In Search of Mr. Anonymous by J B Glazer (20)

Chapter 19

Lucy

I’ve been thinking a lot about my recent conversation with Melanie. And how I told her if only I had answers I’d get some closure. I decide that he owes me an explanation. You can’t just profess you want a relationship with someone then disappear. I need to understand what happened. He owes me that, at least. So I plan to hunt him down and make him talk. The only problem with searching for Mr. Anonymous is I have no clue where to start. I decide to go back to the scene where it all began: Starbucks.

On Monday morning I spend extra time getting ready. I even put on more makeup than usual. Then I wash it off because I want to look like myself, and as though I’m not trying too hard. My hands are shaking as I open the door. I glance at the people ahead of me in line, but no one looks familiar. Even the baristas are different. I grab a table and hang out for a few minutes. But there’s no sign of him. I analyze every face that passes, searching for him among strangers. I catch glimpses of him in the confident walk of one man, the dark wavy hair of another. But just when my heart races with anticipation, they turn around and they’re not him. I see hints of him everywhere, from the apple display at the grocery store to the jazz music that plays in the elevator on my ride up to work. It’s not fair that even though he’s chosen not to be in my life, he still manages to be a part of it.

On Thursday after work I head to Cusp. I linger outside but can’t work up the nerve to go in. He told me it’s his sanctuary, his sacred place he’s shared with no one else. Who knows if that’s even true? It could be a line he feeds dates to make them feel special. But somehow I sense it was the truth. I have a hard time infringing on that, which makes me angrier, knowing how he hurt me yet I can’t do the same to him. I circle the block a few times then head home.

I decide a walk will clear my head. So instead of hailing a cab I head toward my apartment. My phone buzzes and I see it’s a text from Trish.

Left an envelope with your doorman. Got some cooking passes from a vendor. Figured you could use them more than me. ;) xo.

When I arrive home my cheeks are pink from the cold and my hands are numb. I peel off my gloves and ask George if he has an envelope for me. He hands it to me and inside are four passes to Bon Appetit Cooking School. I text her back to thank her and put them in my top kitchen drawer. I have no intention of using them, but feel bad throwing them away.

The weeks pass and I call off my search. Without knowing his name or where he works, there’s very little I have to go on. I’m still so angry with him and with myself. Not only for agreeing to the stupid bet, but for suggesting we don’t share any personal information. If we had I could hunt him down and make him face what he did. I wish with all my might for the strength to move past this. But I’m finding that I can’t. Things that used to bring me pleasure no longer do. Yoga used to be the one place I felt at peace. But now I’ll do a pose and it will remind me of some position we tried. So even there he’s in my head. At work I’m going through the motions, but it’s as if I’m on autopilot.

On Monday we have a status meeting. Usually I come in early to prepare, but I found it hard to get out of bed this morning. While Genevieve gives her update I scan my notes. My heart sinks when I see “change time of lunch delivery” on Friday’s to do list. I think back to Friday. Did I call the caterer? I’ve never been unsure about anything like this before. I’ll have to call today to confirm, but it won’t look good if I already did it.

“Lucy?” Don’s looking at me.

“Oh, sorry.” I give my update and wait impatiently for the meeting to end.

I’m about to call the caterer when Don appears at my desk. “Can I have a word?”

I nod, a lump forming in my throat. I follow him to his office.

“Shut the door,” he instructs.

I do and take a seat.

“How are things going with the Clayton-Ashford floral arrangements?”

“Great. I requested samples from Blooms and three other vendors. They’re working up comps and pricing and are scheduled to have something to me at the end of the week.”

He nods. “I noticed you haven’t been entering all your activity in Master Planner.”

“I am a bit behind, but I’ll stay late tonight and get caught up.”

He studies me across his desk.

“That’s very unlike you. Is everything OK? You haven’t seemed yourself these past few weeks.”

“Just some personal stuff. But I’m fine.”

“Lucy, you know how much I care for you. And I think you’re terrific at what you do. You’re one of my best planners. Efficient, organized, and personable. That’s why I selected you to take over for Charlotte.”

“Thank you.”

“So whatever’s going on, I need you to fix it. We have a lot riding on this wedding. And I need to count on you to be operating at the top of your game.”

“Understood. I promise nothing like this will happen again.”

Once I’m excused I head back to my desk. I can’t believe Don noticed something is off. I’ve been trying to hide it, so either I’ve been doing a bad job or he’s more perceptive than I thought. A sense of nausea washes over me. My career is everything, and I’ve let the issues from my personal life put all I’ve worked for in jeopardy. And now I’ll be under the microscope. I’ll have to work that much harder to prove I’m at the same level I was before. The thought infuriates me. I take a deep breath to ward off the panic that’s filling my chest.

As it turns out I did change the time for the lunch delivery. I can’t believe I don’t remember calling. And that I forgot to check it off my list. I’m totally slipping. I vow not to let him ruin my career too.

I stay late and get caught up on my activity in Master Planner. It’s an internal system that tracks our progress. As I was entering things in I found a few other mistakes I made these past few weeks. I don’t make mistakes. Period. So to see them in black and white was hard to take.

I get home and change into my pajamas. I’m about to throw on his shirt, but I eye it with disgust. I’m tired of him having a hold on me. I march into my kitchen and take out a trash bag. I shake it open vigorously then put the shirt in and head to the garbage room. I open the chute and place the bag inside. But I can’t let go. As much as I want to, I just can’t. Frustrated with myself, I head back to my apartment, still holding the bag. I throw his shirt on the floor and kick it across the room.

It’s eight thirty and pitch black outside, but I decide to take a walk. I make my way past the rows of buildings and shops in my neighborhood until I get to the park. The trees are blanketed with snow. Their empty branches are so heavy it makes me wonder how they manage to bear the weight of the mounds of wet snow. How they don’t snap. I pull my coat tighter around me as I’m hit with an icy blast of cold air. I stuff my hands in my pockets even though I’m wearing gloves. The only sound is the crunch on my footsteps on the gravel, which is covered with patches of ice. Perhaps this wasn’t such a good idea. As I walk the path becomes more deserted. I guess there aren’t many runners or bikers who would brave this weather—or the late hour. As I get closer to the lake the wind picks up, making an eerie howling noise. My eyes water and my face stings, but I trudge on.

I know it’s reckless to be out here alone at night. But I’m almost daring someone to find me. To be honest I don’t care what happens anymore. I walk and think about my weekend with Mr. Anonymous. How I opened myself up to him. How I loved the person I became when we were together. Then I think about my friends and how supportive they’ve been. I think of Melanie and her words that not all men are like him. I think of her student, the one who drew the Phoenix.

Suddenly, there’s a loud crack from a branch behind me. I whip around but no one’s there. My heart begins pounding in my ears. I’m attuned to every noise, but there’s only silence. I decide to head back home when I hear more branches snapping behind me. It’s probably just a wild animal, but I feel vulnerable. I break out into a run. I almost lose my footing once, but I make it. Breathing hard, I lean against my door once I’ve let myself in. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I feel something other than anger or despair.

I feel determined. Being out in the woods made me realize I want to live. And what I’ve been doing these past few months isn’t living. I think about the trees and how they’ve managed to hang on even though the icy snow has taken up residence. About how their branches will come back to life and be covered with leaves that will bloom again come spring. Right now they’re dormant, waiting. Like those trees, I’m still here and the possibilities are endless.

I call Melanie the next day and tell her I’m going to adopt a cat this weekend. She says she’ll help me pick one out from PAWS. We head there on Saturday and I find the ugliest cat of the bunch.

“Why would you want this one?” Melanie asks me.

“Because I want to adopt the cat no one else wants.”

She eyes me for a moment then nods. “Maybe you should get two,” she suggests. “So this guy will have some company.”

“That’s a good idea. Then Romeo will never be alone.”

“Romeo?”

“Yep. I’m going to name his mate Juliet.”

Melanie looks as if she’s about to say something, then decides against it.

With that settled I find a friend for Romeo. I put him and Juliet in a carrier and head home with my new family.

I bring up the supplies and show Romeo and Juliet their new home. Romeo immediately jumps up on my counter. Juliet is more hesitant. How fitting. I pour some food in their bowls and begin unwrapping some of the toys I bought them. I need scissors and remember I put a spare pair in the kitchen. I go to retrieve the scissors from my drawer and spy the cooking class passes Trish gave me. As long as I’m trying new things I may as well give it a whirl. Plus now that I have Romeo and Juliet to think about, I probably should eat in more often. I pull up the website and create a new account. After reviewing my options I sign up for four classes that begin next week. I call to ask them how I should redeem the passes Trish gave me. I also review the classes I signed up for to make sure they’re right for me. Then I browse Nordstrom’s website for some new clothes. It’s time I bought something in a color other than black. Spring is in the air and with it a newfound sense of optimism. I add three new tops and two casual dresses to my cart. And with the click of a mouse, I’ve officially come out of mourning.