Luke

Part of me was kicking myself for not knowing how to respond to Avery’s saucy texts, part of me was dying to see her in person, part of me needed to keep the Atlantic Ocean between us so I could continue going about my life as it was.

I was in the middle of packing for the trip. I still had a beach holiday bag packed for my mini-breaks with Chiara, so I only had to add a few days worth of clothing and a few jars of Frank Cooper’s Vintage Oxford marmalade. Avery had exquisite taste—preferring the same fruit preserves as the Queen herself. I couldn’t wait to see her face when I presented them to her. Presenting her with marmalade, you dickhead, when you really want to present her with something else entirely. I was about to reply to her last text with something devastatingly clever and boldly flirtatious when my personal phone rang. It was Chiara, finally calling me after I’d texted her that we needed to talk.

She knew I was going to cancel our plans before I’d said a word. I barely had a chance to say a word. She was yelling before I’d even answered the phone. She’d changed her plans so she could come to London to see me on Tuesday, I obviously didn’t care about her, why didn’t I just marry my job and stop wasting women’s time? These were all questions that deserved answers, but all I did was tell her I was sorry, agree that she had every right to be angry, and let her continue yelling at me until she’d worn herself out. It had been my modus operandi for a decade, and it had worked well for me indeed. I had learned that if I didn’t fight back, eventually the women would realize they were fighting with themselves, and I would be in the clear. They may still think I was a twat, but at least they’d have no memory of me ever saying or doing anything genuinely terrible to them. In the past, when I’d engaged in arguments with lady friends about “our relationship,” the arguments had been ongoing. I mean they just never ended. They would cut into the time that I should have been spending studying, or working. It was part of my business plan to never engage in an argument with a woman. But I did truly feel bad about letting her down.

I held the phone away from my ear while she vented, occasionally chiming in with an “I know, I’m sorry, I’m awful.” Chiara was feeling disappointed at the moment, but eventually, I was sure, she would understand that I was keeping her at a distance for her own good. I wasn’t the man for her.

But who was I the man for? I was thirty years old and had never lived with a woman that I was romantically involved with. I had become such a bachelor, but my bona fide workaholic father has had four failed marriages, and I promised myself I’d never be like him. I would not get married unless I could genuinely commit to the woman and our future children, because I didn’t want to hurt or disappoint people like my father has.

Chiara was the one I was on the phone with, but Avery was the only woman on my mind. Would I be the one who’d be disappointed and hurt this time, if I let myself enjoy her presence just a little too much? Was she actually in love with that absent boyfriend of hers? What would she smell like, I wondered? How tall would she be? Should we hug when we meet at the airport, like Americans always seemed to do, or would that be untoward? Should we engage in the same manner as we did over Skype, which was—by my standards anyway—outrageously flirtatious. I didn’t usually flirt so brazenly with women, but she brought it out of me. It was probably how she was with everyone. I was reading too much into it. Wouldn’t she have a laugh if she’d known how confused I was for a minute.

Focus, focus. It’s a work trip. We work well together as work associates, and that’s it.

I just hoped I wouldn’t have to see her in a bathing suit or pretty sundress, because I knew my limits.

By the time Chiara had hung up, she was calm and resigned to a future without me in it, convinced that it was entirely her idea to cancel our Valentine’s Day plans and to never see each other again. I told her that I was sorry she felt that way, because I very much enjoyed our time together (which was the truth, for the most part) and left it open for her to get in touch with me when she wanted to.

At that point too much time had passed since my lame text to Avery, so I decided to leave it. Best to leave things open, so we didn’t have any expectations about how things would go once we were face-to-face.

God, that face…