Page 15 of Bad Company


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“Hi, could I speak with Leah Tate, please.”

“You’ve got her.”

“Hi, Leah, my name is Mary. I’m calling from Preston Interior Design in Boston. Your resume crossed my desk yesterday and I’m very impressed.” My jaw dropped, I was suddenly glad I wasn’t driving for fear I would have crashed my brand-new car, “Leah, I would like to set up an interview. I wasn’t looking for a designer, but I will make an exception. Now I understand you would have to travel so I think Skype would work just fine.”

I swallowed hard, this design firm was exactly what I wanted and the fact they called me without even looking for a designer was unbelievable. “Absolutely.”

“How does your schedule look tomorrow at two?”

I glanced down at my day planner that always sat open on my passenger seat. I was scheduled to meet with Mr. and Mrs. Simpson to discuss the redesign their living room and kitchen. “I’m available.” I would worry about the Simpsons later.

“Perfect. I will speak with you then.”

“Thank you, Mary, I look forward to it.”

As I drove home, I felt lighter than I had in months, and if this went well, I could finally get out of this mundane little town and leave behind everything. I wanted to start my life over and maybe meet someone instead of holding onto a hope and dream that would never come true.

By the time I arrived home, Anna and Dad had gone out for dinner with a couple of friends. I changed into my yoga pants and a t-shirt, threw a frozen pizza into the oven and pulled out my anniversary party planner. I was planning a surprise ten-year party for them. After all, neither of them made it to ten years in their previous marriages. Dad and Mom had divorced after six years, and Anna’s husband had died. Tonight, I needed to send out the invites online. I sat at the kitchen table eating pizza and drinking a soda and made my list of invitees. Then I grabbed my laptop from my bag and went straight to Facebook. I planned to make the party event there but first I wandered to Logan’s profile and looked through his pictures. He had uploaded a more recent picture—as handsome as ever now, he wore his hair shorter and looked as if he kept a little scruff on his chiseled face. His blue eyes still danced like they always had, and it looked like he was still working out. I opened the little messenger chat box and wrote him a message to invite him personally but stopped. I would send him an invitation just like everyone else but because we had almost no communication since he had left for college, I felt silly messaging him directly.

I had even stopped sending him holiday letters after Christmas. It felt odd not sending one now because Valentine’s Day was just around the corner, but I needed to move on. Ten years was a long time.

I shut his profile down and created the event for the anniversary party. Somewhere deep inside of me I was secretly hoping that Logan would come, his mom missed him so much, I thought it would be amazing to see her face light up at seeing him. I too missed him.

It surprised me to hear her talking to my father one night about Logan. He apparently still wasn’t dating anyone and that worried her, but my father assured her he probably just hadn’t found the one yet.

After I had sent the invites, I called the Simpsons and moved their appointment from two to four, making something up as the reason for the reschedule. Then I spent the rest of the night learning more about Preston Interior Design. I wanted this job more than anything, this opportunity was just what I needed.

“I got the job!” I sang as I walked through the front door, two weeks later. I had been sitting in the coffee shop on my lunch break when I got the call. I could barely contain my excitement and thought about taking the rest of the day off after I had heard the news. Instead, after I calmed down, I had returned to work and handed in my notice. I felt it only fair to give them more than the standard two weeks after being there for five years.

Anna came out from the kitchen and smiled. “I knew it, I just knew you would get it. Congratulations, Leah. When do you start?” she asked leaning against the armchair holding a towel in her hand.

“Right after your anniversary, so three weeks.”

“Your father will be so proud of you, but don’t be like my son and decide not to come back and visit us. I can’t handle losing you both.” I hugged her then I sat my things on the floor while I took my coat off and hung it in the closet.

“Anna, I wouldn’t dream of not coming back home and miss all those wonderful deserts you bake.”

“Speaking of which I will whip something up, this is cause for a celebration.” She ran off into the kitchen and started banging bowls around. I smiled since Anna would look for any reason to bake something sinfully delicious.

I ran up to my room to get changed. I checked my laptop first for more responses. I had sent the invitations out two weeks ago and almost everyone had responded except for Logan. As I logged in, I silently prayed he had responded, the excitement growing in the pit of my stomach as the page loaded. Once again, I was disappointed to see that his name still hadn’t moved from the invitee list. I tapped my fingers on the desktop debating sending him a text but decided against it. I needed to let him go; this wasn’t healthy. I shut the laptop and quickly changed from my work clothes into my sweats and took my makeup off.

TEN

Logan

I glanced at the clock on the wall and went back to studying the plans in front of me. I could finally work on my own stuff now that the firm had closed for the day. I was living in the same bachelor pad I had gotten after my last year of school all those years ago and would until my house was finally built. They had already poured the foundation, and we were getting ready to frame this week. I had designed the whole concept and couldn’t wait to see it come to life. My dream was finally coming true, building the perfect home to support the perfect family. In three months, I would live in my dream home, albeit alone, because I still hadn’t found the perfect woman, one I would be happy to call mine, but still I was halfway there.

“Hey, Logan, you about ready to go?” John asked stopping at my office door.

“Yep, whenever you are.” John was my neighbor, co-worker and best friend. We carpooled to work every day and spent weekends together cruising around Boston and hanging at local clubs. Although now he was seeing Cynthia our nights out were few. I rolled up my plans and shoved them back into the tube. I grabbed my briefcase and the plans I needed to work on tonight and made my way down to John’s office. I spent most nights working at home and being it was Valentine’s Day today I already knew I wouldn’t be going anywhere tonight.

We walked into the apartment building lobby together and I went straight to my mailbox. I couldn’t wait to see what Leah had cooked up for me this year. She had written me a letter every single holiday, never missing one, no matter how insignificant, since I had moved out. I had grown so used to receiving them and looked forward to them. I opened the little mailbox, my heart racing in anticipation when I saw the stack of mail waiting for me. “You waiting for something? You’ve been talking about the mail all day.” John laughed. He was right, I had been talking about it all day, because I couldn’t wait to see what she had sent, her perfect handwriting, her words, I guess you could almost call me obsessed.

“Yeah, you could say that,” I said routing through the pile of mail that had been roughly shoved inside the mail cubby. I flipped through the bills and flyers, my heartbeat speeding up as I was coming near the end of the pile.

“You have a girlfriend I don’t know about, or perhaps one of those sexy pen-pals from overseas. If that’s the case, I want to see a picture.” John let out a laugh.

“No, no, nothing like that,” I said frowning as I reached the end of the pile and started my search through the bundle all over again in case I had missed the pink paper she always sent for Valentine’s Day, but the second search revealed exactly what the first had—nothing. All there was were bills and junk mail. “It’s not here,” I mumbled more to myself.

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