Social Neighbor (The Social Series Book 1) (36 page)

I called the most unlikely person I could call. I scrolled through my contact list trying to recall if I had listed her under Halley or Margaret.

I had to know how Graham was doing. I had to know if he was hurting like I was.

“See you tomorrow, Flor,” Michaela, one of my new coworkers waved as I slipped into the elevator. I had only been there for two weeks but I was quickly finding my footing.

“Bye.” I waved back as the doors slipped shut.

“Daniel says you’ve done well on the new account,” my dad said with a smile. “I’m proud of you, Flor,” he whispered, leaning toward me. “I knew you’d be great.”

“Thank you.” I smiled and felt so close to tears. It seemed my life was a jumbled mess of emotions lately, and I couldn’t say I was in control and doing fantastic, but I was trying. Matt says that was all that counted. I chose to believe him.

Working for my dad wasn’t as bad as I had assumed it would be. I had to admit, being around creative minds on a daily basis fueled my own creativity and, much to my surprise, no one treated me much differently. Sure, there were a few that shied away from me or were eager to befriend me, but for the most part, everyone had been largely…
normal.

My relationship with my dad was a work in progress. I found that falling in love with Graham, who I later discovered was a recovering alcoholic, like my dad, I felt compelled to get to know my dad better. I felt obliged, even if I didn’t realize it, to give him an opportunity to make things better. I gave myself the opportunity to hear his story, get to know the man he was today, not the man I recalled from that day twenty-two years ago. The man he was now couldn’t be more different than the man from my childhood. He was calm and collected and didn’t raise his voice over anything. I wondered often over the last two weeks how different Graham, the real Graham, was from the one I had met. I wondered how he had changed over the last nine years of his sobriety. In spite of my aversion to alcoholics as a whole due to my own awful experiences, I was proud of him.

When we made it to the busy street outside, my dad held the door of his Mercedes open for me. I slid inside and Graham came to the forefront of my mind like he so often did. My dad slid in beside me and looked at me with knowing eyes.

“He’s afraid to call you.”

“Me too. He’s still sober, right?”

“As far as I can tell, yes. I was worried at first, but I think he’s going to tough it out.” He nodded proudly. “I love him like he’s my own son, you know. I think you love him too,” he leaned in, whispering.

“I know,” I breathed, batting my eyes, hoping the tears there would evaporate before they fell.

“Dad, I…I don’t know what to do,” I admitted quietly.

“I wish I could tell you what to do, but I think that’s something you need to figure out on your own.”

“How does Liza do it?”

“What? Love me?”

“Well, yes. How does she deal with the fact that you have this…this issue to deal with?”

“I don’t know. You’d have to ask her. But,” he said holding one finger up, “I can tell you what it means to me, her love. I don’t feel strong all the time. I don’t feel proud. Sometimes I feel like I’m going to fail one day. I worry that I will ruin everything because taking a drink is just that tempting, but then there’s Liza.” He smiled, making his wrinkles deepen. “I look at her and I realize that if she’s invested in me, then I should invest in me, too. I take my cues and my strength from her. I’m only as strong as I make myself.”

“I miss him. I just don’t know if I can go back. I don’t even know if he would want me anymore. Not after what happened at your party,” I confessed looking out at the city passing us by.

“You’ll never know unless you try.”

“I know.”

I said my goodbyes to my dad and fished my keys from my bag. I grabbed the mail and made my way into my apartment feeling physically and emotionally drained.

It felt good to get up everyday and go to work. I was productive, busy and tired enough at night to go to sleep without much tossing and turning. Graham hadn’t left my mind. I wondered where he was, if he was okay. I wondered if he missed me like I missed him, if he’d forgive me for hurting him. I shouldn’t have run from him. He shouldn’t have lied to me. We had both made our fair share of mistakes and finding my way through our muddled mess was proving to be difficult.

I couldn’t regret our short but intense relationship, though. He was the reason I had accomplished my dream. I wrote a children’s book. I wrote it in three days as though it had always been there just waiting for me to get to it. I submitted it to Viscount Publishing, and I didn’t know that they read it or cared, or if my book had been heaped into the giant pile of would-be author’s work.

Even if it did, it didn’t matter. I’d done what I set out to do. I wrote a book, one that I was proud of. One that brought a smile to my face when I read it. I was proud of myself for the first time and that feeling was so gratifying. In my mind, I had succeeded.

I tossed mine and Matt’s mail into their respective stacks on our console but froze when I saw an envelope with the Viscount Publishing logo and address in the top left corner of the envelope.

I slipped my finger beneath the flap and broke the seal. The letter slipped out as though the paper itself was eager to deliver the news. It fluttered to the floor and I bent down, retrieving it with shaky hands.

Dear Ms. Randall,

Thank you for your submission. We thoroughly enjoyed your children’s book series and are eager to coordinate a meeting in person to further discuss your publishing plans. Attached you will find our proposal. Please contact us to schedule a meeting. We look forward to working with you.

Congratulations.

Regards,

Joseph Philipps

Editor

Viscount Publishing

I read the letter again. Then again. I looked around, wishing someone had been there with me to jump up and down with me. To scream and yell and cry and pass out and scream some more.

But there wasn’t anyone. I was alone, and despite the fantastic news and what it meant for my future, I felt horribly isolated.

I wanted to text Graham. I wanted to call him and tell him we did it! I wanted to tell him I did what I’d set out to do. I wanted to tell him he was the reason I had a proposal contract in my hand and a weight off my shoulders, and the validation of my wildest dreams.

I’m a writer.

I wanted to tell him that in a roundabout sort of way, he had substantiated my work. I wanted to tell him I loved him so very much and every moment I’d spent away from him since that dreadful night at my father’s birthday party had gutted me. I had the desire to scream at him for not being honest with me, to ask him why he’d hidden the truth.

I wanted to make sure that he knew just how much I missed him and that despite my greatest efforts at forgetting him, I had failed on that front because I hadn’t forgotten him, not even a little. Not at all, really.

Graham

The Right Move

I
opened the browser on my computer and typed in the address. It was self-destructive. I knew it was, but I had to look. Facebook lit my screen and I scrolled through my feed looking for something, anything, from Flor.

When I saw that she had added a new employer to her profile information, my first response was relief that she hadn’t deleted me from her friends list. My second response was…optimism. It was an odd sensation to feel after the last few weeks of complete despondency. The single highlight that had occurred since the party that ruined everything was that less than a week after Flor left me. I had outpatient surgery to remove the clunky fixator from my leg. I was now sporting a soft cast. It looked much like a moon boot that astronauts wore but it was much lighter and was removed regularly so Barbara could check on my healing pin sites.

Seeing that Flor was now gainfully employed at Martin’s ad firm surprised me. I was shocked that he hadn’t mentioned it to me. Then again, why would he give me information about her? He knew I was heartbroken and he likely knew that Flor wasn’t interested in carrying on a relationship with a liar who was also a recovering alcoholic.

I felt optimistic, though. Maybe not for me but for her and for Martin. If she was willing to see him daily at work, then maybe their relationship was moving in a better direction, and I hoped for as much for both their sakes.

I clicked on Flor’s name and her profile popped up on my screen. I scrolled down her timeline, admiring the pictures of her and toying with the idea of messaging her. I scrolled back to the segment where she’d added a new employer and clicked on the little thumb,
liking
her news, then swiftly typed one word.

Congratulations.

She’d probably delete me from her friends list once she saw my comment and remembered that I was still around, at least virtually.

“Hey.” Con stepped into my office carrying a folder.

“Hey.” I exited out of the browser on my screen.

I watched as he took the documents from the folder and handed them over to me for approval. I thumbed through them, not really paying attention. I was still coming to terms with my decision. Sometimes I was at peace with my decision and other times, panic rose up in me, leaving my heart beating wildly and sweat beading across my brow.

“So, that’s it?” I asked passing Con the stack of papers. He tapped the paper work on my desk, stuffed it into the folder it came in and slid it back across my desk to me.

“That’s it. Everything is being packed up and moved to storage for you to sort through when you’re ready.”

“And you’ve already sent the money to the accountant at ICCSO?”

“Yes. She thought it was a joke but I assured her that you were adamant that the money go to ICCSO.”

I took a deep breath as Martin said I should when I felt my emotions getting ahead of me. “Thank you, Con.”

“No problem. Let me know if there is anything else you need.”

“Just need you to keep Halley off my back. She’s hovering more than usual because of the sale.”

“It’s the right move, Graham.”

“I know.”

“I’ll back you up. She’s ten times worse right now. You owe me.” Con cocked an eyebrow at me.

“Let’s hope pregnancy calms her down.”

“When will she know if the IVF thing worked?”

“She said she goes back to the doctor in two days.” Though my sister drove me bat-shit crazy on a regular basis, I hoped that she and my brother in-law would have happy news soon. She decided to let me in on the big secret a week ago. She’d been undergoing fertility treatment and a surplus of hormone injections was making her particularly difficult to deal with.

I was glad she let me in on the big secret. She was being a major pest since Flor and I parted ways. I knew she was worried about me, but her hovering wasn’t helping matters. She wasn’t making recovering from heartbreak any easier.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you then.”

Con left and I was alone once again in my office. I pulled the top drawer of my desk open and picked up the rubber band ball Flor had made. I turned it over in my hand; my eyes traced the lines of the multicolored bands that stretched tight across the ball. Memories of Flor begrudgingly adding one band after another to the ball and eyeing me suspiciously came flooding back.

“I still don’t understand what the point in making this is. Is it a paperweight? A stress thing?”

“The point is that there is no point. Kids don’t do things out of practicality. They do things because they are impulsive and discovering everything for the first time. Just make the rubber band ball, gorgeous.”

Though it hurt to think of her, I smiled at the stupid impractical, pointless ball in my hand. Had I known that Flor would extract herself from my life the night of Martin’s party, I would have confessed to her before we went. I would have told her all about my past and all about the future I hoped to have. I would have told her I’d fallen in love with her, and I’d beg her for the opportunity to show her she could love me too. I’d dare her to give me the chance to prove myself right and also prove her wrong.