PAPERS
Sara
Ian, Ian, Ian, my heart seems to beat as I step out of work and into the Brooklyn streets, ready to head back home.
It’s been a whirlwind two weeks, and I can’t get enough of him.
I’m standing outside, debating whether to take the train or grab a cab, when a piece of the New York Times flies by and sticks to my feet. I try to kick it off, but the air is pressing it around my ankle. I grab it, dust off my fingers, and read:
Audition for upcoming Broadway musical…
Suddenly the wind whips the paper from my fingers. I run after it and grab the paper back to me, then reread it and scan for the location. The name of the producer is one of the newer production companies—ALA Inc. And I wonder how big the company is, and what their budget will be.
Does that matter, Sara? It’s a possible part!
What can it hurt? I already have a stable income as Bryn’s PA, but I’m ready to work for what I want. I promised myself after I lost my job as a concierge that I wouldn’t give up this easily. I can’t reasonably expect every audition to get me a gig, but all I need is one. One opportunity to show them what I’ve got, and this could be it.
As I take the stairs underground to the subway station, I’m starting to bring up the Safari browser on my phone and mark down the audition date when my mom calls.
“Momma.”
She’s crying.
“Mom, what’s wrong?”
“I got the papers,” she whispers.
And my heart breaks. I blink back tears, trying to hide them with my hair.
“Oh, Sara,” she says when she hears my sobs.
I can’t respond. My dad doesn’t love my mom anymore. So many times he would kiss her in front of me. So many times he’d tell me, “I love your mother.” And so what does that mean? That he never loved her? Or that love goes away?
“He’s already signed,” she explains. “But I can’t sign them.”
I clear my throat and look around for an exit out of the train station. “You can. I’ll be here with you on the phone.”
I head upstairs and I try to find a quiet spot to talk to her, aware of the silence on the other end. I drop down onto a bench, encouraging her. “I’m here, Mom. I will never leave you,” I promise.
A silent beat. And then, “I signed. It’s over.”
The words “it’s over” resound in me like a final bell. I burst out crying. She’s crying too.
“Don’t cry, Sara.”
“I’m crying for you. And for this total… disappointment I feel.”
“Listen to me, Sara,” my mom says, raising her voice. “Never, ever stop believing in love, despite this. Never stop believing in it.”
After I hang up the phone, I take a minute to try to collect myself before returning to the train station. By the time I board, I’ve cried oceans.
When I arrive in Nolita, I find Bryn isn’t home. I sit in our living room for a moment, staring at my hands.
“Fuck it.” I grab my purse and my MetroCard and head back out. To the Upper East Side.
I don’t know why I crave to see him when he might be exactly what brings me to the same position my mother is in. Heartbroken. But there’s something about this man that pulls me on a primitive level. To his strength, his confidence. I need it right now. Bad.
And I could use the distraction.
I wipe at my eyes and fix my face as much as possible on the train ride so I am ready when I knock on his door. When he doesn’t answer immediately, I knock over and over until I hear an exasperated yell, “Coming!”
He yanks open the door with a moody frown, but when he spots me, his eyes widen and his eyebrows rise. He’s wearing nothing but silk pajama pants and has what seems to be a script in his hands.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling me inside with his free hand and leading me to the couch.
“Everything. Nothing. I just wanted to see you.” I drop down on the couch, and when he sets the script aside, I curl into his chest and inhale him. He smells of a recent shower and spices, a scent I now associate with Ian Ford. “My mom just signed the divorce papers. It’s over.” Don’t cry again, Sara! You’re stronger than this.
“I’m sorry.” Ian strokes his hand along the back of my head, his tone low and sad.
“I don’t know why… I can’t wrap my head around…” I shake my head, wondering why it hurts so much when I knew it was coming. Did I think Dad would change his mind? That things would right themselves somehow?
I think of Ian and his own marriage disappointment, and wonder how hard it has been for him. I lift my eyes to his and feel them blur again. “Why would someone do this to the person they love? My dad loved my mother. And your wife? I would never want anyone else but you. I would never even look at another guy the way I know I look at you. You didn’t deserve what she did to you!” I’m emotional and I try to get a grip.
Ian takes me by the wrists and pulls me to my feet.
“What are you doing?”
His arms come around me, and he starts moving. “I’m dancing with you.”
He’s holding me to his hard chest, moving side to side.
Realizing what he’s doing, I press my cheek to his chest and move with him. It’s the most perfect thing anyone has ever done for me. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it. Only way I know to cheer you up.”
I laugh and let him twirl me out and pull me back to him, my spirits lifting as my body releases all the stress and burden it’s been carrying. How can he know me so well already?
“See, you know this about me.” I narrow my gaze and stare up at him. His hair is disheveled after his recent bath, and I slide my fingers into it. “And I don’t know this about you. How would I cheer you up?”
He seems surprised, as if I’m a dope not to know better. “You cheer me up all the time.”
“How?” I demand.
“Hell, I don’t know. You just do.” He shakes his head, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth. His eyes shift and fill with a curious deep longing.
“I’ll film you!” I decide, having a light-bulb moment. “Or film myself doing something for you. To cheer you up.”
“Just stand here. It’s enough.” His voice roughens as he twirls me out, then back to nearly slam against his chest. “Or dance. Just like this.”
A chuckle runs up his chest and his arms envelop me again. We sway to and fro, slowly and without music, only to the rustle of our clothes, and it feels as if nothing can touch me but my Suit.