I’m excited to see Scotty appear in my office doorway with the brown kraft envelope in his hand. That excitement lasts until I pull the sheet of paper out, and I see Cole’s response.
A big black NO scrawled across my note like a middle finger.
“Do you have anything for me to return?” asks Scotty, lingering in the doorway.
I force a smile and look at him. “No, but thanks. Have a good day.”
“You too.”
He leaves, taking my self-esteem with him.
In my note, I asked if we could schedule a meeting for this week. “Meeting” being code for quickie in the stairwell. I was feeling flirtatious and upbeat when I sent it, full of hope after this morning that this thing between us wasn’t already over like I thought it was last night, but Cole put the kibosh on all that hope and happiness with two letters.
He didn’t even bother to sign his name. Probably because he didn’t have a good mindfuck closing that meant “Get lost.” Not that he needed it. I got the point.
He changed his mind again.
We’re not going to be together.
Or he decided once and for all, I don’t know which because the man doesn’t know how to communicate except when he’s recounting how he followed me to a restaurant and ordered his buddy to spy on me over security cameras. The rest of the time, it’s vague references to ominous outcomes and cryptic statements that could mean anything or nothing.
Unless we’re having sex. Then he miraculously becomes a professional orator.
I shred the note, then sit at my desk until I’ve lost the urge to smash something. It’s replaced by the urge to cry, which I refuse to give in to, so I bury myself in work.
By five o’clock, I’ve almost convinced myself the hurt, anger, and irrational desire to light Cole McCord on fire are all feelings created by the proximity of my period, which should be arriving any day.
I’ve always been good at denial.
The rest of that week goes by with no contact from Cole.
No inter-office memos, no emails complaining about an error in a report, nothing. Chelsea’s advice is to give him space and focus on myself. We can’t get together to hash it out because the hospital is short-staffed. She’s working back-to-back shifts, and when she’s not working, she’s exhausted.
The office chatter about Dylan dies out. There are no news reports or newspaper articles about a missing accountant. Simone doesn’t mention him again. Life goes on as it did before, except now, I’m obsessing over Cole the way he said he obsessed over me.
I have dinner on Friday with Jen and Angel, but as neither of them knows anything about the Cole situation, I suffer in silence.
I distract myself over the weekend by binge-watching TV, cleaning the apartment from top to bottom, taking four CrossFit classes at the gym, and teaching myself how to make pasta from scratch. The resulting linguini noodles taste like glue, so I throw them out and order takeaway from a Thai food place.
Sunday night, my mother calls.
“Hi, honey. It’s me. Mom.”
She has to add that last part because when I picked up the phone and heard her voice, I was so surprised, I was speechless.
She never calls me. Never. I’m always the one to call and check on her, and then only rarely because it’s so damn depressing.
“Hi, Mom. Is everything okay?”
Her laugh is small and nervous. “Yeah, I think so.”
I’m instantly on guard. “You think so? What does that mean? Did Bob do something? Are you hurt?”
“No, no, honey, I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You sound strange.”
She laughs again. I picture her standing in her tiny kitchen in her apartment in Vegas, her thin bleach-blonde hair in a messy bun, a cigarette burned down to a stub between her fingers.
As soon as one goes out, she lights another. She never started smoking until her marriage to Dad broke up, but after that, she became a chimney.
“That’s probably because I haven’t had a drink in a few days.”
I was standing in the living room when I answered, about to dust the coffee table again, but this news is so unexpected, I sit down on the sofa. “Really? That’s great.”
“Yeah, I just…I don’t know, it seemed like a good time to make a new start what with Bob leaving and all.”
My heart leaps. “Bob left you?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened? Did you have another fight?”
“No, he just up and left. Never came home from the casino one night. I figure he got himself a new woman. Only reason that man would disappear on me is for another woman. She probably has more social security coming in than I do.”
Her raspy laugh is interrupted by a cough.
I’m overjoyed by the news that Bob left, but try not to get my hopes up. They’ve broken up before, only to get back together soon after.
But the no-drinking thing is new. The last time he left, she drank herself into a stupor. Her neighbor found her passed out on her porch, lit cigarette in hand, and called an ambulance.
“Do you need anything? Money? Food? I can Venmo you some cash if you need it.”
“I’m fine, sweetie, but you’re a doll for offering. As long as I’ve got my ciggies and Mr. Bones, I’m all set.”
“What’s Mr. Bones? Is that a new show or something?”
“No, it’s not a show. It’s a cat. A stray I found behind the dumpster here at my place. He was all skin and bones when I found him, so I named him Mr. Bones. He’s sitting on my lap right now. Here, say hi to him.”
I hear some fumbling noises, then the low, distinct drone of a cat’s purr. Mom comes back on the line, sounding proud.
“Isn’t he cute? Did you say hi? I think you’d love him. You’ve always loved cats. Remember that mangy orange thing we had when you were little?”
“Scooby Doo,” I say, dazed.
She got a cat? She’s sober? Who is this woman?
She laughs. “I told your father I was allergic, but really I just didn’t like that cat. He always looked so judgmental. Mr. Bones isn’t judgmental at all. He’s a sweetie pie. You’re my best friend, aren’t you, buddy?”
She makes some kissy noises while I attempt to piece my brain back together.
“Mom, I’m so happy for you. It’s really good you have a companion.”
“Other than that loser, Bob, you mean,” she says drily. When I don’t say anything, she sighs. “I know you never liked him, honey. That’s okay. I never liked him much myself.” Her voice turns melancholy. “Sometimes we hold onto things we shouldn’t because we’re lonely.”
Unless you’re Cole, who uses loneliness like a shield to keep everyone away.
“I just want you to be safe, Mom. Safe and happy.”
“Well, I have to tell you, honey, I’ve been happier these past few days being alone here with Mr. Bones than I’ve been in years. I think I’m gonna start going for walks around the complex. Maybe eating a few vegetables too. Do something good for myself.”
I’m getting choked up. I swallow, blinking away tears, and force my voice to stay even. “That’s great to hear.”
“How are you doing? How’s work?”
“I got a new job since we last talked.”
“Oh, good for you! Do you like it?”
“It’s…challenging.”
She laughs again. “And a good thing too, or you’d get bored. That big brain of yours needs a challenge. You still with what’s-his-name? Chad?”
“Chet. And no, we broke up.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, honey.”
“It’s for the best. He turned out to be a cheating asshole.”
She clucks her tongue. “There aren’t many men like your father, that’s for sure.” She sighs heavily. “Biggest mistake of my life was leaving him. Have you spoken to him lately?”
“Yes. On his birthday. He sounded good.”
“Good.” She pauses, then says nonchalantly, “Is he still married to that Zoe?”
I smile. “It’s Chloe. But you knew that. And yes, they’re still married. I’ll tell him you said hello next time we speak.”
“Now, don’t go putting words in my mouth, honey. I didn’t say to tell the man hello.”
She’s trying to sound cross, but I know her too well. Not only does she want me to tell him she said hello, she wants me to call her immediately afterward to go over his reply, his tone of voice, and any other detail I can remember.
Like mother, like daughter.
“Okay, Mom. I won’t.”
“I mean…” She clears her throat. “You could tell him you talked to me. That would be fine.”
“Okay.”
We sit in awkward silence for a moment, until she says, “Do you have any plans for Thanksgiving?”
I always spend it with my dad and Chloe as she’s always been in Vegas with Bob, and I never wanted to go near that binge-drinking rageaholic, but maybe this year will be different. If Bob stays away, maybe she and I can get together.
“Not yet. You?”
“No. Me and Mr. Bones will probably just watch the Macy’s parade.”
“Or you could come to LA if you want. Or I could go down there. It would be great to see you. I miss you.”
Her soft intake of breath is louder than she would like because she makes up a hurried excuse about Mr. Bones scratching her arm to cover it.
“Well, think about it. You don’t have to decide now.”
“I will. Maybe…maybe we could talk again next week? If you want to, I mean.”
The hope in her voice that leaked out before she could catch it makes my heart hurt.
Dammit. I won’t cry. I won’t cry. Don’t cry!
I say softly, “I’d love that, Mom. How about I give you a call at the same time?”
“Sounds good. Talk to you then. Bye, honey.”
“Bye, Mom.”
I disconnect, then flop back onto the sofa and stare at the ceiling as tears leak from the corners of my eyes.
Hope is such an awful thing. A dangerous, awful thing. It drives people crazy.
I gave up hoping years ago that she’d change, that she’d become the mother I always needed, because it was too painful to continue holding on. But with one phone call, that old hope I thought I’d killed off has sprung back to life again like a green blade of grass can spring back after its been trampled by feet.
It’s far too early to tell, but if Bob is gone for good and the sobriety sticks, I might get to meet the woman who’s been missing for more than twenty years.
I scroll through my recent calls log and stare for the hundredth time at the number Cole called me from last Monday. Then I debate with myself for the hundredth time whether I should save it to contacts, delete it, or block it.
In the end, I don’t do anything. I just shut off the phone and pour myself some wine.
Nothing happens Monday at work. Tuesday and Wednesday pass uneventfully too. Then on Thursday, I’m waiting for the elevator to take me down to the cafeteria ten floors below when the doors open, and I’m knocked on my ass.
Between two other people, Cole stands inside.
He looks incredible.
He’s wearing a dove gray suit. His white dress shirt is open at the throat. Freshly shaven, his skin glows with health. A hint of a sunburn burnishes his cheeks. His dark hair gleams under the lights, but it’s slightly messy, as if he’s been running his hands through it.
The way my body reacts to seeing him, you’d think I was jabbed with a cattle prod.
Energy courses through me, setting my nerves alight and sending my pulse into overdrive. I’m sure the breath I suck in is audible. I freeze, unsure if I should turn and run or get on the elevator die of a heart attack.
He lifts his gaze to mine.
Our eyes lock.
The floor opens up and swallows me.
No, that’s just how it feels. But the sensation of falling is so acute, it leaves me dizzy. I’m so disoriented, I forget to do anything but stand there gaping at him.
The doors slide closed.
At the last moment, Cole reaches through and stops them.
They bounce slowly apart again, and he steps back.
Swallowing hard, my pulse thrumming, I step on the elevator, nod politely at the other passengers, then turn and face the closing doors.
His gaze on my body is a thousand heated needles, piercing me from behind.
One person gets off on the twenty-fifth floor. The other person gets off on the twentieth. Then Cole and I are alone on the elevator, and I’m carefully practicing deep breathing so I don’t pass out from nerves.
I think he’ll let me get off on my floor without saying a word to me, but the moment the doors close behind the last person and the elevator starts to move, he jabs his finger onto the Stop button.
The lift shakes a bit, then settles. I stand staring wide-eyed at the closed doors with Cole behind me and my heart pounding like mad until he says gruffly, “Excellent work this week, Ms. Sanders.”
His voice makes my nipples tingle. The timbre of it, so deep and husky, so beautifully masculine…it makes me remember things I shouldn’t.
Why am I such a fool for this man?
I close my eyes and take another deep breath. “Thank you, Mr. McCord.”
“How’s the 401(k) audit coming?”
I close my eyes and breathe, breathe, breathe. “I should have it completed by tomorrow.”
“Should? Or will?”
He moves closer until I feel his body heat. He lifts a lock of my hair to his nose and inhales. Then he makes a low sound in his chest, the exact sound of pleasure I’ve heard him make when his face is between my legs.
Steady, girl. Steady.
“I…I will.”
“Good. That’s very good, Ms. Sanders. I’m pleased.” He lowers his head and inhales deeply against my neck.
My nipples harden instantly. I swallow the moan of need building in the back of my throat.
His warm breath washing over my skin, he whispers, “I’ve missed you, baby. I’ve missed you so fucking much.”
“Really? Hmm. I must’ve missed all your phone calls. And your emails. And your inter-office memos. No, wait, I did get one of those. It wasn’t exactly filled with longing.”
After a moment, he says, “You’re angry.”
“You’re right. I am. Not only angry, but frustrated and confused too.” I turn around, face him, and push him gently back a foot or two. “Why have you been ignoring me?”
“I could never ignore you.”
“Yet you have been.”
“No. I’ve been obsessing over you. I can’t stop thinking about you. It’s all I do. I’m fucking useless.”
My pulse is jagged. I want him to pull me into his arms and hold me, but that also makes me feel pathetic, so I don’t ask him to. “Have you spied on me over the security cameras?”
“No, but only because I told you I wouldn’t act like a complete animal anymore. I’ve wanted to. I’ve wanted to pay someone on your floor to report all your movements back to me too, but I didn’t do that either.”
Falling into his eyes, I say, “You’ve been behaving yourself.”
“I’m still a wreck.”
“Baby steps.”
We smile at each other.
He says, “I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“I like you.”
“Is that your idea of a compliment?”
“Yes. Because I don’t like anyone. But I like you very much. Aside from wanting to fuck you silly, I mean. I think you’re smart, witty, and incredibly good at your job.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Have you recently had a fall? Hit your head hard on the ground maybe?”
“No. Why?”
“Just wondering why we’re suddenly getting along so well.”
“We always get along well.”
“Yes, but usually there’s a bed involved.”
