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“I’m just reminding you, how a man should stare when he’s interested.” I was unable to leave, shackled by his expression, “Piedra preciosa.” He said those words again, the ones I knew nothing about but wanted to hear. I wanted to know, I wanted to ask, but he only allowed me a moment, a quick glance of his eyes, scowling and dark, charged with a promise, that the doors were better shut than left open another second.
CHAPTER 10
On the corner of Forty-fourth and Eighth, drops of cool rain fell along my bare shoulders. Of all the nights for it rain, it had to be now, dotting along my pastel mint dress, the floral spring pattern picked just for Parker. Despite the promise of a storm, I remained completely excited. Tonight was our night, a chance to get away, to remember the moment we met as kids.
Edging closer to the marquee, I sheltered my damp hair under the glowing theatre’s header. It was thirty minutes until the play, and I began to worry. I checked my purse once again, securing both our tickets. They were here, but where was Parker? We agreed to meeting in front of the Majestic because of his late shift today.
He’d been completely consumed by this case, by Alejandro, staying all night at the office for most of the week. But he knew tonight was different, it was important in a different way. It was uniquely us, a tradition we never missed as adults, something I spent my last bit of money on.
I looked up at the sky, observing the source of low rumbling thunder. The whole thing made me anxious. The crowds entered the lobby of the theatre as I pulled out my phone, unable to resist sending him a quick text.
Gemma:Park, I got the tickets, but you may want to bring an umbrella, especially if we walk to dinner after.
I turned around to look in the window, correcting my frizzy hair from the rain. Even if we weren’t together and even if I were meant to move on, I wanted to look good, not just for him, but for me. It wasn't a date, but it always felt like one, the single moment I waited for each year. My phone buzzed, two quick messages came in at once.
Parker:Tickets?
Parker:Oh shit, Gemma!
I laughed, unintentionally snorting at the messages. It was a joke, so odd that I couldn’t even respond before his next message came through.
Parker:I’m on my way.
Gemma:Lol! Very funny. I know you wouldn’t forget about Phantom of the Opera. I’m all dressed, hurry up, I’m standing in the rain!
Parker:No, I fucked up! Seriously, have them hold my ticket at box! But go inside, stay warm for me.
Gemma:Wait… are you serious?
Parker:I wish I wasn’t.
I laughed to myself, shaking my head, this had to be a prank. The reply dots appeared on my screen, only to disappear again. He was probably thinking of something funny to say.
Gemma: Ok, seriously, where are you?
Parker:Far, but racing over. There’s traffic though.
Gemma:Of course there’s traffic, it’s New York. You on the Upper East Side?
Parker:Further. Mila needed me to pick her up, but she surprised me with her family instead. I had no idea.
I was gutted. This wasn’t a joke. I caught a glimpse of myself in the window, and the wind softly swung my earrings. I looked like a fool, my reflection a mocking reminder of how much I cared, completely dressed with makeup to match. I tried to convince myself as I did earlier that it was all for me, but it wasn’t, I did it for him. The familiar and unsettling sound of thunder rumbled from above, causing me to coil closer to the brick wall as I made myself smaller.
Gemma:Where did you pick her up at?
I asked, but worried at the answer. The bubble to his message coming and going. I read it like a sigh, the defeat in his own voice.
Parker:JFK. I swear this was a mistake. I told them I can’t stay, I’m dropping them off, I’ll be there for you.
There was no way. JFK was in Queens, way past Bushwick, way past anything. He wouldn’t make it, it would be at least a couple hours to fight the traffic, if not more. It was Friday, and I was alone, and I wasn’t sure why. I reminded him, even during breakfast about our plans. The more I looked at myself, the sillier I felt. The frizz in my hair still not corrected but took low priority to tears that threatened my mascara. My phone buzzed loudly, signaling a call from Parker.
I wanted to answer, I wanted to hear his voice. I knew he was probably panicked and assuring him would help lessen his stress. I could have done that for him, but I wouldn’t, not with the lump in my throat; he’d hear that, and once again, I wanted to shelter him from the ugly I felt. I ignored his call, clicking the button pained me, so I sent a text.
Gemma:It’s really loud right now, can’t talk.
Parker:I’m still coming.
Gemma:No, Park, please. It’s totally fine! Honestly.
