Valentine’s Day. Who needs it? Not me.
I duck my head as I walk as fast as possible to the coffee shop, which is only about a block from my flat. I go there pretty often, as I’m in love with their scones and they always have comfy little spots to sit. I usually go on my way to work, and I almost always stop in at least once on the weekends. It seemed like a good idea when I woke up. Brush off the cobwebs, and the slight “woe is me” feeling on this horrid holiday, with a fancy coffee drink and a scone. I could sit in the shop, look out the window and people watch. I could smile brightly, and look perfectly happy and content to be there alone, watching all the other lovely couples canoodle down the sidewalk.
But then I stepped outside, and it nearly felt like it was sub zero temperatures. And the wind was blowing hard, making my eyes water. And the sight of couples in love made me feel a bit like gagging. Either way, I hurried onward. What else was I going to do with my free Saturday? I had made sure to be off weeks ago, thinking Tom would be in town, but now he was filming still, thousands of miles away and I suddenly had a whole day that was empty and open.
Coffee. Angry people watching. Maybe a movie—something bloody and violent, not romantic, and then take out. Chinese. No, perhaps curry.
After I get my coffee and a scone, I settle in at one of the seats near the window. I don’t want to see all the lovey dovey couples, but I’m also a bit of a masochist, so I turn slightly to look outside.
Tom had called me late last night, having just gotten off of work. It was mid afternoon where he was, but he was exhausted from shooting all day. We hadn’t talked long. He’d been tired and leaving the set, and I’d been half asleep.
“I hope you have a good day tomorrow. I’ll be thinking about you.” He said easily. I smiled, closing my eyes.
“Get some sleep.”
“With you, I wish.” He chuckled softly.
“Mmm.” I moaned softly in agreement.
“What are your plans for tomorrow?” He asked.
“Not much really. Coffee, maybe a movie. In bed early.” I sighed. He laughed in reply, as it wasn’t much different than a normal day for me. We spoke for a few minutes more, before he apologized and said he needed to go get some rest. It was how many of our conversations went. Like two ships passing in the night. I didn’t mind it though.
It’s warm in the shop, and comfortably busy. Enough people to be interesting, but not packed or crowded. I get comfortable, drinking idly and nibbling on my breakfast. I count three couples holding hands. Four couples kiss. One couple glaring angrily at each other. And one couple who are perhaps still getting to know each other. Maybe not on a first date, but definitely one of the early ones. I smile to myself and wonder where Tom and I would fall, if he were here.
We’ve still not really discussed it. He’s not dating anyone, I know that for a fact. And I’m not. Of course not. We talk daily, even if it’s just a text message to say hello. But I haven’t seen him in nearly two months, and I can practically feel the ache in my bones when I hear his voice. It didn’t used to feel like this. I used to go for huge, long periods of time without seeing him. He’d pass through my mind like clouds through the sky, and then I’d go on with my day. Now, I find myself thinking of him more often than not.
I’d like to think that if he were here now, he’d be sitting next to me, drinking his tea and trying to convince me to buy him another cookie. Or maybe we wouldn’t even be here. Maybe we’d still be home, in my tiny flat, intertwined together in bed. Yes, ah. That’s more like it.
I spend a good twenty minutes or so enjoying my coffee, and finishing my pastry. Santos starts texting me Valentine’s Day greetings, which make me smile. I decide to head back to my apartment, and maybe rent a movie as opposed to going out to see one. The hermit in me is dying to stay cozy inside the rest of the day.
Just as I go to throw away my trash, a man catches my eye as he comes striding through the front door of the café. I feel a bit as if I’ve seen a ghost. I feel it straight to my bones, and I can’t help but freeze, watching him.
The dark eyes and hair. A neatly trimmed beard. He’s wearing a wool pea coat, with the collar upturned from the cold London air. And when he turns toward the front counter, our eyes meet immediately.
“Gracie.” Richard hardly falters. I blink and then pull myself from my shock.
“Hi. Richard.” I say. My first instinct is to run. Maybe kick him in the shins and then run, but I don’t. He turns toward me, now looking pleased to see me.
“You look lovely. It’s been quite awhile, hasn’t it?” He asks. He steps out of line and walks toward me, stopping a few feet in front of me. Up close I can see how little he has changed. Chocolate brown eyes, and dark wavy hair. He’s dressed formally in a dress shirt and tie under his winter coat.
“Yes. What are you doing in London?” I feel my heart thumping in my chest, feeling out of sorts seeing him here. I feel nothing for him, but it’s still rather jarring to run into him. Especially since there’s thousands of miles and an entire ocean set between where I am and where he should be.
“Holiday. Just for the weekend, really. Wow, you look fantastic.” He breathes softly and smiles at me. I chew nervously on my lip and then look down, grabbing my coat from the back of the chair I’d been sitting in.
“Thank you.” I nod.
“Are you leaving? Please, let me buy you a drink. I’d love to catch up, if you have the time. What are the odds?” He laughs affably and holds his hands out, as if it is extraordinary that we’ve bumped into each other. I suppose it is extraordinary, but it’s also not something I’d ever choose. And I don’t feel the need to prolong it.
“No, thank you, I’m....late…” I trail off, gesturing toward the door. Richard frowns, putting his hands together in a pleading motion.
“Please, Gracie. Just a few minutes? Do you still drink lattes? Extra foam?” He asks as he steps up toward the counter. That was what I had just been drinking. I shake my head.
“No.”
“Oh? What is it then?” His brow furrows and he waits for me.
“Just a coffee. Black.” I say quickly. He nods and makes an approving face and then orders both of our drinks. Maybe it is morbid curiosity. Maybe it’s something else. But I don’t leave. I stay. I stay because I don’t really have much else to run off to, and I stay because I figure that fifteen minutes can’t do any harm.
****
The fifteen minutes turns into twenty, and then nearly thirty. Richard is surprisingly genial, and very animated as he speaks. He reminds me of the Richard I first met, back in college. Excitable, but well spoken. Intelligent, bright and self effacing. And as he tries to catch me up quickly on what he’s being doing for the past two years, I can’t help but notice that he’s not wearing a wedding ring.
I don’t speak much. I nod mostly, and let him do the talking. He’s not with the museum anymore. He’s with a pharmaceutical company, which has offices all over. One in New York, one in London, one in Los Angeles. He came to London for work, but then stayed for a bit of a holiday. He’s obviously doing well for himself, judging by his clothing and the way he talks about his job.
“You know, it’s great to see you. I just…” Richard sits forward in his chair. We’ve taken a little table by the front windows. It’s cold and windy out, but the sun is surprisingly bright and cheerful.
“You what?” I ask, prodding him on.
“I’ve just always felt terrible about how things played out. Between us.” He looks at me, his eyes seem sincere. I press my lips together, trying very hard to not let those old, scarred over wounds reopen.
“Let’s not do this, Richard. I should go.” I nod quickly, and move to leave. Richard reaches for, his hand grabbing mine quickly.
“Please. Let me just apologize.” He asks. I freeze, sigh and then plop back down.
“Richard, you know how terribly you hurt me. It took me quite a long time to get over it. I don’t really want to sit here, rehashing it all like it was a grand ‘ol time. I’ve moved on. You’ve moved on. What’s the point?” I ask, crossing my arms over my chest. He sighs heavily and shakes his head, then runs a hand over his face, smoothing over his beard. He looks distressed, and I am finding it hard to care.
“I never felt right about how I treated you. I’m just really terribly sorry.” He looks at me with big, heavy eyes. I nod.
“Thank you. Apology accepted.” I say. I still feel nothing. His apology is two years too late. I don’t hate him anymore. I don’t even really dislike him. I just feel nothing for him. It’s as if he’s a total stranger, because he really is. It is quite liberating, and at the same time, terrifying. I feel nothing for Richard because…well, my feelings are completely and entirely wrapped up with someone else at the moment. And I don’t see that changing for quite some time. Or perhaps ever.
“Are you seeing anyone?” He asks suddenly. I’m not sure I want to answer. I don’t really see how it’s any of his business.
“I am. Tom. You met him at the museum event awhile ago.” I say quietly. He frowns and then seems to remember him, realization crossing over Richard’s dark features.
“Ah. Yes. The actor.” He raises an eyebrow, and I make no indication. I don’t want to talk about Tom with Richard. They don’t exist in the same world to me.
“How is Carmen?” I ask, throwing him a bone. Richard nods and rubs his hands together, slowly, as if he has to think about this question.
“Carmen is great. She’s back in DC as we speak.” He smiles at me, and for a second I think to mention his missing ring, but I don’t.
“That’s great. It’s been good catching up, Richard. But I need to go.” I say quietly. He nods, and then tilts his head, looking thoughtful.
“I’m here until Monday. Would you get lunch with me? I know you aren’t particularly…excited to see me, but…I don’t know. I feel like I’d just really like to take you to lunch.” Richard stands as I do, and I am saying ‘No’ before I even have to think about his question.
“Sorry, I’ve plans on Monday.” I shake my head and look up at him with a brisk smile. It’s not a lie, either. I’ve already made plans to see Emily, who is in town after a rather long holiday with Mark in Scotland. We’re meeting to discuss more wedding plans.
“Ah, well.” Richard nods, looking disappointed. “Are you going home? We could share a cab.” He gestures outside. The man does not take a hint!
“I walked. It’s only about two blocks.” I pull on my coat, which Richard immediately tries to help me with, taking it by the shoulders and sliding it behind me. I let him, despite not really wanting him to touch me, and I quickly button everything up, bracing for the outdoors.
“Gracie.” He says quietly, his voice downtrodden and regretful. I take a deep breath and pause, looking at him.
“Hm?”
“I’m sorry, I really am. Can I walk you home? Please? And then you’ll never have to see my bloody face again.” He laughs and I roll my eyes. I know he’s harmless, and just has a serious case of guilt, so I shrug quickly and gesture toward the door.
“Let’s go then.” I say softly.
The walk back is quick. I keep the pace fast, not just because I want to get it over with but also because it is still cold out. We don’t talk much as we walk. Richard can tell I don’t really want to be there with him, but he’s still keeping up with me.
It is strange to be near him again. Especially in London. When I was in New York, he was everywhere, because that had been our city. We had experienced so much there together. London had been a fresh start for me. He wouldn’t taint it for me. It was still mine and only mine.
The short few blocks takes less than five minutes, and when I get to the wide steps up to my building, I stop. I make it very clear that this is where we stop. This is where our quick “catch up” ends. I pause at the bottom of the stairs and turn to Richard. I thrust out my hand, offering him a shake. He looks at my outstretched hand and laughs softly, shaking his head.
“Really?” He asks, raising a dark eyebrow. I look at him, unamused.
“Good luck with everything, Richard.” I nod. He looks away, down the street, silent for a moment. I shift slightly, glad that the wind has died down and the sun has come out so that it’s actually sort of nice out. Cold, but bearable.
“I was an idiot. I didn’t know what I had.” Richard says sharply, looking back at me. There is sincerity in his voice, but my stomach churns. I cross my arms, trying to disappear into myself.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I say pointedly. He nods, knowing he’s getting nowhere.
“I just wanted you to know…I wasn’t entirely truthful earlier. Carmen and I are over. She wasn’t what I thought. I wasn’t what she thought.” His words don’t surprise me. The absence of the wedding ring. The slightly flirtatious demeanor. He was a man on the prowl. I want to roll my eyes but I simply step backward, up onto the first step. This raises me to nearly his height.
“I’m sorry about your marriage.” My voice is robotic.
“Carmen and I never really made sense. She wasn’t very smart. She was beautiful, but beauty fades.” He sighs, his shoulders hunching. “You and I though….” He looks up. I chew my lower lip. “You and I made sense. You’re the whole package, Gracie. And I was an imbecile. It just seems like fate or something---bumping into you here, and now. I don’t know. It’s just that I’d…I’d kick myself if I left without…trying…”
He moves so quickly, that I honestly am surprised. Richard lurches forward, his arms pulling me to him, nearly yanking me off the step. His mouth crashes against mine, and I can barely breathe with the way he’s holding me. He takes like coffee, and it’s strange and oddly familiar all at the same time. I don’t like it.
What exactly is happening?! I push him as best I can, but the way he’s holding me—practically carrying me, makes him stumble forward and he backs me up against the balustrade of the stairs. He nearly knocks the wind out of me, and I shove him hard in the shoulders, before he lets go and sets me back down on the ground.
“What the hell?!” I say angrily. I push him back again. Richard shrugs his shoulders, looking at me with big, bewildered eyes. His cheeks are flushed, and I can feel the slight bruised feeling of my lips from where he kissed me. Terrible. I raise my hand to my mouth, covering my lips.
“You’ve got to feel it too, Gracie—“ He reaches for me again and I slip from his grasp, making my way up the stairs as quickly as I can.
“No. I don’t. How dare you?” I shoot back as I stop momentarily at the top. Thankfully, he doesn’t follow me. He just stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking alarmed and disappointed.
“Please—“
“Forget I exist, Richard. Forget my face, forget my name. I want nothing to do with you. Ever.” My voice is harsh angrily, and I wipe my hand roughly across my lips where I can still feel his mouth.
“Grace—“
“Fuck off! For fucks sake!” I turn and yell, and then start laughing. It’s a hollow, angry, disbelieving laugh because is he really that daft? I would throw my shoe at him, but it’s far too cold and I like these boots way too much. Richard looks completely offended now, and he maturely gives me the finger before skulking away as I quickly let myself out of the cold and into the warmth of my apartment building. Not the Valentine’s kiss I was expecting, that’s for sure.
****
The rest of the weekend is quiet. Uneventful. Blissful in it’s silence. I forget Richard as soon as he’s disappeared down my street, back to whatever hole he crawled out of. I spend the rest of my Valentine’s day eating take out and binge watching Netflix.
Surprisingly, I get a phone call around dinner time from my father.
The conversation is short. I’m not really interested in speaking to another man who has continuously let me down. One is enough for one day and Richard has still left a sour taste in my mouth. My father rambles on for a bit, and does his best to guilt trip me about not coming back to New York to visit. Of course it would be out of the question to ask why he didn’t come to London to see me instead. Not that I’d really want to see him. I make up an excuse about having to work early, and then we hang up. By the end of the day, I’m emotionally drained and I end up going to bed rather early.
Sunday is just as quiet, but with zero asshole interruptions. Mary stops by around noon for lunch. She comes in with a blustery gust of wind, laughing about a mess of abandoned Valentine’s flowers she’s seen on the way in, apparently not the first discarded bouquet she’s seen that day.
“It’s a wretched holiday, isn’t it?” She rolls her eyes and throws her coat over the back my couch.
“It is. At least the chocolates are half off now.” I lift up a box of chocolates, wrapped in red paper, that I got for next to nothing at the store earlier that morning.
“Ah, silver lining.” She grins, and we dig in. Although I like being alone, it is nice to have her company. She is funny. She doesn’t pry (too much), and she’s just about the most open minded person I know. Perhaps besides Santos. Still, for some reason, I don’t tell her about my run in with Richard. Maybe I just want to forget it. It is easier if he just continues to not exist. I can still feel his lips, his teeth clattering clumsily against mine, the way he grabbed me and hulled me against him like some sort of doll.
We spend our afternoon and part of the evening finishing off the chocolate and catching up on a show we’ve been watching together. She invites me to get dinner with her tomorrow at the pub, but I’ve already got a plan to see Emily.
“It’s not weird then? Being friends with the sister of the man you’ve been shagging?” She wrinkles her nose. I laugh, thinking of Tom.
“Says the woman who still goes to her ex-huband’s in laws for holidays.” I snort. Mary laughs loudly and shrugs.
“Fair enough.” She nods, and we dissolve into laughter.
****
Emily looks refreshed and glowing when she breezes into the restaurant the next night. She’s wearing a gorgeous coat over an emerald green dress, and her blond hair shimmers in the candlelight. I’ve just worn jeans and a simple top, but we’re not talking about me here.
“Hello. You look gorgeous.” I smile, standing up from the small table. She hugs me and we get settled in at our small table. She pulls out a notebook, that looks stuffed full of writing, papers and bits hanging out from the sides.
“You look good too, Gracie.” She flashes me a smile and holds up her notebook. “I’ve brought the dreaded wedding book. I hope you’re ready.” She laughs. We order wine, and appetizers and then get started right in. They are having a rather unconventional wedding. A getaway early next year, with just close family and a few friends. Santos and I are the only ones in her wedding party. And Mark is having his brother, Alexander, and Tom as groomsmen.
“That is quite a planner.” I say, taking a sip of wine when it arrives. Emily brushes her hair from her face and grins as she rolls her eyes good naturedly.
“Ah, well, I’m never going to live it down. You should have heard them the other day. Both Mark and Tom wouldn’t get off of my back. They were saying I’m a bridezilla and Tom wouldn’t shut up about how unromantic it must be to plan your wedding on Valentine’s Day. He was joking, of course, but Mark thought he was hilarious. Tom just wouldn’t shut up.” As Emily speaks, I feel something go off in my head. Something sort of confusing and alarming, and I feel my stomach start to do flip flops. The feel you get right before you have to speak in front of a big crowd or right before you fall over the edge at the top of a roller coaster.
“That’s terrible of them.” I say distractedly. “Get Mark and Tom together and they just riff off each other. Were you talking on the phone? or Skype?” I try to sound casual, and I’m not sure if I manage. My heart is beating so fast, I am sure I’m going to lift off the floor. I take another sip of wine, to hide what I’m sure is my flushed face.
Emily shakes her head, flipping through her wedding planner as she absent mindedly starts eating the bread placed in front of us.
“No. It was a lovely surprised. Tom flew in for the weekend. He stopped by mum’s. I don’t know if he knew Mark and I would be there, but we all ended up having dinner.” She looks up at me and I do my best to hide the fact that I feel as if I’m going to throw up.
“Oh. That’s nice of him.” I can barely manage. Tom was in London. Tom was here. And he didn’t tell me.
“He flew back to the US last night. He’s such a workaholic. I’m really not sure why he even came in. I guess he wanted to surprise mum for Valentine’s Day.” Emily shrugs and then turns as the waiter comes up to our table.
I’m in a haze. A misty, wavering haze. I can see Emily talking, and I can make out sounds, but nothing is quite getting through. I sip my wine, and I taste the once slightly sweet liquid seem to turn to tar in my throat.
“Are you ready, Gracie? Ready to order?” Her voice filters through my thoughts. My hurried, screaming, whirling thoughts. Even if Tom wanted to fly in and spend time with just his family, why didn’t he just say so? And did he really not have time to see me, even if just for a few minutes? I don’t understand. I can’t wrap my head around it.
“I’m…I’m going to need a minute.” I manage, and my voice cracks slightly with the last word.
Emily busies herself chatting about her wedding, and flipping through her planner. I numbly pull out my phone and glance at my texts. Nothing. I type out a quick message, and hit send with shaking fingers.
How was your weekend? Thinking of you. I send this to Tom, and then I wait. It occurs to me that I haven’t heard from him since Friday night.
He doesn’t text me back. Not right away. Emily and I get through appetizers and dinner. I feel like my head is stuffed with cotton the whole time, and I can barely focus. Emily mentions dessert, but I have to decline, telling her I don’t feel well. I can barely contain my anxiety. I can’t stay in that restaurant for another minute more.
We say our goodbyes rather quickly, and it isn’t until I’m home and lying in bed in the dark that I get a reply.
Uneventful. Same old, same old.
No mention of the fact that he’d been home. That he’d lied and said he had to work. No mention of the fact that he’d chosen not to see me, or even tell me. This feels worse than pineapple. This feels…like I’ve been completely gutted. I feel my empty insides clench and tighten, and then I feel my hot tears start to rush unceremoniously down my face.