She crossed her arms and considered me. “What jacket?”
“Don’t play with me, Marcy. I know you have it. I don’t care if you took it on purpose or by accident, I just need it back. Can I have it please?”
She opened the door wider and let me into the living room. “Stay here and don’t touch anything. I’ll see if I can find your dumb jacket.” Marcy disappeared into her bedroom, leaving me alone. The television blared with some obnoxious commercial about maxi pads and I tried to tune it out. My eyes wandered around the room, taking in the hospital-like cleanliness and white-on-white décor. Only people without pets and children could get away with homes like this… unless they were as prone to spilling spaghetti sauce as I was. She had a white Ikea-like desk in one corner, her mail neatly organized onto of it. Her laptop was open but turned off, a single envelope tucked underneath one corner of it. Instantly, I knew it shouldn’t be there, I knew it didn’t belong to her.
I crossed the room in three steps and snatched it up, ignoring Marcy’s request not to touch anything. This letter wasn’t hers anyway, not with the name Tessie scrolled across it in Christian’s handwriting. The letter I’d found on my desk over a month ago. I’d forgotten all about it.
“Here’s the jacket,” she said, stepping into the living room. I raised my eyes from the letter and they connected with hers. She dropped my jacket onto her white carpet. “Oh.”
I stared at her, mouth open, for a full thirty seconds before I remembered to breathe again. She’d read my letter. I’d forgotten the letter. She’s
read
my letter that I hadn’t even read yet. Whatever was in that letter, it made Marcy jealous enough to keep it from me.
“It’s open,” I said. “Not by me.”
“I can explain…”
“Why do you have this?”
“I was going through the pockets of your jacket, trying to figure out who it belonged to, when I found it.” She picked up the jacket and dusted it off before stretching it out at arm’s length. Marcy looked too scared to get any closer to me, and for good reason. I snatched it from her, not satisfied with her answer.
“And it didn’t occur to you that it might be private? Or that I might like to read my unopened mail?” I was getting ready to throw punches any minute, squeezing my hand into a fist.
“Do you know what it says?” Her voice softened. “If you read it, you’ll understand why I couldn’t bring myself to give it to you. It was wrong for me to keep it, but I was so crazy with jealousy over what you and Christian have. I just—Tess—read it.”
Part of me didn’t want to read the letter with a recap like that. It couldn’t possible make me feel any better about things. I felt the tears sting my eyes and I bit my tongue to keep them lodged there. I would not cry in front of Marcy, sincere or not, so I walked out. I didn’t say anything—what would I say? Instead, I just turned on my heel and bee-lined it straight to my car.
I drove all the way home and walked all the way into my own apartment. I changed into my pajamas, curled up on the couch with a box of anticipatory tissues, and opened the envelope. When I couldn’t stall anymore, I made myself pull the paper from the envelope. The note was written on a single piece of white printer paper, scrawled in large cursive letters. A ticket fell out onto my lap. A ticket to a Red Sox game back in April, dated for the week after Marcy and Christian called off their engagement. Hands shaking, I unfolded the letter and read.
Tessie –
I’ve let so much time go by without telling you this that the words seemed to strange to say aloud. I’m hoping you’ll understand, as I try to collect my thoughts on paper.
Marcy was a big mistake. I thought I knew what I wanted for my life, but every time I tried to go after it, something held me back. Now that Marcy is in my past, I realize more clearly how I feel about you, about us. I think we might’ve been onto something back in college, that night in the pool. I’ve never felt anything like that since and I can’t ignore it anymore.
I’ve enclosed a ticket to tonight’s game. I’ll be in the seat next to it. I think you may have feelings for me too, feelings you haven’t been able to express either. If this is true, please use this ticket and meet me in the grandstand tonight. Who knows? Maybe there’s something here to explore.
On the other hand, if I’ve romanticized things in my mind, then I’m extremely embarrassed. If you don’t share my feelings, just disregard this letter and rip up the ticket. Please don’t let this change anything between us. I love you no matter what and I don’t want anything to come between us or our friendship.
I just have to know for sure, one way or the other, before I can move on for good.
With all my love,
Your Christian
I wept for a very, very long time that night.
In fact, I cried myself to sleep three nights in a row. I tried to talk it out to Finn, but the tears kept gripping my vocal chords and I just sputtered high-pitched nonsense. Eventually I did fall asleep, but it was restless and agitated. I dreamt about horrible things like car accidents and dead puppies, burning churches and the Salem witch trials—because that’s where my brain goes. Once some of the crazy gets unleashed, it’s anyone’s guess what my brain will do next.
I lived and worked like a hermit for the next couple of days, skittering to and from the office without making eye contact or engaging in conversations. I successfully skirted Savannah, who returned to work from her illness on Tuesday. Thankfully, she seemed only too happy to avoid me as well—did she know what I’d done?
I’d sent a few text responses to Christian here and there, but only so he wouldn’t get worried and knock down my door looking for me. Honestly, if he showed up on my doorstep, I couldn’t be trusted not to do many depraved things to him. Or possibly emigrate to Moscow. He was probably afraid to show up, given what had happened last time, when I’d tried to rip off his clothes in an elevator. For this reason, I was forced to cancel Coffee Wednesday, feigning a relapse of my stomach virus.
I talked to Kendra, but only in one-word responses, and promised to visit her on Friday night. I knew it would be good for me to vent and also to share my exciting news about my promotion. But the thought of saying all this stuff out loud wasn’t as reassuring as a normal Kendra consult. I prayed she’d be in a good mood on Friday and not yell at me about screwing things up with Christian. Or running away to Chicago.
The days lurched by, their endless monotony creating the perfect excuse not to enjoy anything at all. Not even Gordon Ramsey or Anthony Bourdain could break my zombie-like trance. I watched their shows, but took no joy in them. Chef shows were dead to me too, it seemed. My world was crumbling, piece by piece.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
All my rationale about new beginnings sounded like bullshit when I explained it to Kendra. I braved the torrential rains to drop by and made two mugs of hot chocolate—the only thing I was allowed to make in her kitchen. We sat at the table together, leaving Grant to put Riley to bed, and I told her the whole story.
She steadied her voice with one deep breath. “Tess, I’ve supported you every step of the way in your career, you know that.” Another deep breath. “But I can’t let you throw everything else in your life away for this one job. There will be other jobs, other openings. Maybe even here at home. Can’t you just wait and see?”
“It’s not that simple.” I set down my hot chocolate. “This job is a direct response to my presentation. I’m getting the chance to run the publication that I started. I can’t let someone else take over. Besides that, who says Prime will offer me something else if I refuse this job? You take what you can get.”
“Why do you have to stay there? You’ve built one hell of a resume at Prime. You could walk into a VP spot at any other firm. Or even go into business for yourself…”
I didn’t have an answer ready for her, so I thought a moment. Leave Prime… passing up the opportunity to stick it to Marty Bensen and all those sexist corporate jerks? I earned this job based on merit alone and I wanted to shatter that glass ceiling for myself and all the other women at Prime who deserved more recognition. “I need to do this. You just don’t understand, Kendra. No one treats you badly because you’re a woman.”
“Ha! How about Baby Daddy Raoul and his constant commentary on how women should wash dishes, not run restaurants? Or maybe the entire kitchen staff, who thinks I can’t understand Portuguese and talks about my ass? Don’t even get me started on the number of male customers that call me ‘Sweetheart.’ Sexism is everywhere, Tess. But fighting it in one place, sacrificing yourself in the process… is that really worth it? Why not make a clean break and do the work for yourself, just because you love it, not because you need to prove something?”
I sat in silence, swirling the last bit of hot chocolate sludge around in my mug, pointedly not looking at Kendra. I heard her sniffle before she started talking again.
“You can’t do this to me.” Her eyes filled with tears as she gripped my wrist. The whipped cream melted in her hot chocolate, untouched.
“I’ll come back and visit all the time. Chicago’s not that far.” I stared at her hand, unblinking, as her fingers loosened their hold one by one.
“Not that far? We said college ‘wasn’t that far’ and look how hard that was on all of us!” Her voice echoed shrilly in the half-lit kitchen, not as homey when it wasn’t filled with food and friends.
“You won’t be alone this time. You’ll have Grant and Riley,” I forced a smile, rubbing a soothing hand over her shoulder. “And Christian, too.” I couldn’t eke out a smile on his name, but my facial muscles made a worthy attempt. “You get all our guys. You’ll be okay.”
“For the record, while you were up to your eyeballs in youth investment markets, I
had
all the boys. And let me tell you what,” she leaned toward me. “You can’t leave me with them.”
“Why not?”
“Are you serious? Grant is my husband, so him I can handle. But Riley will be devastated if Anntess isn’t here to read him stories or play with the ducks.” Tears rolled silently down her cheeks now, and my eyes welled up in response. “And don’t even get me started on Christian.”
Her tone changed when she said his name and my head snapped up. Kendra blew her nose and blotted tears from her chin, while I connected the dots.
“You knew. You’ve known, all this time,” I watched her expression change in confirmation. I couldn’t bear to talk about the letter, but whether she knew about it or not did me little good now. Christian was with Savannah. I was too late. “Why didn’t you tell me he was in love with me?”
“I couldn’t, Tess.” She sniffled again. “Imagine if you were stuck between Christian and me with a secret, what would you do? He didn’t want me to say anything, said he needed to ‘see how it panned out.’ He didn’t want to pressure you or add stress onto everything you were dealing with at work. Anyway, how could you learn what your own feelings were if you were constantly worried about protecting his feelings?”
“But—”
She shook her head, stopping my protest before it even formed in my mind. “You always put yourself last. You would have told Christian you loved him even if you didn’t, just to make him happy.”
My eyes widened. “That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
“Not for you. You’re a good person and you deserve love in your life. I know how you feel about him now, but you have to tell him. You can’t run away to Chicago and leave him here like this.”
“I’m sure Savannah can take care of him,” I started pacing again, slower this time. I could feel Kendra’s eyes on me with every lap across the farmhouse kitchen.
“She’s just a bandage. He’s trying to get over you, you idiot,” she was near to yelling with frustration. If she hadn’t been pregnant, she probably would have leapt up and shook me. “Why don’t you just
talk to Christian?
You’re both adults. You both like each other,
love
each other even. I’m sure you can work it out.”
“I don’t even know how I feel. Going to Chicago could help me get some perspective on things, figure out my feelings. Christian’s still reeling from Marcy anyway. We both need some time, some space. And then, once I do my time in Chicago, maybe I can get transferred back here and take Marty’s job or something higher up. Who knows?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Tessa Monroe. You do know how you feel. You’ve known for years but you’ve been too chicken to go for it.” She sighed, dropping her shoulders. “Ever since that night you kissed him in the pool.”
“Oh, no no no.
He
kissed
me…”
I stopped pacing. My mouth dropped open. “You saw us?”
She nodded smugly, crossing her arms atop her growing belly.
“You never said.”
“It wasn’t any of my business, was it?”
“So if it wasn’t your business then, why is it your business now?”
“
You’re
making it my business by running off to Chicago. After ten years of this unspoken love nonsense, I can’t function under these conditions anymore. You’re running away to a job you don’t really want because there’s no guy in the world that you’ll ever love as much as Christian. Meanwhile, he’s dating every girl
but
you to cure himself of what is obviously—at least to Grant and me—an incurable case of the wild thing.”