit first? Spend a little time with him, before deciding to actually move there? There are tax implications for an American living in the UK, you know?”

“I know. I don’t care. I love him. He loves me.”

“But…what if it doesn’t work out?

She shrugged. “What’s the point of worrying if a relationship won’t work out? If it doesn’t I’ll either move back here and be sad for a while and then get over it and move on, or I’ll stay there and be sad for a bit and move on. We sparked. A lot. I want to see what happens next.”

I wished I could inject her fearless, healthy attitude into a pill and swallow it. I convinced myself that she was twenty-two and could still afford to take that kind of risk, financial and otherwise. But I knew that even at twenty-two, I myself would not have been so easy-breezy about love or anything else for that matter.

I got up and hugged her and genuinely wished her the best of luck. I thought about texting Luke about this, but…it would only highlight my own inability to get on a plane and be with him.

I stayed at the office late that night, and fell asleep on the sofa. I awoke to the sound of knocking on my door, and opened my eyes to see Magda’s sweet, concerned face.

“Hello?” she said. “You okay in here? Need water?”

I realized that I had fallen asleep cradling a bottle of red wine in my arm. Classic. “Oh no, I’m fine, look—I only drank half the bottle.” I sat up, put the bottle on the floor, and rubbed my face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Magda was dusting the furniture. “I was happy to not see you for a while, but I did miss you.”

“I missed you too, Magda. I’ve been sleeping at home,” I said, apologetically.

“I thought perhaps you in London? With handsome English man?”

“Nope. Not in London.”

“Where is that polite handsome English man?”

“Not here, Magda. He’s not here.”

She smacked the feather duster against the top of my desk, startling me. She was about to reprimand me, of course, but then she saw how sad I was, and decided against it.

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.”

“For the best, I’m sure. You good girl. Things work out for you, some other way, yeah?” She patted me on the shoulder.

“Yeah. Sure. Thanks, Magda.”

Later that morning, I emailed Ingrid and Bucket and told them that I would not be able to attend their wedding in London, due to a family commitment. My nephew’s eighth birthday party was planned for the weekend before, but they didn’t have to know that. I just couldn’t bear to see Luke at a wedding.

Luke

I had gone more than a month without texting or IMing Avery. I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle Skyping with her. I had never felt so torn about a woman before. I desperately wanted to see her and hear her voice, but I was certain that if I did I’d get on the first plane to New York and make a fool of myself. She needed her space, that was clear, and I respected her enough to give it to her. But it was very difficult to refrain from IMing her after meeting her former assistant Natalie. She and William were so sweet together—it would have made Avery vomit. It would have been like forcing her to watch the end of every romantic comedy ever made. But I realized that Avery was probably losing her mind dealing with income tax forms, so I mused about it to myself. Good for Natalie and William. So that was two successful transatlantic mergers that could be attributed to Avery and me. That was something.

I had come dangerously close to making a promise that I might not have been able to keep, when we were in New York together. Everything turned out for the best, I’m sure. I wondered if she would be bringing a date to Ingrid and Bucket’s wedding. I had not RSVP’d yet. I thought about what I had written on the note that I put into a shell, that evening on the Bahamas beach. If only I’d taken my own advice.