AIMEE
Ian and I have been married for more than five years. I’m used to the way he carefully selects the next destination for one of his photo expeditions. I’ve watched him meticulously research the area, its culture and weather patterns, the natives’ customs. By the time he arrives, he knows exactly the types of photos he wants to capture. But this suddenness to get to Spain when he wasn’t planning to leave until next week is completely out of character for him. He’s talking about James one second, his mom the next, and then tells me he’s leaving for Spain within three hours. And somehow the three of these things—my relationship with James, Ian seeking closure with Sarah, and his National Geographic assignment—are all connected.
To say I’m baffled is an understatement.
“You’re not making sense, Ian. Can’t you postpone Spain until next week like you originally planned? Can we talk about this first?” But his facial muscles are tight and there’s a determined set to his jaw. His eyes are far away and I know he’s already on the plane headed for Spain. “I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t. Everything will be fine. Just know that I can’t apologize enough for how I’ve been treating you. I’m going to fix this.”
“Fix what?”
“Me. Us. I know this is crazy and sudden, but I’ve got a plan to make everything right. To make me right. I just need you to trust me. I’ll call when I land. I love you.”
He kisses me and gives me a rib-cracking hug. He then has the audacity to walk away.
I’m frozen. I can’t get my words out. We need fixing? He’s almost reached the stairwell before I snap out of it. He wasn’t kidding. He really is leaving tonight. And I don’t want him to go, not like this.
“Ian, wait!”
I run after him, forgetting how fast he moves. I dodge nurses and visitors carrying corridor-width-size bouquets. I shout his name again only to have the heavy, metal stairwell door slam in my face. I flinch, yank open the door, and look down. Ian’s already two flights below. A door slams. He’s gone.
I leave the stairwell. The elevator beside me dings and doors open, expelling a set of grandparents carrying balloons and a stuffed Eeyore. I look at the empty cab and debate what to do.
Whatever Ian’s going through, I don’t want him to feel like he must do it alone.
“I saw Ian take off. What’s his rush?” Nadia asks, coming to stand beside me, phone in hand.
Distracted, I blink at Nadia. “What?” The elevator doors close without me inside.
I should be with him.
I repeatedly jab the down button. Numbers light above the door. The elevator continues its climb up.
“Where’s he going?”
I pound the button. Ugh. “He’s flying to Spain.”
Nadia finishes a text and sends it off. She looks at me with a tilt to her head. “Tonight? I thought he didn’t leave for another week.”
“He changed his flight.” The elevator begins its crawl down.
“Right now? No way. He won’t find an international flight tonight.” She checks the time on her phone. “It’s six o’clock.” An incoming text pings. She reads it and smiles.
“He told me he was able to book it.” I tug at my lower lip. The elevator doors slide open and I let them close. There’s no chance of stopping him. He’s probably on the road by now. I guess we’ll talk when he lands.
I send Ian a text to that effect and add a kissy-face emoji. My phone shows one bar fading in and out, depending on which way I face. I hope he gets my message, and I’m going to worry about him until I know he did.
The desire to be with him, to join him in Spain, grows stronger. But I won’t find a flight at this late hour.
Suddenly, the café’s expansion doesn’t seem important. In fact, my interest started waning long before Ian confronted me this afternoon. Is this really what you want to do?
No, it’s not. A smile appears on my face as I think about how I felt while gazing upon the newborns.
Nadia’s fingers fly over her phone. She sends off another text. My brows push up in the middle. “You’re getting reception in here?”
“It comes and goes.”
“Who are you texting?”
“A friend.”
I grin at the flirtatious note in her tone. “You’re texting a guy. Who is it? Are you dating?” She hasn’t gone out with anyone since she broke up with Mark last year. Talk about a dead-end relationship. He’s successful and very committed to his career, which would have been admirable if he’d shown that same level of commitment with Nadia. But she didn’t like coming in second place. What woman does in a serious relationship?
“Yes, it’s a guy. No, we’re not dating. It’s work related.”
“Aimee! Nadia!” Nick Garner runs up to us, grinning. His hair stands on end and his dress shirt from his day job as an attorney is unbuttoned at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up. One shirttail has escaped the waist of his suit pants. “I’m a dad! Again! I have a son! Oh my God, I have a son.” He grasps his face with both hands and laughs.
“Congratulations,” Nadia and I say in unison. Nick hugs each of us, picking me off my feet when it’s my turn. I feel myself grinning as stupidly as he is. The man is on cloud nine.
He waves for us to follow. “Kristen’s asking for you. Come meet baby Theo.”
After cooing over Theodore Michael for a couple of hours and watching Kristen’s daughters meet their baby brother—I so want to give Caty a sibling—Nadia and I leave the Garner family to enjoy their new addition in privacy. As soon as we exit the hospital both our phones ping with notifications. Nadia immediately dives into hers.
“I’m thinking of pulling the plug on my expansion plans,” I tell Nadia when we stop on the walkway before going our separate ways. She’d asked about the project’s progress in the elevator on the way down since I hired her to design the new locations.
“That’s because you’re in the not-so-fun stage of paperwork and financing,” she says, multitasking on her phone. She taps out another text. “Every project seems dull at this point.”
“It’s more than that.” I look across the parking lot. Evening traffic, the steady hum of passing cars, and the occasional horn and siren, noise polluting the evening. The first hint of fall permeates the air, wood smoke and the after-scent of brush fires. Drying leaves and apples. My stomach growls. It’s past dinner. I need to pick up Caty and find something to eat. It’s going to be a late night and I’ve been up since before dawn.
“I worked the kitchen this morning. I had my hands wrist deep in dough and I loved it. I thought up three new drink mixes while waiting for the coffee to brew. I chatted with my regulars and . . . and who are you texting?” I ask, wondering if she’s even listening to me. I try to peer at her phone. She tilts it away.
“I told you. A client.” She sends the text and tucks her mobile under her arm. “You were saying?”
I jut a shoulder, thinking of my day. “I miss all that.”
“Miss what?”
“Did you hear anything I said?”
“Umm . . . dough?”
“Yes, that!” I hold up my hands, curling my fingers in frustration. I want to give Nadia a good shake. I want her to understand my desire to get back to basics. “I miss kneading dough and brewing coffee. The simple things. Does that sound lame?”
Nadia’s phone pings. “Sorry.”
I feel my brows push into my hairline. “Really?”
“One second.” She shoots me an apologetic smile. “This project is on deadline.” She reads the text. So do I. I can’t help it. She’s standing right beside me and her phone is right there and she isn’t hiding the screen.
Meet me for a late dinner.
“Who are you meeting for dinner?” I hear myself asking as my gaze glides to the contact name at the top of the screen. Thomas Donato.
It takes three seconds of dead silence for Thomas’s name and who Nadia has been texting to register because I can’t process what this means. Nadia and Thomas. Together.
She senses the instant I see his name. Her arm falls to her side and her expression clouds with guilt.
I gape, pointing at her phone. “You’re working with Thomas?” I sound incredulous. Heartbroken. Betrayed by my best friend.
“I was thinking about mentioning it to you last night but—”
“But what? James came to town? You thought I was too emotional after seeing him to handle the news you’re working with his brother?”
“Something like that,” Nadia admits in a small voice, which is very unlike her. She understands how much she’s hurt me.
“What I don’t get is why you’d agree to work with him in the first place. After everything he did to me.”
“It’s only a small job. It’ll be done in two weeks,” she defends.
“You thought I’d never find out.”
Nadia looks at the ground. “I’m not even supposed to mention the project. I signed an NDA.”
“How could you?”
Nadia opens her mouth only to close it and slowly shake her head. She looks past me and my heart sinks.
“You like him,” I say. She once had a crush on Thomas, but that was in high school.
“No. It’s nothing like that.”
“Then, what is it?”
Her lips press paper-thin flat. She puts away her phone. “I can’t discuss the specifics, or why I took on the project. Besides, I doubt anything I say right now will make you understand.”
“Try me.” My phone pings and I hold a flat palm in front of her face to stop her from talking. “Forget it. I don’t want to hear. I can’t even . . .” My words fall away. I need a moment to collect myself. I need Ian.
I look at my phone and read through a series of messages from him.
I’m on the red-eye to JFK out of SFO. Flying to Spain tomorrow AM. Here’s my flight info.
I’m at the airport waiting to board.
Boarding the plane now.
Are you getting these?
Are you angry?
You’re angry.
I’m sorry, Aimee, baby. The timing sucks, but I’ve got to do this. I’m sick of it hanging over my head. Can you forgive me?
I’ll call when I land. I love you. Sweet dreams, darling.
My heart breaks. I shouldn’t have listened to Nadia. I should have gotten into that elevator. I should have called him. Ian’s left and I didn’t even get the chance to say good-bye.
“I can’t deal with you right now,” I say to her and walk off.
“Where’re you going?”
“Spain,” I yell over my shoulder. Then I flip her the bird.