Bouquet Toss (7 page)

“I was afraid you were going to say something like that.  Look, Daph, I’m not saying that this thing with Mayson is a bad idea.  I haven’t seen you two together in years.  But, I can say this.  I adore you, and your feelings matter to me----I will not stand by and watch you get your heart broken all over again and stay silent.  I’m sorry if that’s hard for you to hear.”

I nod, knowing she’s looking out for me.

“Do you promise to, at least, listen to me if I see any red flags?  This guy put you through the ringer.  Don’t forget that, alright?”

“Of course,” I reply truthfully. “Thank you, Elise.”

A few hours later, we are pulling into my small parking lot when I hear my phone “ding”—it’s a text, and I know exactly who it’s from.

“Hmm, wonder who that might be,” Elise teases.  “Perhaps his ears have been burning this afternoon.”

My lips form a curious smile as I read the text.  It’s from Mayson and it’s different from any other text I’ve received from him.

Check your mailbox.

After showing the text to Elise, we both giggle in surprise and run to my mailbox in front of the building.  My heart skips a beat when I see the mail has already arrived.  There are no packages.  However, at the bottom of my pile of mail there is a large envelope.  The postmark is from
Denver
.  A large sticker with “delivery confirmation” flashes in bright green.

“What do you think it could be?” I ask, my heart thumping uncontrollably in my chest.

“There’s only one way to find out.  C’mon, get it over with!” Elise urges me.

I slowly rip open the envelope and find round trip airline tickets to
New York City
.  If there is one city in this country that I have wanted to visit during my lifetime, it is NYC.  My heart is doing flip flops inside of my chest.

“Holy crap, Daphne, you’re going to spend a weekend in
New York
!  That is so romantic.  Is there anything else in the envelope?”

Tearing into it once again, I find a post-it note that must have fallen from the tickets.

Join me?  --M

Still in shock, an enormous grin plastered onto my face, I grab my phone and send Mayson a simple text message: See you there.

Three days later, I arrive at the Four Seasons in
New York City
.  In disbelief as I gaze around the lobby, I can’t believe that I will be staying here for the next two days.  It is truly a sight to behold, magnificent décor and beautiful flower arrangements placed on every available surface.  My nerve endings have been twitching non-stop ever since I received Mayson’s cryptic text.  Breathing deeply, I search for the man who causes such excitement and anticipation in my heart.

“Daphne!” Mayson pops up from a leather chair.  He is grinning, his hair freshly trimmed and face recently shaved.  He looks incredible.  He walks quickly to me before sweeping me up in his arms and spinning me around.

“Wow,” I say, collecting myself when he releases me. 

“You’re finally here!” he says, sounding ecstatic. He leans in for a soft, gentle kiss.  “I feel like I haven’t seen you in so long!” he whispers as he presses his forehead to mine. 

“It’s great to be here,” I manage to say, feeling incredibly overwhelmed with joy.

“Come on. Let’s get your luggage upstairs. Then we can explore the city together.  Some incredible buildings in this town!  I want to show you everything. Absolutely everything!” 

Mayson is energetic, smiling and humming to himself as we stroll through the streets of
New York
.  As he points out buildings and elements of architecture that he finds remarkable, I am completely wrapped up in him once again.  I want these moments to last forever.

When we reach
Central Park
, I am in awe, unable to stop looking around at all of the lovely scenery before us.  Movies have depicted this beautiful park but it’s like nothing I have ever seen on screen.  Completely enamored and swept up in the moment, I reach up to Mayson and plant a kiss on his cheek. 

“You’ve wanted to come here for a long time.  I remember that.” He smiles, a dimple forming in his cheek.  He wants to please me.  All this time, I have been thinking about how on earth I will please him.  Is it possible that he is feeling the exact same way?  Are we making up for lost time? All those years that we could have been together, but instead were held apart by circumstance, are they finally coming to an end?  Will I get my happily ever after?

“You’ve been remembering a lot of things, Mayson.  It’s a little unnerving.”

“Oh,” he looks slightly shamed, as if he has been scolded.  I quickly rephrase.

“Don’t misunderstand. I love it.  Every single thing you have remembered about me, I love.  I always felt…” The words hang off my lips. Spoiling this moment would be something I would regret for years to come and I wasn’t ready to risk it.  I have had enough regret, especially when it comes to this man opposite me.

“Say it, Daphne.  Whatever it is, I want to hear it.”  His eyes are pleading with me.  He wants the truth.  Taking a quick, deep breath, I am ready to be honest.

“I always felt as if you were the alpha in the relationship and I--”

“You thought I was the what?  The
Alpha
?   Meaning that I ran the show?”

“Quite simply, yes.” I respond honestly. He looks perplexed as I question him, “Can you disagree?”

Mayson sits on a nearby bench, collecting his thoughts.  “I guess you have a point.  I’ve always been pretty stubborn.  But, you must know by now that I listened, I paid attention.”

“Yes, you did, Mayse.  You really did.”  The flowers, the trip to
New York
, he did remember who I once was. And he does know parts of who I still am.  But, it still doesn’t feel like enough.  There was so much more that I was holding back, afraid of scaring him away, afraid of losing him again.

“Look, Daphne.  I’m not perfect. I know that.  I can be selfish, inconsiderate and a bunch of other not-so-pleasant things.  But, I do care.  And I do want to be better.”

“Thank you,” I muster, completely blown away by his response.

“Now, can I be honest with you?” he asks, gazing into my eyes, a bit of a playful smirk on his lips.  God, he is so sexy.

“Of course you can.” I brace myself, afraid of what I might hear next.

“You have to stop punishing me for what I did when we were in college.  I was nineteen years old when we broke up, and twenty one when we slept together before graduation.  I’m not the same person that I was.  I’m flawed, of course.  But, who isn’t?  I can’t magically make you forget how I behaved, but this relationship isn’t going to go anywhere if you’re apprehensive to be with me here, right now.” His eyes pleading, he leans in to my neck and kisses my earlobe.  He whispers softly, “Be with me here.  Now. Please, Daphne.”

Swept up in the moment, I submit to him.  No longer wanting to cling to the past, to think of what could have been. I am ready to be with Mayson here and now.  Slowly, holding hands as we walk, we make our way back to our hotel and to the room that has been waiting for us.

“I’ve missed you,” I smile, trying my best not to let my eyes well with tears.  My emotions are overwhelming as Mayson and I lay face to face in the large, majestic bed, the silky sheets barely covering us as we gaze at one another with sleepy eyes.

“Me too, beautiful,” he responds, caressing my shoulders making me squirm in the best possible way.

It’s Sunday morning and soon our fantasy weekend will come to an end.  We will board separate planes, headed to separate destinations.   With all the strength that I have, I refrain from asking how we’ll proceed from here.  Desperate to stay in this moment with Mayson, I’m once again pushing away my true wants, my true needs.  My heart sinks as I realize just how much of myself I’ve been keeping from him, simply afraid of making him run for the hills.  And so, I cling desperately to this beautiful man before me, and hold back my questions, my concerns, my fears.

“This is one of the most romantic weekends of my life.  Thank you, Mayse.” I say, stroking his cheek.  “Thank you for planning this for me, for us.”

“My pleasure, Puddin.’” He smiles.  “It has been magnificent.  You…you are magnificent.” His voice is especially husky with this last sentence, and his passion consumes me.  Swept away, yet again, by the surprising emotions of Mayson, I flush and grin from ear to ear.

“I have a confession to make, Mayse.”

“Uh oh,” he furrows his brow, suddenly looking serious.

“I lied to you when I said that our first time wasn’t my first time.  It was.”

“Thank goodness, I’m not crazy!” he says in relief.  “Although, now I really feel like a piece of shit; I took your virginity and never called.  Oh, Daph, I’m so sorry.  I wish there was something I could do to make it up to you, something I could say.”

“Should I have kept that to myself?” I ask, wishing I hadn’t said a word.  But, I needed to.  I needed him to know.

“No, absolutely not, I’m glad you told me. I just wish I hadn’t been so, I don’t know, thoughtless with you.  I wish I had made it special...or that we hadn’t done it at all.”

“You regret it?” I ask, my heart tearing in shreds.  How could he regret it? I certainly don’t...only what happened afterward.

“No, Daph, of course not.  I just wish your first time had been special.”

             
“But, it was, Mayse.  It was with
you
.”  I smile and he smiles back at me with a large and compassionate grin.  With newfound confidence, I decide to ask the question I’ve been dreading all weekend, “Hey, I have a big favor to ask.”

“Um, okay,” Mayson says, looking pensive and concerned.

“I have a wedding to attend in a couple of weeks.  I would love for you to be my date.”

“Where is it?” he asks.  Such an odd question, really.

“Um, it’s being held in
Chicago
.”

“Who’s getting hitched?” he seems to be relaxing at the idea of accompanying me.

“My friend Phillip is marrying a fabulous girl named Janna.  It is going to be in
Lincoln Park
at a very cool locale near
Montrose
Harbor
.  It should be beautiful.”

“And you don’t have a date?” he teases.

“Nope,” I say, biting my lip and shaking my head with a pout.

“Of course, Miss Daphne Harper, I would love to be your date.” He smiles warmly and kisses me on my shoulder.  Breathing a huge sigh of relief, I glance at the clock and quickly bolt back to reality.

“We should get dressed, Mayson.  Our flights will be leaving before we know it,” I say, glancing back at the clock, wishing the numbers could be frozen for just a little while longer.  Slowly, I sit up and throw the sheets off of me.

“Not so fast, Puddin’,” he replies with a devilish smirk that makes my toes curl. “I’m not quite finished with you yet.”  And just like that, I am swept up in Mayson all over again as he kisses me passionately, pulling me back to the bed. 
             

That afternoon, I am extremely close to missing my flight because of our final moments in bed but, it was totally worth it.  Nothing can wipe this smile from my face. For five years, I have dreamed of being with Mayson.  My dreams are finally coming true.  As the plane soars through the sky, my heart is soaring as well, dreaming of my future with Mayson; a future that I hope begins soon.

Senior Year (Spring Semester)

It’s two nights before graduation and all of my friends are gathering at our favorite campus bar, Legends.  Unfortunately, Legends holds many memories of Mayson and I and so visiting this bar right before finishing college feels bittersweet.  But, I’m determined to celebrate and not to think about him at all.  Besides, he’s still in
France
.

Or maybe not.

Mayson is leaning up against the bar, talking with some of his friends who I remember from the dorms.  He looks different to me.  He’s wearing trendy glasses, the kind with the tortoise-shell and rigid angles.  He’s also wearing a button down shirt with bright vertical stripes and fancy chinos.  What happened to my sweatshirt-wearing gorgeous ex-boyfriend?  He seems to have been replaced by a stylish new model.

Frozen in my tracks, I’m not sure what to do.  As far as I know, he hasn’t seen me. But, we’re standing only a few feet from one another, so that seems likely to change.  Why didn’t he get in touch to tell me that he had returned?  No call, no email?  My heart sinks knowing that he didn’t feel the need to contact me.  I need to clear my head.

“Is that who I think it is?” asks Elise, stirring her vodka cranberry.

“Yeah,” I say, still watching him, admiring him while trying desperately to push the lump in my throat down, down, down.

“He looks different,” Elise observes.

“I know,” I respond, nodding.