On the morning of my twenty-fifth birthday, I brew a pot of coffee and sit at my kitchen table, feeling the morning sunshine on my face. I spend a few hours watching television and then another few hours thinking about Ben and how I've never celebrated a birthday without him.
I stare at my phone, finger hovering over his contact information. It's been two weeks since we last spoke and one week since Michelle told me she saw him on a date. Maybe the longer I stare at my phone, the more likely it will ring with a call from Ben. So when my phone rings in my palm, I am hopeful, if only for a brief and fleeting moment, until I see Blake Donahue's phone number, Ben's rival realtor.
I click on his call. He's called to tell me his clients accepted Ms. van den Berg's counteroffer on the Gold Coast listing. This is excellent news. I've successfully sold her property in record time. When I hang up on the call, I jump onto my couch and do a little victory dance. This is the best birthday present ever. I've successfully closed a deal on a million-dollar listing.
I fricken did it.
I immediately called Ms. van den Berg to tell her the good news, but she didn't answer. I leave her a voicemail and walk into my kitchen to make breakfast. As I am scrambling eggs on the stovetop, my phone rings again. This time, it's a call from my boss, Clint. He's called to congratulate me on closing the deal and invites me to his office this afternoon for some champagne to celebrate. I can't say no - even though it's Saturday and my birthday – so I tell him yes and that I will see him in a few hours.
After breakfast, I shower quickly, blow-dry my hair, apply makeup, and then answer a string of birthday calls; I get a call from my mother, grandmother, and finally, my crazy cousin Tiffany. By the time I hang up from Tiffany's call, it's already past noon.
I quickly searched for my black boyfriend blazer to add a professional look to my dark wash jeans and a white t-shirt. Finally, when I leave my apartment, I flag down a cab and head to the office. I arrived ten minutes late to my meeting with Clint. As I walk into the office, my phone vibrates with a text message from Jessica:
Happy birthday to my bestest bitch!
I sent her a quick text back:
Thank you ☺
She responds instantly:
Remember, we are celebrating with drinks tonight! See you later, old lady ☺
It may be because closing this real estate deal should mean margaritas with Ben or because it reminds me of my pending birthday celebration. Still, it unwinds something in me to take control of this situation with Ben. I'm a little light-headed with emotions- so much relief and everything. I don't want to meet with Clint or text Jessica. I want Ben.
I fumble my phone when Clint approaches me, stuffing it back into my purse.
"Megan, there you are," he says, smiling. "Hurry up. We're waiting for you in my office."
I follow him down the hallway and step into his office. The first thing I see is Ms. van den Berg sitting on a sofa. She stands to greet me, and I shake her hand.
She's very stylish for an older woman. Her silver hair is pulled back neatly into a bun, and her makeup looks natural on her Botox-infused skin. She's wearing a tweed pantsuit with gold jewelry draping from her neck, wrists, and fingers.
"I'm so sorry I'm late," I tell her. "I was stuck on the phone with family. It's my birthday today."
She nods, smiling. "Happy Birthday. We're so glad you could make it, dear." She pats the empty cushion beside her on the sofa, and I sit down.
Clint takes a seat in the armchair to my right. "Ms. van den Berg and I would like to formally thank you for the outstanding job you did with her listing -"
Ms. van den Berg hands me a flute of pink champagne.
"Thank you," I reply, taking a sip. "News travels fast. I tried to call you earlier but could not connect, so I left a voicemail message."
"Oh, I know, dear. I got the message," she says. "I called Clint immediately to arrange this meeting so I could speak with you in person."
I'm confused. I wouldn't usually deal with clients this way. But then again, Ms. van den Berg is a unique client. Ben's already been privileged enough to sell multiple million-dollar listings for very prominent clients, but I don't recall Ben having lavish follow-up meetings with champagne...
"Because of your professionalism and how quickly you were able to sell Ms. van den Berg's property, she asked me to set up this meeting with you to discuss future representation on her remaining properties."
God, my heart is pounding so hard I can hear the whoosh of blood in my ears.
"Me?" I ask, voice shaky. "You want me to sell your remaining properties?"
She nods, smiling. "I just adored your work ethic, your professionalism, and how you negotiated so effortlessly to secure a profit above and beyond what I ever expected to receive."
"Thank you," I gush. "It was a pleasure working for you."
"How about we try to sell a few more?" she laughs. "The older I become, the less energy I have to manage all my real estate."
I take a deep breath, needing a moment and lean back against the sofa to get myself together. "I would love to work for you again. I am honoured. Thank you so much."
"And Reitman Realty is also happy to work with you again," Clint smiles, shaking her hand.
Ms. van den Berg reached for my hands and held them in hers. "I have to say, dear when Ben Romano turned down the opportunity to list my property, I thought he was crazy. When he insisted I call you instead, I was a little unsure. But he spoke highly of you and promised me you wouldn't disappoint. I am so glad I listened to him. He was right; you are amazing at what you do."
Huh?
My heart beats frantically, and I am sure I didn't hear her right.
"I'm sorry," I say slowly. "Did you say Ben Romano turned down your listing and referred me to you?"
She nods, smiling radiantly. "Yes, dear."
The room feels like it's spinning. Ben did this for me?
I turn to Clint. "Did you know about this?"
He shakes his head. "No. I had no idea Romano referred you."
I am stunned. I can't believe Ben passed on a multi-million dollar listing for me. Am I dreaming? I feel like I am stuck in the Twilight Zone. This can't possibly be true, can it?
"Megan, dear, I don't want to take up any more of your time on your birthday," she says, standing. "Thank you so much for everything. And I look forward to working with you again."
"Of course."
"I've left signed contracts of representation with Clint for the next three properties," she says, opening the door. "We'll be in touch tomorrow. Enjoy your day."
I nod. "I will. Thank you."
This whole conversation feels like whiplash- somehow too good to be true. Clint and I shared another glass of champagne and discussed the following steps before I left his office twenty minutes later.
On my walk to the subway station, I fumble with my phone inside my purse. I need to call Ben. I want to be with him. It may be too late, but I have to take my chances. The fact he declined Ms. van den Berg's listing and referred her to me tells me we may still have a chance. The hot air outside seems to press against me like a wall, but I ignore it, hands shaking as I type my passcode and find Ben's contact information on my phone.
I take a deep breath and press his name. My heart is pounding so hard, and my hands are shaking like crazy. It rings and rings and finally goes to voicemail. I hung up without leaving a message. My heart sinks a little. If he wanted to talk, he would have answered, right? I push down the thread of unease and close my eyes, trying to find comfort in how much I miss him. How I won't let myself lose him again.
Pulling open the front door to my apartment, I get a text message from Emily and Eric. They both wish me a happy birthday and remind me about tonight's party.
I only have a little time before our dinner reservation, so I'm digging through my closet to find something to wear tonight. Nothing in my closet sparks my interest. Everything I own looks like a dull businesswoman's fantasy: pantsuits, A-line skirts, and floral blouses.
I can't find anything sexy or alluring. I try on many dresses and drink a few glasses of wine alone in my room while debating what to wear. Nothing is exciting enough or fits me quite right.
My phone beeps with a text from Jessica: Running late. I can't pick you up ☹ I'll have to meet you at the restaurant, okay?
I frown. That sucks. I guess I have to show up at my birthday party by myself.
I texted Jessica back: Okay. See you there.
I glance at the time on my screen. It's only 6:00 p.m. If I leave my apartment right now, I have a good hour before our reservations to walk to Nordstroms and find something to wear tonight.
I deserve it, I think to myself.
I swallow the last few droplets of wine and head into my living area. A knock on my front door startles me as I slide on my heels. What the hell?
If someone is standing at my front door, they need to know the building's passcode, which my mom and Jessica are the only two people with access.
I pull open my front door, and my chest practically seizes when I see him.