Choose Me: a novella (5 page)

“Home,” she said. “Home.”

chapter t
en

This is the end

He didn’t see her again until a few days before they were both scheduled to return to Philadelphia. She didn’t invite him to her thesis defense, nor did she ask him to join her and her friends at the parties that followed. He thought she just needed space. He’d seen it before at University of the Arts: graduating seniors and master’s degree candidates working themselves up into a frenzy over their final projects, practically foaming at the mouth whenever someone questioned them or tried to steer conversations away from their projects. But the more space he gave her, the emptier he felt.

He called her every day, leaving rambling messages on her a
nswering machine, but she rarely returned his calls. When she did, her voice bore strains of studied ennui.

“Have I done something to upset you?”

“I’m tired, Chris. I don’t feel like getting into it.”

“That must mean yes. I can’t read your mind, you know. If I’ve done something wrong I can’t change it if you won’t at least tell me what I did.”

“There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Fine…how was your defense?”

“Fine. I passed with honors.”

”I knew you would.”

“I have to go. Gillian’s waiting for me.”

“Where are you going?”

“To a private party.”

“Can we meet later?”

“I don’t think so. It’ll be late.”

“Am I going to see you before we go to the airport?”

“I don’t know. We can take a taxi together.”

“You don’t even have time for lunch with me?”

“I don’t know. I’ll call you tomorrow. We’ll see.”

The next day her friends threw Jessica a going away party. He wasn’t invited. Ever since the debacle with Andrew, Chris hadn’t been included in any plans involving all of the flat mates. Lunch was out of the question, so they agreed to meet for coffee later. But at the last minute, she cancelled claiming that she wasn’t finished packing.

“I’ll swing by your place with the taxi tomorrow morning,” she said in a breezy voice. “Don’t be late.”

Then she hung up and left him sitting there, handset still firmly in his grasp, wondering just when and why they’d spun so far off-course.

They didn’t speak during the short ride to the airport. Their taxi driver, however, was more than willing to fill the silence with a running commentary on the state of affairs in Scotland and the world in general. Chris tuned him out, listening instead to Jessica breathe, the small sighs she emitted whenever she grew bored with the taxi driver’s babble. Sometimes he dared to look at her. She was staring out the window, and all he saw was her delicate profile and the slope of her neck.

His fingers twitched, wanting to touch her and to feel the warmth of her skin, so he eased his hand towards hers. She didn’t move her hand away but her fingers didn’t grasp his, not like he’d hoped they would.

“Are you nervous?” he asked the moment the driver stopped talking long enough to give him a chance.

“No, not really,” she replied. Now she shifted and turned to face him.  She looked lost, just as she had when they first met, as though she had no idea how she’d ended up in her present situ
ation. “We’re just going home, right?”

He nodded. They were closing in on the airport. He hadn’t r
emembered it looking so small. Somehow he’d pictured it being as large and sprawling as Charles de Gaulle in Paris or London-Gatwick.

“Should we sit together?” he ventured now as the driver pulled into the lane leading to the departures terminal. “Or maybe you’ve already checked in online
.”

“No, I haven’t.” Her thumb massaged the side of his hand, tra
cing small dizzying circles on his skin. “Maybe we should sit together. We haven’t been able to see each other so much these last few days.”

He smiled. This was better. She was beginning to sound like her old self again and this eased away his insecurities. “If we’re lucky we’ll be upgraded to Business Class.”

“Stranger things have been known to happen.”

When they came to the check-in counter there were no seats together on the flight to London nor the Philadelphia-bound flight.

“When you go to the gate, you can ask the personnel if it’s po
ssible to reassign you,” their check-in agent said. “Your chances are better on the flight to Philadelphia.”

Chris thanked the agent, then they went through security co
ntrol to the tax-free shopping corridor. There wasn’t much to choose from. A small bookstore, a kitsch boutique featuring stuffed bagpipers and Scots terriers in tartan jumpers, and a gourmet food shop. There was also a food hall made up of fast food restaurants and a sad-looking café. Jessica disappeared into the food shop, then returned a few minutes later with two heavy plastic bags.

“What’s this?”

“A few things to help us wean ourselves off Scotland.”

He looked inside the bag. It contained a box of shortbreads, a large can of haggis, a jar of lime curd and a bottle of
Laphroaig whisky. He laughed. “This should hold us over until we’re ready for another dose of this place!”

She was smiling up at him but her eyes were shiny. Then she leaned against him and wrapped her arms around him. He held her close, murmuring that everything would be okay, that once they were back in Philadelphia they could forget about whatever had happened in Edinburgh.

“You think so?” she said in a small, tinny voice.

“I don’t know. We could give it a try anyway
.”

“Maybe.”

“Are we okay?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

When the blow came as the plane soared over Greenland it was like a sudden rush of blood to the head. He laughed, then hesitated, smiling out of nervousness rather than amusement. “You’re joking, right?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you say we were okay then? Why did you hug me?”

“I thought it would be all right… but I can’t stop thinking about how awful people are going to be towards us.”

“You don’t know that, Jess.”

“I do. I hear it all the time from my mother and Aisha—”

“They’re not the only people in Philadelphia
—”

“They’re not the only people who’d have a problem with us.”

“So you’re going to give up on us just because of what other people might say about us? That’s fucking rich, Jess. Unbelievable!”

A male flight attendant approached them, cautioning them to lower their voices. Chris flashed him a nasty look as he retreated to the galley.

“Maybe I’m making a mistake.“

“You are. You know you love me—I felt it all those times we were together.”

“—but I don’t feel comfortable about this…us…not in the States anyway.”

“You’re a coward.”

“I know I am.”

“You’re going to regret this. One day you’re going to look back on this and you’re going to wish to God you’d listened to your heart and not your head… cos your head is leading you down the wrong path.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I think I do.”

He ignored the pained look on her face and the taut stance of her body. She looked miserable and he thought,
You deserve this
.  He turned on his heels, not wanting to see her no matter how lovely she was and how much he wanted to taste her mouth and slide his hands along the curve of her back.

“Walk away,” he muttered as he retraced his steps to his seat. “Walk away…” He couldn’t hear himself for the sound of his heart drumming in his head.

The rest of the flight passed in a blur, for which he was thankful. At least they hadn’t bothered to change their seats so they could sit together, else he’d have been forced to endure sitting beside her and trying hard not to react to her cowardice, to her inability to think for herself instead of letting her mother and her friend hold sway over her, for just walking away from him when she said she’d never felt so strongly for anyone else in her entire life. Most of all, he would have had to contain his own anguish at losing her. Because he had lost her…there was no doubt about that. She’d let go despite assuring him for so long that she would not…or had she?

Those last few weeks in Edinburgh she’d been so vague and always so far away. Had she been preparing to leave him even then? But they’d made love, she’d told him she loved him… what the hell had gone wrong?

As soon as the plane landed, he jumped up and grabbed his jacket and backpack from the carry-on hold.  She was seated five rows behind him, and he didn’t want catch sight of her.  He ba
rreled off the plane when the time came, not looking back though instinct was playing tricks on him and daring him to take one backward glance. He made it through passport control without bumping into her and thought he’d be home free.

But at the baggage carousel she appeared. He cursed under his breath. Seeing her standing there, just a few feet away, awakened his longing to be near her and he couldn’t stop himself from staring at her. She was pointedly ignoring him, he saw it in how tense she looked. And when she finally allowed herself to meet his stare, she looked confused and maybe even a little regretful.

The carousel finally churned to a start, preceded by three long beeps and a loud metallic screech. Chris walked over to her.  He shouldn’t have done it, he knew this already even as he approached her. But he needed to be near her just one last time. She glanced around; even here in the airport she was afraid of anyone reacting to whatever intimacy they might sense between the two of them.

“So this is it, huh?” he said not letting his stare waver. “As soon as our bags turn up we forget about each other and what we had in Edinburgh.”

“I never said I wanted to forget you.” She wiped her eyes quickly with the back of her hand. “You know I still love you.”

“No, I don’t know that,” he retorted hotly. “And in the long run, what does it matter if you love me? You’re kicking me to the curb.”

A few people glanced at them. She turned away from him, her eyes fixed on the belt that was dispatching piece after piece of other people’s luggage onto the carousel.

“You’re going to regret this, Jess,” he said in a softer voice now though it reverberated in his ear like a scream. “One day, you’re going to find yourself wishing that you’d given us a chance and it’ll be too late.”

“You’re probably right.” She was trembling. He could see how hard she was struggling to keep it together but he knew she’d start crying soon. “I just can’t do it, Chris. I can’t pretend I’m not affected by other people’s opinions. Not here. You know how people are here.”

He saw her bags coming towards them. He walked around her and retrieved them for her, then set them down by her feet. Then he grabbed his own bags and set them aside. She whispered thanks to him and rubbed her eyes again. 
Her mascara had smudged a bit but it didn’t detract from her loveliness. She mouthed the word ‘bye’ at him… and it set off a chain reaction: he took hold of her arms, leaned in and kissed her long and hard. She didn’t fight him, for a moment she even kissed him back. When he pulled away, she wore the stunned expression of a deer caught in headlights.

She licked her lips nervously and glanced around.

He shook his head, then he picked up his bags and walked towards to the exit. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. He’d already memorized every inch of her, every smile, every glance. Maybe he’d be the one with regrets.

chapter eleven

It Must Be Fate

Jessica threaded her way through the narrow aisle between the desks in the editorial office.  Her paper-strewn desk was closest to the window, affording her an envied view of the Delaware River and Penn’s Landing. Sitting close to the window also put her closer to the coffee room, which her desk faced, and farthest away from the receptionists’ desk, which was good since Mildred and Juanita were too talkative. Just walking past them meant that at any moment she might find herself stuck for what seemed like hours, listening to office gossip. And while the rest of her colleagues didn’t mind having receptionists who may as well have been working for the
Daily News
gossip columns, Jessica often wished they’d focus more on their jobs.

She’d just made it back to her desk when she heard a gruff male voice call out her name. She set her pile of mail on the last empty spot on her desktop and turned to face Tyler Evans. He was striding towards her, smiling confidently and stroking his goatee.
Tyler worked in Marketing at
The Philadelphian
and dressed the part. He always wore the most stylish clothes Jessica had ever seen on a man—suits that fit his athletic body perfectly, shirts that were neither too loose nor too tight, and shoes that always looked brand-new. He was a catch, at least that was the word in the office, and some of her colleagues thought it was their job to remind Jessica that she ought to snatch up Tyler while he was still on the market.

He greeted Jessica with self-assured grin and then said, “Good that I caught you before someone else did.”

“Any reason in particular?”

“A friend of mine just told me about a First Friday vernissage this week at Gallery
Deneuve on Walnut Street,” he replied as he sat on the edge of her desk. He took Jessica’s hand in his and kissed the top of it. “If I remember correctly, it should be black and white photography much in the same vein of Man Ray and the Dadaists.”

“Sounds intriguing,” she said. She eased her hand out of his and brushed her hair back. “I’m a big photography fan.”

“Yes, I seem to remember you saying that once,” he said, now placing his hand on her arm. “I thought we could go to the vernissage together and then have dinner at Le Bec Fin or Bistro Georges.”

“I’d like that.” But she didn’t want to go. On their last date, he’d been so pompous, so full of himself about everything from politics to polenta. And he’d given her a bouquet of pink carn
ations that looked as though they’d been more afterthought than plan. “Shall we meet at the gallery?”

“No, no, no. I’ll pick you up at your place and then we’ll drive over.”

She nodded. So far, she’d avoided having him over. Was he trying to finagle an invitation inside? She wasn’t sure. So far, he’d been a perfect gentleman, holding doors open for her, never venturing past more than a brief kiss on the lips or an embrace. She didn't think that would last much longer though.

Mildred and Juanita gushed on and on about Tyler, comparing him to everyone from Denzel Washington to Omar Epps. They were convinced that he was everything a black man should be: tall, handsome, well-employed and well-paid, and steady. On paper, he was perfect. But he didn’t make Jessica’s heart soar and, standing beside him now, she noticed how strong and cloying his aftershave was.

“What time should we meet?” she asked, retreating behind her desk as the phone rang.

“I’ll swing by around
seven-thirty. How’s that?”

“Fine. Great. Looking forward to it.” Then she shrugged in apology and answered the phone. He winked at her before retra
cing his steps down the aisle and past the receptionists’ desk. Jessica grimaced. “God…”

“No, this is Aisha,” her friend laughed. “Are we still on for lunch?”

Jessica glanced at her clock. “Shit! I forgot. What time did we say?”

“Relax. You’ve got an hour,” Aisha said in a devil-may-care voice. “I figured you needed reminding.”

“I did. I’ve been swamped since I arrived. Lots of articles to proofread and fact-check for the next issue.”

“Just to remind you—one o’clock at Hunter & Schmuck's.  Don’t be late else you have to pay this time!”

“I’ll be there.”

After they hung up, Jessica sat for a while just staring out the window at the river. It was a sunny day, the sort of late autumn day when the sky was a crisp pale blue and the clouds were small and puffy. She would give anything to be outside instead o
f stuck in this stuffy office. She swiveled in her chair and surveyed the office. Most of her colleagues were already at lunch, skiving off after the morning editorial meeting and heading for the trendy cafés and restaurants on South Street. The pile of articles on her desk wasn’t inviting enough to keep her indoors much longer and if she hung around too long Tyler might turn up again asking her to lunch.

She dialed Aisha’s number at City Hall and as soon as her friend answered, said, “Change the reservation, I’m on my way.”

Hunter & Schmuck’s was the sort of restaurant that did a fine job of playing the part of an old establishment when it was really the new kid on the block. With its dark wood paneling, roomy upho
lstered booths and banquettes, framed pictures of famous Philadelphians—everyone from Marian Anderson to Frank Rizzo, Fabian to Vivian Green, it assured diners that it was steeped in the city’s history. Neither Jessica nor Aisha cared much about the restaurant’s faux historic veneer, what they came for was the delicious seafood artichoke dip and the sumptuous pastas on the lunch menu. It was also convenient for both of them. Aisha simply had to cross the street to return to her job in the Mayor’s office, and Jessica could duck down one of the many entrances to the Market-Frankford subway line and ride the five stops to Second Street, which normally only took about ten minutes, then walk the two blocks to her office building.

Once they’d ordered, Aisha stretched like a cat and yawned. She was a tall slender woman with skin the warm hue of hot cho
colate. She kept her hair cut short in a pixie-style made famous first by Audrey Hepburn and then later by Halle Berry. That day Aisha was wearing one of her trademark body-hugging dress suits that showed off all the hours of work she put in at the gym and impossibly high heels. Jessica felt shabby compared to her. She’d worn a pair of charcoal gray trousers and a black sweater she’d bought at the weekend at J. Crew. And though she’d topped it off with a necklace whose garnet-colored ornaments resembled poppies and her black suede boots were expensive and stylish, she felt more like a schoolteacher than a sex bomb.

“So why the rush? Are you really that hungry?” Aisha asked. She paused to sip her mineral water and cast a quick look around the restaurant. You never knew when she might see someone with potential was always her motto.

Jessica shook her head no. “I just didn’t feel like sitting there another hour. Besides, Tyler was in one of his effusive moods and I knew he’d come back down again if I didn’t make a move.”

“Lord, Jessica, if he’s so damned awful why do you keep going out with him?”

“He’s not always awful,” she reasoned. “It’s just he’d already come down once and asked me to go to a First Friday with him. And the receptionists were ogling us the entire time.”

“So? You’re dating someone you work with. Of course you’re office fodder. I told you that you would be.
”

“You also told me to date him!” Jessica laughed and feigned shock at her friend’s sudden memory lapse. “Your exact words were: ‘He’s a fine brother, Jess. YOU better step up to the plate!’”

“Sure, sure, sure,” Aisha said with a head-tossing laugh. She must have spotted someone whose attention she was keen to secure. That sort of laugh was reserved for men.

Jessica discretely turned to see just whom Aisha was checking out. Then she saw him: the mayor’s son, Elvin.  He was sitting just a few tables away, having lunch with an older woman whom Jess
ica assumed was his mother.

“Setting your sights high?” she said with a smile when she turned back to Aisha.

“You gotta aim high these days,” Aisha said with a pretty shrug. “No point wasting your time on the bottom of the barrel when you can have the crème de la crème.”

“More words to live by?”

“You got it.”

“Well, good luck.”

“We’ll see. So now what’s wrong with Tyler?”

“He’s
pompous.”

“So?”

“He bought me carnations the last time we had a date.”

“That was cheap. He can afford better.”

“And I don’t feel anything when I am with him. I want thunderbolts and lightening.”

“Not even a spark?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. When he kisses me, all I feel is wet lips.”

“Use your imagination then.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Next time you’re with him, imagine he’s the last person who made you feel the sparks and flames and everything. After a while, you’ll feel it for real.”

“I take it you’ve tried this?”

“Once or twice. I don’t dole out untried advice,” Aisha said, grinning at Jessica. She looked sly and mischievous, like a small
child harboring the naughtiest of secrets. It was one of her qualities that Jess appreciated, Aisha’s often wry sense of humor and her willingness to be naughty instead of always being nice.

“So…are you recommending that I think about another man when I’m with Tyler?”

“If it gets you through the night, then yes.”

Jessica would have pressed for more but their lunch arrived.
Saved by the bell
, she thought.
Saved by the bell
.

By the time Friday came she’d nearly forgotten about her date with Tyler. They were in the middle of a crunch—the proofs were late heading off to the printers because of an editorial intern’s innocent mix-up and it had taken several hours to find the back-up copies. Had Tyler not rung Jessica at four o’clock to remind her, their date would have slipped her mind entirely. She thanked him and rushed him off the phone, fibbing when she told him she was just on her way home.

She took the subway to her Saunders Park apartment and rushed through a shower and sorting out a change of clothes. Though she didn’t consider herself frumpy, she always felt unde
rdressed compared to Tyler.  Most likely, he’d wear a suit and tie for their date.  She raked through her closet, looking for something appropriate for a vernissage, but her instincts told her not to wear anything too dressy. These are artists, she reasoned, they’re not expecting me to show up in formal attire. And then she remembered Chris…

She hadn’t been to a vernissage since her days with him in E
dinburgh. She could still remember how they’d walk hand-in-hand along the winding streets of the Old Town, ambling towards the vernissages at galleries that Fergus recommended. All of it was part of Chris’s research, supposedly aimed at transforming him into a more adept photographer. They never dressed up for these first nights, turning up in their thick Shetland sweaters and dark jeans, their Doc Martens and denim jackets or duffle coats, depending on the weather. The trendoids, who were there to be seen, would turn up decked out in their most expensive and eye-catching attire. Who knew if someone from
Tatler
or
Harpers & Queens
might do a write up and mention them?

Chris.

God, she had tried to suppress thoughts of him lately. She hadn’t seen or heard from him in over two years. She could still remember how flat and cold his bluish-green eyes went as she told him it was over. He’d gone so still. And she’d stood there, whispering almost to him that it just wouldn’t work and repeating what her mother and Aisha had said though in her heart she didn’t believe it. Inside she was screaming, “Don’t listen to me! Force me to be honest!” but her words had hit their mark and he’d left her standing there by the in-flight toilets that separated Economy Plus and Business Class.

Then there was that kiss by the baggage belts. It had sent the sort of soul-devouring, searing flame she so desperately longed for through her body. Her resolve wavered just then, but he didn’t notice the flicker of doubt in her eyes nor respond to the way she melted into him when they kissed. As soon as they separated, all he said was “You’ll regret this…” and stormed to the exits with his luggage. The last view she had of him was his retreating back.

She dreamt of him last night, of that first time they met and that walk in the freezing rain on Grassmarket, then going back to his apartment with him and making love. She’d never felt like that before, and hadn’t since then. All this time she’d been looking for love and listening to everyone tell her that only a black man was capable of satisfying her needs…well, she’d dated seven black men since returning to Philadelphia and while they had all satisfied her sexual needs, none of them had managed to erase Chris’s hold on her emotional needs.

“I have to put him in a box and forget about him,” she mu
rmured as she examined her reflection in the mirror. “It’s been two years now…and you were the one who let go.”

She was wearing a simple black cashmere turtleneck sweater that hugged her body without being obscene, slim fitting charcoal gray trousers and a pair of perilously high-heeled boots. Just before the doorbell rang, she grabbed her lavender
Pashmina from the edge of her bed and wrapped it around her shoulders.