In my adrenaline-fuelled outburst I’d not even noticed Francesca’s presence. I ran down the stairs, taking two at a time and made a beeline to the side of the building where the communal bins where located. I desperately searched the first one—nothing. The second covered my hands in a combination of disgusting food related liquids merged to create a fluid that I’m sure would strip paint—bin juice. Finally, the third bin revealed my brown leather satchel sat miserably between two large bin bags.
I pulled the back out and slumped back against the brick wall. I opened the hidden compartment to revealthe letter.
Brooke’s letter.
It was folded four ways and was crinkled and torn slightly from the number of times I’d read it. The bag was sentimental; it was one of the only things I had left of her. Despite the need for a replacement, I’d persevered with it for many months, hiding it from sight when I attended meetings so people wouldn’t think my work was a reflection of my work accessory—shabby and tattered.
I opened the letter the same way I always did, carefully pulling at each corner, conscious not to cause any more damage. The reality was I could recite every single word if I needed to, and most days I did. It wasn’t something to be proud of, but it confirmed the depth in which my heart still yearned for her. Maybe, Brooke never understood the magnitude of her words or how literally I would take them.
I hold out hope, maybe, one day, things could be different.
Francesca approached a moment later. She looked exquisite in a green button through shirt dress; its beige belt pulled the dress in at the waist accentuating her curvy figure. I was there covered in bin juice and clutching a tattered letter like it was worth a colossal sum—To me it was.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
I nodded. My breathing had returned to a normal rhythm pretty quickly.
Francesca’s eyes glistened. It made my stomach drop. “I don’t think I can do this anymore, Holly,” shesaid softly.
“What do you mean?”
“I knew when I started this with you that you were still hung up on her, and you were honest with me. You told me how you felt. You told me you weren’t sure if you could get over her, so I’m not blaming you.” She sighed. “I guess I thought it would be like any other heartbreak; you think you can’t move on, but you do. I thought with time I could make you think differently. You would see there was something other than her, something better.”
I climbed to a standing position; it wasn’t my finest moment slumped by the side of a dust bin. I was accustomed to Francesca’s accent by that point. I was aware of the way she blended “th” and the elongation of double consonants and the way she said better like “bet-ter”. Her accent was so attractive to me.
“I am over her... I just didn’t want my mum to throw my bag out.” I smiled, but she wasn’t foolish. I knew she would see straight through my lies.
“You didn’t want her to throw the letter out, you mean.” She pointed towards the small piece of paper in my hand. Did she know about the letter? I didn’t recalltelling her.
“Don’t look so surprised. You’re not great at keeping secrets. Do you remember the first night I stayed over at your apartment? The next day I came down to the kitchen and I saw you reading something; you quickly folded it away and put it in your bag. You said it was ‘work stuff’. I could tell you were lying, but it wasn’t my place. Then, I saw you do it again about a week later. I was curious, so I looked at the piece of paper in your bag.” Francesca shrugged as though that wasn’t a complete invasion ofmy privacy.
“You went through my stuff?”
“I know I shouldn’t have, but I had to see for myself. I didn’t read it. Once I saw it was a letter from Brooke, I put it back. Since then, I’ve known this thing between us had a time limit.” Francesca walked towards me, planted a kiss on my forehead, and turned to walk away.
“Francesca, I’m sorry.” I wanted to say more. I wanted to want her the way she wanted me. I wanted to be over Brooke; I really did. I wanted the beautiful Italian woman before me with the moonlight glistening around her like a halo to be the one that finally helped me move on. “I do really like you... Ijust...”
“Wrong timing.” She wrapped her arms across her chest. “Take care of yourself, Holly.” The flowing material of her dress lingered as she rounded the corner, and I hated myself forlosing her.
Beth came to find me and ushered me inside. My mother apologised profusely, and the evening continued, but it didn’t feel like a celebration. After one too many glasses of champagne I loosened up, but something was missing; or should I say,someone.
I didn’t speak to Francesca much after that. We exchanged the occasional text, and about a month ago she asked for some legal advice for her friend, but we found ourselves in a strange situation. Admittedly, there were too many feelings for us to be friends, but not enough to be something more.
*
Two hours into the flight, a female attendant approached me. Her badge informed me her name was Sarah. She had a sweet aura, was smiley and polite, but not in a fake way, and she seemed like she genuinely loved her job. She made the trip bearable.
“Would you like another cocktail, Miss Garland?” She gestured towards myempty glass.
“I would love another Highland Sling please.” It was my third cocktail of the flight so far, and my favourite. The raspberry liqueur, apple juice, and whiskey was a combination I never thought I’d enjoy. My head started to feel drowsy. The lapse in time from my brain wanting to say something to my mouth forming the words was growing in length. It was almost time to go down for the night.
“Of course. Coming right up.”
She was back a few minutes later with the tall glass. The rim was infused with a hint of sugar and a slice of apple fordecoration.
“Can I get you anything else, Miss Garland?”
“I don’t think so, but I am almost ready to get some sleep I think, if you could help me get thebed ready?”
