The Best of Fools (Jane Austen Book 2) (41 page)

The woman greeted me. So and so from such and such. I tried to focus. At the end she said, "You let me know," and I had to ask Han and Brooke what happened.

"She wants to hire you," Brooke said. "Spacing out again?"

"For what?"

"You weren't listening?"

I shook my head.

"She's from New York. Word got around. She wants to have your designs on the runway by the end of this year."

"What? Is that even possible? I'm not even sure I want that."

She pointed to the business card that I dropped on the floor. "Might wanna pick that up."

Maybe that should've been good news, but it wasn't because I couldn't share it with Alistair.

I texted and called over a hundred times before bed that day. Even sent a long email pouring my heart out to him.

He never responded.

Not. Even. Once.

Four insufferable days. Four.

Day one, I was pissed. Day two, I was confused. Day three, I was worried. Today ... Thanksgiving ... sad. Not thankful. Not a fun person to be around, but I put on my happy face when I went to Mom's for dinner. Then, of course, as we're all sitting around the table listening to Granny talk about how Grandpa used to cook the perfect turkey, Mom passed me the sauerkraut and whispered, "Are you still upset about Julia?"

I traded the sauerkraut for cranberry sauce. "Not really. I sent her an apology, but haven't heard back."

"She went back to California. It's really difficult for her, Jane. I hope you understand. None of this is your fault." She handed me the mashed potatoes. "But I'm glad you're here and whether I gave birth to you or not, you're my daughter and I love you."

Eddie cleared his first plate within minutes and looked up for seconds.

"Slow down," I said to him. "Some people have nothing today." I looked around the table. "And here we are overeating all in the name of thankfulness."

"Well, I am thankful," he said, scooping a generous spoonful of stuffing on to his plate.

I sighed and pushed my plate away. "I can't eat."

"Jane," Dad said.

I stood and stared at the sweet potatoes covered in marshmallows, which took me back to the day I met Alistair. The day he tried to make me feel less awkward about my name by bringing up how weird he thought it was that we put marshmallows on our sweet potatoes. The day he walked into my life that I was now starting to wish hadn't happened.

Better to not know love than to find it and lose it.

"Sit down, dear," Granny said. "You look famished. Please tell her to eat, son."

Dad looked at me, then Mom, then back to me. "Jane, sit with us? Even if you aren't hungry?"

"I'll be back. I need to go to the bathroom."

I went to my old room instead and sat on the guest bed. Mom converted the room to a
Sense and Sensibility
theme.

"I used to be sensible," I said to myself. "Now I can't pull myself together."

I checked my phone again. Just in case. Last text from him was still,
Some other bloke comforting you. I see.

How could he not forgive me? It was so trivial in the grand scheme of it all.

I opened up my voice recorder and said, "Alistair, I don't know what's wrong with us. I don't know how to fix it if you don't talk to me. It's been four days and you can't even respond to one of my messages? Just tell me you don't want to talk to me ever again. Anything. Something. Just not nothing. You always told me we'd make it. We'd work through anything that comes our way. You told me to stay with you. So I'm here, but you've gone away. Please just respond. I miss you. I love you. I hate this. Please." I then put my phone in my lap and sang "Stay with Me" to him. I'm not the best, not always in tune, but I felt every word. Then I ended the recording, messaged it to him, and hoped maybe he'd respond before he went to bed.

{
Readers - You can LISTEN to this voicemail by clicking here
}

Eddie walked by the open doorway, stopped, walked backward, and peeked inside. "Jane?"

"Hey." I shrugged. "Nice room here. Fitting for Jane Austen, don't you think?"

He sat beside me and looked at the regency paintings. "A few days ago I heard Mom and Dad talking about your birth and adoption and everything. They didn't know I was listening because I had headphones on, but the song ended and I heard them saying how weird it was that the two of them met over a Jane Austen book in class, and his last name was Austen, but then their first child was named Jane without their input. Dad said it was meant to be. Mom agreed and cried, saying she could never imagine life without you." He rubbed the back of his head. "So, yeah, I don't know what's going on with you and I know all of this is pretty shitty, but today
is
Thanksgiving and I'm thankful you're my sister, no matter how it happened."

I pat his shoulder. "Thanks, Ed. I'm thankful too."

"Good." He slapped his legs and stood. "So can you please come down before you upset Granny?"

We walked downstairs together and I sat down, trying to pretend again. It wasn't my life that upset me. I could get over that. I had a good family and I
was
thankful, regardless of the weirdness of my birth story and those years of my childhood spent wondering where I fit in and who I was. But I wasn't thankful for Alistair's decision to ignore me without closure and I knew what I needed to do.

I needed to fly out to him. As soon as freaking possible.

"How's Alistair?" Mom said over dessert.

"He's good," I said.

"Things are going well with you two?" Granny smirked.

"Yeah," I lied. "Everything is good. We're good."

But Mom knew something was up. She gave me that look.

"I'm going back out sometime this week," I said. "I'm excited."

Mom looked back at her plate, then Dad. She wasn't buying it.

And of course she pulled me aside later and asked me what was going on, but I didn't want anyone to know. Last time Donovan got involved it didn't go well and the surprise party was nice, but overwhelming. I wanted to handle this on my own without everyone trying to step in and write my love story for me. No, I
needed
to figure this out on my own. I needed to show him I still loved him and wouldn't let this stuff come between us.

Another week and still nothing, so I booked a flight to England for the first weekend in December and hired a temp to help Brooke and Han at the shop. It was getting busier and busier especially around Christmas. I didn't realize how many Batman fans existed in Philly, although quite a few people liked the uniqueness of the designs and the store even if they weren't fans.

But I couldn't fully enjoy the success without Alistair to share it with, so I boarded the plane and tried to avoid the nauseating emotions begging my mind to turn around and go back home. When I landed I promised myself I would stop flying so much sometime soon. Not my favorite thing.

I got the rental car I booked, did my best to drive on the right side while also following the map on my phone, and finally made it to his house around 3am his time. I figured if he was sleeping I'd just wait in my car, but first I knocked on the front door. Of course he didn't answer, so I went around to the side and tossed a few pebbles up there. Still nothing.

Back in my car I went. Where I tried to sleep—ha!—until morning. He normally worked Saturday's, leaving around 8am. So I woke at five and set my phone's alarm for 7:30am. When it woke me up I bunched my scarf around my neck and put the hood of my coat over me, then slipped my gloves on and sat on his front step. By 8:32 I gave up peeping through the windows and being a stalker, and walked to his car in the back. Which wasn't there.

But I wasn't giving up. I wasn't going to allow myself to feel or be defeated. Love fights. And that's exactly what I intended to do.

So I walked back around to the front and sat down on the step. The door clicked and opened.

Shoes clacked behind me.

"Can I help you?" someone, a female someone, said.

I stood. "I'm here to see Alistair."

"Who?" She stepped out of the doorway and locked it behind her. "I'm afraid you have the wrong address."

"No, this is his apartment. I mean, flat. He lives here. Who are you? His girlfriend?"

"Darling, I don't like boys like that so that's a bit impossible." She laughed as she rattled her keys while walking by me and down the steps.

I looked back at the door. The bright red door. It was the right address. Unmistakeable door. I turned back to her and walked down the steps.

"Where is he?" I pleaded. "Look, if you're his new thing that's fine, but I need to see him."

"Like I said, wrong address." She stood at the driver's side of her car. "My name is Arabella and I live there." She pulled something out of her purse. "See." She showed me her name above the address, his address, on her mail. "I just moved in a week ago. Maybe this Alistair lived here before then?"

"Maybe." I closed my eyes and breathed in as much air as possible, then released it. "Thank you, Arabella. Sorry to bother you."

She drove off and I stood there, staring at that stupid red door and wondering why he wasn't behind it, then I started to worry. What if he died? What if I would never know? I didn't know his parent's names or addresses. All of his friends lived in London where he spent the second half of his life. And I never met them or learned their last names.

His old band mates!

I shivered as a frigid breeze swept down the street, then looked up their website on my phone as I got into my car. Nothing came up and their old site had an error page. Their Facebook page was gone too. I tried to remember one of their names, but realized I didn't know any of them. I didn't know one person in his life.

"Maybe I don't know him at all," I said to myself. "Maybe he was a creep."

"I don't think so," I responded to myself. "You knew him. You loved him and you knew him."

"But I don't know any of his family or friends."

"Shut up!" I turned the car on. "Whatever side of my brain you are, stop being negative. I'm done. I'm thinking positively no matter what you say."

"But—"

"Nope."

I turned the radio up to ignore my thoughts and of course that
Stay with Me
song came on. I didn't turn the station though. Instead I sang my heart out as loud as possible while driving around aimlessly looking for him.

Too many questions. It was unlike him. Either he was seriously pissed off at me, he found someone else he liked better, or he died. But why would he move?

My heart beat was driving me nuts and my chest felt tight. I pressed down where it hurt and pulled over to catch my breath. Cars passed and I found myself hoping for a ridiculous Nicholas Sparks feeling scene. Anything would be better than whatever I was experiencing now.

I rummaged through my purse for some headache meds in my special, rarely used pocket reserved for pain meds. I pulled out arnica with a note in Autumn's handwriting that said, "Use this instead. If it doesn't work, use the chems." She called over-the-counter drugs "chemical drugs" and soon she just called them "chems." I popped the recommended dosage in and hoped they were more than sugar pills. Then I saw another note in there.

Alistair's handwriting.

Thanks for letting me stay at your flat this week. I had a lovely time, Ms. Austen. Here's a little gift for you. Put it to good use, okay?

It was a gift certificate to Dee's tattoo place. Somehow I never got the note. I guess he wanted me to be surprised, because he never mentioned it or asked about it.

I knew exactly what I wanted. Right above my heart on my chest. Maybe a small one, some pretty decorative border around the words.

Carpe Diem.

Because even if he never spoke to me again, he taught me that. And I'd always remember him for that. I'd never forget the way it felt to be against his body, looking into his eyes between kisses.

I'd never forget him.

Ever.

December passed. January passed. February. March. April.

Then May came.

I said I wouldn't give up, but I did. I tried everything imaginable. Even called his phone from a British number while I was there, so he wouldn't know it was me. But it rang and rang and rang, then went to his generic voicemail. I left a message and said, "If I don't hear from you I'll know you're done. I don't understand and this seems extremely immature, but I know a thing or two about that so I have no room to talk. I'll always remember you. Thank you for our time together. Goodbye, Alistair."

When I hung up I felt bad for being so straight, so I sent another one that said, "I love you and I think I always will. Just like the real Jane Austen, not that I'm not real. They say she never got over him either. The guy she loved. Anyway, I love you. Carpe Diem."

Five months passed since that voicemail though. And he was gone. Out of my life. I told everyone that we broke up. A mutual ending because of the distance. Donovan tried to convince me that he should intervene, but I convinced him otherwise. Autumn and I didn't talk much, but she thought I was still meant for Donovan anyway. Mom seemed sad, but I told her there are plenty more English fish in the sea. I tried to believe it myself, but figured life doesn't always work out the way you want it to. Stories don't always have good endings. Some are tragic, like the real Jane Austen who died alone, penning love stories without living them. But like me, maybe she felt that one, genuine love was enough. She didn't need anyone else. She needed that one. And if she couldn't have him, then no one would do.

That's what I chose to believe, although I hoped maybe I would one day find love again.

Carpe Diem, right?

I touched the tattoo on my chest and looked at the calendar. Almost one year exactly since the day we met.

Alistair left my life, left me, but he never left my heart. In fact, wherever he was ... whatever he was doing ... he still carried a piece of me with him, whether he liked it or not.