(PHOTO OF FRAN -------------------------------->>>>>>)
8
I had been working non-stop, I’d almost forgotten my birthday was coming up. I only remembered two days before, when my mom called to ask me what kind of cake I wanted.
“Um . . . chocolate’s always good”, I said into the phone.
“Hm. Are you sure? I mean, there’s different kind of chocolate cakes, you know”, she replied. I knew she’d already chosen a flavor.
“Mom, did you have something in mind?”
“We-ell, off the top of my head, I’d say the raspberry truffle. It’s a dark chocolate cake, spread with a thin layer of raspberry jam and filled with a rich, dark chocolate raspberry truffle. And with a layer of champagne truffle, it is positively decadent! You’ll love it.”
“Off the top of your head, huh?”
“Of course”, she replied.
“Fine. Raspberry whatever”, I replied and hung up.
She’d been calling me non-stop to ask me about tablecloth color choices, napkin types – lace or cotton – tumblers or cups, chicken or beef, and a whole lot more. Somehow, I didn’t really think this party was going to be laid back at all. Knowing my mom, she’d probably gotten an orchestra or something.
I had this ritual where I always baked myself a cake before my birthday, that way, if everything else went wrong, I’d know there was one good thing left to look forward to. I’d have to work the day before, so I’d decided to make it two days before instead. I looked up at the clock. 8:17pm. Rosie was out again, probably with the guy from the party. I still hadn’t met this mystery man, but I wasn’t going to stick my nose in.
I went into my room and pulled on my black varsity sweatpants and a red Ed Hardy tank top. Gelson’s supermarket wasn’t too far off, so I didn’t really care about my disheveled hair and worn out sneakers. The weather was quite nice out, so I decided I’d walk.
I grabbed a shopping cart and began to make my way down the aisles picking up all the ingredients for a triple layered chocolate cake – deadly, but then again, I was turning thirty. I was heading down the wine aisle when I ran into none other than –
“Miss Carter”, Jeremy Harrington said.
“Um…It’s Deana. Hi. You live around here?”I asked.
“Something like that”, he replied.
I peered into his cart. My eyebrows went way up. Inside it, were countless bottles of vodka, whisky and wine, nearly filling the entire shopping cart – it was a shallow one, but still.
“Um . . . I’m . . . uh . . . party”, he mumbled. It was so obvious he was lying. I wondered why though. I mean, unless he was an alcoholic or something. He definitely didn’t look like one. But, what exactly do alcoholics look like?
I nodded. “What’s with all the chocolate?” he asked peering into mine. I’d been expecting him to just walk off, as was his wont, but he just stayed there.
“Um, I’m baking a cake”, I replied, “Triple layered.”
He raised his brows. “Bad break-up?”
I rolled my eyes. “No! It’s my birthday. Well, not today. Thursday.”
“And you’re baking your own cake?” he asked, with a frown.
I shrugged. “Yeah? What’s wrong with that?”
“It just seems kind of . . sad”, he replied.
“There’s a 99.9% chance that the day’s going to be awful. I like to have something to look forward to afterwards”, I replied, shrugging.
He shook his head. “What do you do if the day goes great?”
I snorted. “It won’t”, I replied.
He looked at me for a second, a small frown on his face. Very unusual Jeremy Harrington behavior - social interaction and an expression.
“Well, I just have to get a few more things”, I said. “Would you . . . um . . . would you like to tag along?” He didn’t seem to be making any moves to leave, and I wasn’t ready to give up yet another nice Jeremy Harrington moment. I was going to savor all the ones I could get.
He a small hint of a smile. “If it’s not a bother.”
“It’s not.” I turned the cart around and headed over to the spices aisle.
He’d left the cart behind. “Um . . . you left your party stuff behind.”
“Nah. It’s not till next week anyway”, he replied, sticking his hands in his pockets. He looked very different in his khaki shorts and button down tee unbuttoned over a plain t-shirt. More like a commoner than a billionaire.
“Nutmeg?” he asked as we walked on through the aisle.
“Yeah. You bake?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nope.” I thought he was going to expatiate, but he went on scanning the shelves. Probably his mom or something. He didn’t seem like the type to have ever had an actual girlfriend.
I grabbed the rest of my ingredients – Cocoa, Canola oil, Eggs, Vanilla, Powdered sugar, Unsweetened cocoa. I wanted to ask him why he was being less of an ass, but I didn’t want to ruin a perfectly nice day. It was probably because we weren’t at work. His face was still expressionless half the time, except for a few frowns and a very small – hardly even there – smile. But, I was going to take what I could get.
I headed over to the cash register and paid. Jeremy stayed back to get something, so, when I was done, I waited in the parking lot. It would be rude to just leave and besides, it was nice hanging out with this version of him.
He came out shortly after I’d paid, holding a pink box. He held it out to me and opened it.
“Triple layer chocolate cake”, he said. I frowned in confusion and he went on, “There’s a 99.9% chance that yours is going to suck”, he finished shrugging.
I grinned and said, “Wow. Thanks Jeremy.” I’d never actually called him by his first name, but we weren’t at work and I had told him to call me Deana. It seemed only fair.
He gave me a blank look. “Don’t read too much into it. It’s just a cake.”
And with that, he handed me the box and walked off. What a twisted, complicated, weird man!
*
The next day, I got in late to work. I’d been baking all night long. The cake was so huge, it could hardly fit into my fridge.
Yet another board meeting and yet another tardy execution. I didn’t even bother heading into the board meeting; I could not stand another bout of humiliation. I sat in my office just moving stuff around – no new emails.
About an hour or so later, the phone in my office rang. I picked it up:
“Dee, Jeremy Harrington wants to see you in his office now”, Stacey said.
“Really? Did he say what it was for?” I asked, nervous.
“He doesn’t really talk much, does he? He just said, ‘Stacey. Deana. My office. Now.’”
I bit my lip. I was so in trouble. Maybe I should just have gone in. I mean, it might not have been that bad. We did get along yesterday, so maybe he’d softened up.
Yeah, right.
I hung up and headed up to his office. I knocked and he said, “Come in.”
“Mr. Harrington? You wanted to see me?” I mumbled as I walked up to his desk.
He looked up and stared at me with a blank look. “You do know why you’re here, don’t you?”
“Um . . . I think so”, I replied.
“Your excuse?” he asked.
I shook my head. I definitely was not going to say I’d been up baking all night – even if we did shop for ingredients together. Although, right now – with the way he was glaring at me – it almost seemed like I’d dreamed it.
“I don’t have one”, I replied.
He shook his head. “I won’t condone it. Even if you are good at your job. Tardiness is tardiness. This is your last warning, Miss Carter.”
I winced at his tone. “Yes, Mr. Harrington.” I was pretty sure I must have shrunk about four feet, I felt ridiculously small.
“Well, that’s it”, he said turning back to his computer.
I was walking out when he said, “Did it turn out fine?” He wasn’t even looking at me so, I wasn’t sure if he was actually talking to me or on his Bluetooth or something.
I frowned, “Excuse me?”
He went on, “The cake?”
I grinned. “Yeah, it’s great”, I replied.
“Good”, he said.
I waited for him to say something more, but his brow was furrowed in concentration as he typed. I walked out of there and let out a sigh as I shut the door.
However hard I tried, I just really couldn’t understand him.
*
My thirtieth birthday came much faster than I’d have liked. I mean, who wants to actually say they’re thirty, single and living with their disaster of a little sister? Well, technically, she was living with me, but still, we lived together.
Once again, she wasn’t home. She was coming for my birthday dinner later on, at least. I pulled on a fitted, olive, square-necked, mini dress with my black peep toed heels. I’d always liked to look slightly different for my birthdays – not so people could tell, but cause I liked to feel different, like something had actually changed.
I hurried off to work. Somehow, I didn’t think Jeremy Harrington would excuse my lateness just because it was my birthday – if he even remembered.
I got into my office and there were a bunch of helium balloons taped to ever corner of the table, and a happy birthday banner above the blinds. Stacey.
She ran in right then. “Happy birthday, Dee. Do you like it?” she asked excitedly.
“It’s great”, I replied, fingering the ribbon, “Thanks Stace.”
She chatted on about the party while I settled in. She was really excited about it, way more excited than I could even try to be.
Brad walked in then, and Stacey saw that as her cue to leave. He was still her boss, after all.
“Happy Birthday”, he said grinning, “Nice office.”
“Thanks”, I replied, “Stacey’s handiwork.”
He chuckled and gave me a hug and then handed me a wrapped box.
“Aw, Brad, you shouldn’t have”, I said, taking it from him.
“Of course I had to”, he replied, flopping onto the sofa. As usual, he was in his beach shorts and t-shirt.
I tore open the box. Inside it were the largest emerald earrings ever. They were dangling and the area around the emeralds were diamond encrusted.
“Oh wow! Brad, you really shouldn’t have”, I said as I fingered the stones. It must have cost a fortune!
He shrugged. “Yeah yeah.”
I’d kind of forgotten he was rich. He always looked so casual and laid back, it was sort of easy to forget he was rolling in money.
“Thanks, I love them”, I said, sticking the box in my bag. I was most definitely going to be keeping them far away from Rosie!
“Well, I’m glad”, he replied.
“You coming tonight?” I asked. I needed as much social support as I could get to help me through tonight. My mother had most definitely gone all out and I was pretty sure she was going to have a lot to say if I disapproved of one thing or another.
“Definitely. I can bring a date right?”
“You can even bring two”, I replied, jokingly.
He rolled his eyes. “Francesca’s busy. It’s just Svetlana tonight.”
I chuckled. He was such a player, it was unreal.
We hung out for a bit and then, he had to go off to do some actual work.
I was checking my emails – most of them were happy birthdays and e-cards. I’d even gotten one from Matthew. Although, it looked like one of those pre-ordered e-cards; he’d probably forgotten he’d even sent it. I opened up a work e-mail from Jeremy.
To: Deana Carter <d.carter@darrenbarnesandco.com>
From: Jeremy Harrington <jharrington@DBHandC.com>
March 19th, 2011 15:17
Miss Carter,
We have received the Ben & Jerry’s order so, we will have to have a meeting with the advertisers next weekend. Mr. Cole usually does these things, but he has to be in Nevada on the same weekend.
I will let you know the venue when I am informed.
Ensure that you mark this date on your calendar. It would not look good for us, if you turn up late.
Jeremy Harrington.
Not even a ‘happy birthday’. I didn’t expect him to remember, but that didn’t make me any less disappointed when he didn’t.
Stacey walked into my office then. “Hey, Dee? You got a small package”, she said holding out a box. It was wrapped in birthday paper.
I reached out for it. Probably another pre-order from Matthew. Now, I was most definitely going to have to call to thank him. Even if I hated the present.
Stacey headed out, back to her desk.
I tore open the wrapper and opened the box. Inside it was a silver vintage alarm clock. A small handwritten card fell out:
Happy Birthday. Now you really have no excuse. J
Well, whaddya know? He’d actually remembered. And he sent me an alarm clock. I shook my head, chuckling.
Maybe it was the gesture, or the fact that my nonchalant, jerky boss had sent them, but somehow, that alarm clock meant way more to me than the emerald earrings in my bag.
I placed it on my desk and sat there, watching the second hand move, pulling my party closer with every tick.