Chapter Forty-Three
“Are you mad?” her sister Rachel spluttered, nearly spitting out the hot cappuccino she had just sipped. “You’re really going to meet up with Kirk again? After everything that happened?”
They were sitting in Caffé Nero, lounging on comfy sofas, nursing mugs of frothy cappuccino sprinkled with chocolate dusting.
Sasha avoided her gaze. “Well, yeah…” she admitted quietly. “Yeah, I was planning to meet him…” she trailed off.
“But why?” her sister persisted. “I mean, after everything he did, after the way he treated you. Why?”
Her sister was practically whispering. As though they were having a top secret confidential discussion. As though the few tables that were filled with quiet coffee-drinker, book-reader types would be in any way interested in their conversation.
“Well, because…” Sasha began, taking her sweeteners out of her bag and clicking deftly as one, two, three small sugar pills dropped into her mug. “Because… it’s Kirk, that’s why.” She stirred the froth slowly as though the answers would be found in the bottom of her cup. “He was the love of my life,” she admitted quietly. “I can’t just walk away and not hear what he has to say.”
Rachel cocked her head to one side, as though gently challenging her. “And Sam’s not the love of your life?”
The question caught Sasha by surprise, like walking down the street and suddenly catching a reflection of yourself in a shop window. The truth staring back at you. Reality.
“Well, kind of…” Sasha trailed off guiltily. “But that’s different.”
Rachel looked at her, a mixture of sympathy and softness. “Different, how?” she probed.
Sasha shook her head and stirred her coffee again, distractedly. “Oh, I dunno… it’s just… Kirk was… Kirk, you know? The love of my life. I was so mad about him. It was almost like obsession. We were so besotted with each other.”
“And Sam?”
“Well, Sam is just safe. You know? Safe and secure. He’s just there.” Sasha hung her head, unable to meet Rachel’s gaze. She knew it sounded awful. She knew it sounded wrong. But she was just being honest.
The quiet hum of the other customers continued around them as Sasha continued to hang her head in thought.
“Safe and secure sounds good to me,” she heard her sister saying. “Safe and secure sounds a heck of a lot better than slamming doors and walking out on you and silly lists about rules and regulations.”
Sasha’s features twitched with painful recognition as her sister’s point hit home.
“Yeah, I guess…” she conceded.
“I mean,” Rachel went on. “Look at mum and dad.”
Sasha looked up at her surprised, wondering what her point was.
“Do you really want to get to that age, and be alone? Not have anyone to look after you?”
Sasha raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit of a far-fetched reason, isn’t it?”
“Is it?” Rachel persisted. “Isn’t that why most people get married? For security? So that when they’re old and grey, they’ll have company? And, hopefully, children who can look after them in their old age?”
Sasha considered the question. She longed for a cigarette between her fingers while she mulled the thought over.
“Well, not really…” Sasha argued back. “I mean, say you get married, but your hubby dies before you. You still have to face sickness alone. Or say your kids clear off abroad, you’re not guaranteed someone to take care of you.”
Rachel grimaced. “Well, I was generalising.”
“Hmm…” Sasha considered. She sipped more of the hot liquid underneath the frothy top. “Still, it’s not as if our mum and dad are the beacon of secure happiness, is it?”
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “I suppose,” she conceded. “Anyway, I was just generalising. I was just trying to help. I don’t want to see you get hurt again, that’s all.” Her eyes were soft, pleading; sympathetic.
Sasha softened. “I know, I know,” she agreed. “And you’ve got a point, really you do.” She shrugged her shoulders. “I suppose I’m just trying to be honest with you about how I’m feeling.”
“I know,” Rachel soothed. “And I’ll support you either way – you know that.”
Sasha smiled. “Thanks, sis – I appreciate that – I really do.”
Sasha was due to meet Kirk in Bar Red at 7.30pm. It was now 6.30pm. She was bathed, moisturised, dressed, hair straightened, make-up applied, perfume sprayed, toileted, perfume sprayed again, toileted again, and sitting not so patiently on the living room sofa. She was ready far too early. The nerves were excruciatingly high. She wasn’t sure whether it was excitement, adrenalin, fear or just sheer curiosity as to what he wanted to talk about. Perhaps, she thought, for one panic-stricken moment, perhaps he wants to tell me that he’s getting married to someone else! Perhaps he thinks that it would be fair if he told me himself – if it came from his mouth – nobody else’s.
Sasha allowed the thought to worry her briefly before she swatted the idea away like an annoying fly. As if he’d waste time coming all the way up here to tell me news like that – he wouldn’t bother. No, the news must be something about us. He wants something from me.
An agonisingly long hour later, punctuated by toilet trips, pacing up and down, and retouching of nail polish, Sasha was in a taxi being whisked towards Bar Red, wondering what the next chapter of her life had in store for her.
Kirk was waiting in the foyer, wearing a smart suit and a wide smile.
“Hey!” he smiled when he saw her approach. “It’s so great to see you.”
She smiled back, barely able to speak.
He rested a hand on her lower back and gently led her towards their table, where a waiter immediately fussed over them, taking their coats, giving them menus, bringing them glasses of wine.
“Cheers,” Kirk said, as he lifted his glass upwards, waiting for her to clink hers.
“Cheers,” she echoed.
“To us,” he said quietly. But she heard him. She caught the inference.
Small talk ensued for quite some time. Chat about work, family, health, etc. All the while, Sasha’s insides were screaming out. Just tell me! Tell me why we’re here! Tell me what you want! Tell me what all of this is about!
Kirk cleared his throat. “The reason why I wanted to meet today…” he began, as though he had heard her. “Is that I needed to talk to you about something…” he faltered, as though he might lose his nerve.
“Um-hm,” Sasha nodded encouragingly, urging him with every fibre of her body to continue talking.
“You see, the thing is…” he began, playing distractedly with the heavy linen napkin in front of him. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you, Sasha.” He met her gaze as he said this. “You never leave my mind. First thing in the morning. Last thing at night. It’s you I think of…”
Sasha listened in shock. This was music to her ears. A huge orchestra in fact. Drums and trombones and trumpets all clashing together to create music in her ears. Wasn’t this all she’d ever wanted? For him to confess his feelings for her? For him to see the error of his ways?
“I want to marry you, Sasha,” he blurted out suddenly. “I want you to move to Dublin and be with me.”
Sasha took a sharp intake of breath. She could hardly believe her ears! Marriage. Wow!
“Really?!” she choked, lifting a hand to her mouth, totally in shock. She had thought he might say something nice, but marriage? She hadn’t been expecting that.
“Yes, really,” Kirk beamed. “I’ve bought a ring, and everything.”
Sasha inhaled sharply as she saw Kirk lift a box from out of his pocket. With pride, he flicked open the box and presented it with a winning smile. The ring twinkled and winked at her, bold and beautiful.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” she repeated ecstatically. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Kirk looked at her; her smile, her shock, her surprise. He dipped his head in questioning, “Does this mean it’s a yes, then?” he smiled.
“Wha…?” Sasha snapped out of her reverie suddenly. She had been trapped in a tunnel of wedding rings, wedding bliss, and a marriage proposal. How often does a girl get sprinkled with that magic fairy dust?
And yet, there at the end of the tunnel, was the cold hard light of day. He had dumped her, disappeared for years, sent her emails which led her on for months, shagged her, told her it was a mistake, gone back to his girlfriend and now, many, many, months later, was expecting her to forget all that and accept his hand in marriage? Sasha’s mind boggled. Marriage? To Kirk? She couldn’t even think straight. And then there was Sam. And his question about moving in together. Sam. How she had been avoiding him. Not returning his calls. Body-swerving his question.
“I’m, I’m going to have to think about this, Kirk…” she began. “It’s such a massive deal, and it’s come so out of the blue, that I…” she trailed off.
“But what is there to think about?” Kirk asked. She could have sworn she heard an impatient tone in his voice.
“Just, there’s so much…” she said again, weakly. “Please… I just need to think…”