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He rubs the back of his neck slowly. “I guess. You didn’t give me the answer I anticipated.”
“I gave you the answer that is necessary. Message her back and accept. I can work on his things behind the scenes. At least for now, I’d like total distance from face-to-face, if at all possible.”
“I think that’s safe. I still, fortunately or unfortunately for you, want you to sit down with Nicolette. You can benefit from her knowledge.”
“I know what you mean, but bad choice of words.” The thought of me being anywhere near her right now makes me feel sick.
“I know. I know. Even as they were happening, I was cringing.”
I take a silent deep breath. “Let’s just agree that I’m okay. I’m not curled in a ball, but I’m not my usual bubblegum self either. According to both Sylvia and Austin, I’m nearly well adjusted.”
Aaron laughs, “I don’t know if I should accept their assessment.”
“By the way, Austin says you’re his new best friend.”
“Oh, really. Why is that?”
“The promotion conversation for the benefit of the Italian contingent. He wants to give you the absolute highest five then take you for lunch, I think.”
“It’s a date then for sure.” He rises slowly from behind my desk. “Take today at your pace. I will think about how I want Rafael’s team to be structured and have your buy-in on it before I present it to them.”
“Sounds good. See you in the boardroom?”
“I’ll be there.”
Just before he leaves my office, Aaron turns back with a smile. “Your brother isn’t the only one who’s proud.” He taps the doorframe of my office twice for good luck as he walks away around the corner.
Finally something that resembles normal.
The Monday morning meeting left me feeling a bit energized. There were a lot of different conversations on topics relating to changes in the industry, a recent scandal we had to bounce back from and how we did that, and last, of course, was Skywriter. Since they only thought Aaron attended at this point, he took all the questions. I sat and quietly listened, well, half listened.
When I got back to my office, I found a large bouquet of two dozen roses on my desk. They were mostly white with a couple deep burgundy ones in the center. The vase was a deep blue with clear rocks at the bottom. There wasn’t a card, it wasn’t necessary. I know who they’re from.
He’s used to words. He speaks them for a living, as well as writes them in lyric and journal. It seems an interesting choice. Then it hits me. We talked about color a lot, especially in the medium of art. On a whim, I wake up my computer and search for the color meaning of roses. My answer comes in seconds. The white represents innocence and new love. The deep burgundy is devotion. He knows words would be hollow to me because he chose not to use them. He picked the one thing I wouldn’t say no to. Everything in the petty part of me wants to throw them away or give one to every woman that walks by my office today. The part of me, which is most of my being, who still loves him wants to keep every petal.
The buds on the roses have moved from tightly done to slightly open to wide open as the week has gone on. The leaves have also started to lose their strength and wilt. That is a metaphor for how I am. I keep putting on a brave face when I’m at work and even at home. I know that I’m the farthest thing from it.
I tell Sylvia I’m working at night so I can eat in my room at my desk without her saying anything. That way she doesn’t see the lack of food I’m putting in my body. Nothing sounds good. Nothing sparks any bit of interest. I’m existing on coffee, water, buttered toast, and an occasional bowl of oatmeal. I walk by anyone else’s food and I instantly feel sick.
My mother would scold me and tell me I’m only making it worse by giving into what I think my body needs or wants. I don’t have the fight in me to even argue with a line of thought from myself. Giving myself a couple of days to fully wallow just hasn’t done the trick. I guess I was naïve to think that I would be able to let go so easily. Naïvete is the root of many of my problems right now.
I’m glad I’m not getting rid of the flowers. The fight in me says this will be a constant reminder that you’re strong enough to look at them and appreciate the beauty and not be as bothered when they wither away. The romantic in me wants a space to bed my seashells from the Turks.
My right hand rests across my chest with my left wrapped around my third cup today. I need to feel the breath going in and out of me. Thoughts in my head drift around to several different things. A simple to-do list for chores at home. My calendar of meetings for Monday and the projects I’m planning on assigning myself for the weekend. Then I hop to a random thought from the island.
I remember our shopping day when we found Rafael’s bracelet. He was having a conversation with the owner and I was wandering to the different cases. One case in particular caught my eye. Inside of it were several antique jewelry boxes. There was one in the back of the case that was gold with a faded green velvet interior. The filigree on the outside was so ornate, I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Rafael knew it too.
He slid his hand down my back and asked if I liked it. He said he’d buy it for me. I told him no. This trip, and him, was a gift enough for me. The smile that brought to his face I thought could last me a lifetime. It still could. I open my eyes and wake up my computer. After a short internet search, I’m able to find a bare bones website with a phone number for the store.
Without thinking, I pick up the phone and dial them. They answer in Spanish and I do my best to respond in kind. When they help me by converting to English, I’m able to ask if the box is still there. My heart beats faster than it did before when they tell me it’s in fact still there. I don’t hesitate to purchase. Something inside me is screaming I need this box. I have to have it. In the end, I pay to expedite it for me. Before we hang up, the owner asks me to say hello to Rafael. I tell him I will.
As I gaze across my desk to the bouquet I moved to the end table beside my office couch, one of the white petals falls off and to the floor. That is quite a metaphor for innocence lost.
My office phone rings once, then twice. I take a deep breath in a vain attempt to clear my head and put on my best happy voice to answer the phone.
“Good afternoon, this is Ava.”
There is a long pause on the line, followed by a deep breath. “Ciao, Bella.”
