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I’m sorry I’ve been absent. I miss you.
I’m not sure how to feel, if I’m being honest. Radio silence for days and then this card that doesn’t explain where he’s been hiding.
I need to think of it as the kind and thoughtful gesture it is, even though he has Barbara who can make flower deliveries for him.
And for fuck’s sake, I deserve a better apology.
After the days we spent together entwined in each other’s arms, I should expect better.
Shouldn’t I?
Am I asking and expecting far too much from this man?
I barely know Cain. He has closed himself off to other relationships based on our conversations, so why should I expect more communication from him?
Sure, when I’m with him, it feels like we can talk, but maybe that’s the trick. Is it the same feeling for him? Only when we are together, does this magic happen? When in his presence, my gravitational pull toward him blinds me to anything else. But once I pull away, it’s like the real world suddenly comes into focus, and I remember just how much of a mystery he is.
Twenty minutes after the delivery, my phone vibrates on the counter. Finally, it’s Cain.
Grabbing it, I swipe at the screen and answer. “Hello.”
“Layla.” That voice. My legs shake and my hands tremble. Damn treacherous body responds, and he only said my name.
I take a deep breath to try to regulate myself before I speak. “Hello, Cain.”
“Did you get my flowers?”
The blood-red floral arrangement beckons to me from across the room. Walking over, I let my finger touch the silky red petals. There must be over one hundred roses, tightly pulled together to form a dome. The bouquet sits with a round, black suede box with gold writing. My heart flutters in my chest as I breathe in the sweet aroma that permeates the air around me. “I did. Thank you. They’re lovely.”
They are incredible, but are flowers enough? It doesn’t take away from the fact that he hurt me.
“I’m sorry about the last few days.” His voice is low, sullen.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“There was a huge issue at the place, and I’ve been tied up. I didn’t want to leave you like that, but I didn’t have a choice. I’ve been going crazy being here alone and thinking about you.”
As he continues to apologize, I wonder if I should forgive him.
Then I remember how this is casual; why shouldn’t I enjoy more time with him? Why should I let this be ruined by something out of his control?
Plus, I miss him, too.
“I’ll come visit the first chance I can get away. Maybe over the weekend,” he promises, and when we hang up, I smile.
See, there’s nothing wrong. It’s just business keeping him away. Not everything is as bad as it seems.
27
Layla
I’m not surprised. Cain isn’t coming.
However, this time I can’t be mad. Unlike last time, when he left me without a backward glance, he at least called and told me about it.
Apparently, this weekend, his reason is valid as there is another issue needing his attention. He didn’t go into detail about what was wrong, but with a grand opening looming, I can understand.
Cain is closed off, so even if I wanted him to open up to me, that’s not really in his nature. It doesn’t make me happy, but I can understand.
I’m not one to open up either. I don’t have very many people in my life. Which is one of the reasons I gravitate to him.
Besides Mara, my best friend, I have a cousin, but don’t have anyone else I consider a close friend.
I look across the living room and grin at Mara, who is sitting with a glass of wine.
When I told her Cain canceled, she showed up, bottles of wine in hand, and said we were getting drunk.
And that is exactly what we are doing. Drunkenness is on the schedule for tonight, and I’m already on my second glass.
Mara might be on her third. I’ve learned not to keep up with her.
The TV is on, but we’re not really watching it. It’s on for background sound as Mara tries to grill me.
And the more I drink, the looser my lips are getting.
“Tell me again, how big is his di—”
“Mara!”
“What?” She shrugs nonchalantly as if she didn’t just ask me a gigantically personal question. “You still haven’t answered. It’s a legitimate question. How am I supposed to know the advice to give you if you won’t tell me what he’s packing?”
“Shut up.” I throw a pillow at her playfully.
“You almost knocked over my wine.” She gestures to the glass and almost accidentally spills it herself.
“But did it kill you?”
“No, but I will tell you, if you spilled it, I would have killed you.”
“Har. Har. Har. It was you that almost spilled it.”
