Apart at the Seams (31 page)

“Dan, we've only known each other for a few weeks. Don't you think this is kind of crazy?”

“Two months,” he corrected. “If it'll make you feel better, we can have a long engagement. We could get married at Christmas.”

“Christmas! That's only four months away!”

“Right. Which means we'll have known each other for three times as long as we do now.”

He reached for my hand. “Ivy, I know you're scared. I know that you've been burned before; we both have. But that was a long time ago. We were so young that we didn't really know what we were getting ourselves into. But we do now. We're old enough to know what love looks like and acts like and that even when you are in love, marriage is hard and that you've got to work at it. We know that even when you do that, there are no guarantees. Marriage is a risk. But it's a risk I'm willing to take, Ivy. Because I'm old enough now to know what I want, and it's you.”

Dan swung his legs over the picnic bench, got to his feet, and walked around to my side of the table. I twisted my body to the side, watching as he sank down on one knee and took both my hands in his.

“Ivy, I want to spend the rest of my life getting to know you, but even if I spent the next fifty years doing that, I wouldn't be any more sure than I am right this second. You are the woman for me, the only woman I do love and will love for the rest of my life. We can wait for the wedding if that's what you want. But please, say yes. Say that you'll marry me.”

There it was again, the look of love that beamed straight into my heart, the look I beamed right back to him, the one that brought tears of happiness to my eyes and stole my breath. And my reason. But not for long.

Was this crazy? Maybe. But I knew what I wanted now, and the truth of it was, I
had
wanted it almost from the moment Mandy blew that stupid whistle and Dan refused to budge from my table. I hadn't been willing to admit it before, not even to myself, but that was the moment I fell in love with him. And as long as I was being honest with myself . . .

“Yes, Dan,” I whispered. “Oh, yes! I've never wanted anything more in my life.”

A
fter my talk with Philippa, I decided to go back to the city a day earlier than I'd planned. If Brian wouldn't take my calls, I'd just have to talk to him in person. I got up early the next morning and drove to Manhattan. When I pulled into the garage, Marcus, the parking attendant, smiled and said, “Hey! Mrs. Oliver! Good to see you. Where've you been all these weeks?”

“Good to see you too, Marcus. I spent the summer in Connecticut.”

“That's nice. Pretty up there, with the trees and all. Cooler too.” He shook his head and pulled at his collar. “Jeez, but it's been hot.”

I had a similar conversation with Henry, the doorman.

“Well, I'm glad you're back, Mrs. Oliver.”

“Thanks, Henry,” I said, walking through the open door.

Henry frowned. “Um . . . Mrs. Oliver? Are you thinking about going to your apartment?”

“Yes,” I answered, surprised by his question. “I'm looking for Mr. Oliver.”

“He left about half an hour ago.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No, ma'am. But I put a couple of big suitcases in the trunk of his rental car.”

My heart sank. Brian always used big suitcases if he was going to be gone longer than a few days. Two suitcases could mean he'd be gone anywhere from a couple of weeks to a couple of months. I'd missed him and there was no telling when he'd be back. Or if he'd be back.

“I see. Well, I'll just go upstairs and wait for him.”

“Oh, you can't do that, Mrs. Oliver!” Henry ducked his head, embarrassed. “I mean, you can. It's still your apartment, but there's a Realtor up there. Actually, it's your friend, Ms. Micelli.”

“Lanie is upstairs?”

“Yeah. She's showing the apartment. Took a young couple up there right after Mr. Oliver left. Gee, I'm really sorry to see you go. You and Mr. Oliver are two of my favorite residents. Nicest couple in the building.”

“Thanks, Henry.”

I went into the lobby and stood awkwardly in front of the elevators, trying to decide if I should go upstairs and go home, or wait down here until these intruders, and my best friend, vacated the premises. I knew Lanie was just trying to do her job, but it seemed a little macabre to me, like proposing to a widow during her husband's funeral.

After three minutes of loitering and indecision, I decided to go upstairs. After all, it was still my apartment. At least for now.

I pressed the up button and waited for the doors to open. When they did, Lanie was inside, flanked by a young couple in their early thirties. The woman looked very pregnant and very excited. Her husband looked excited too.

“It's perfect! I love everything about it!” she gushed as they stepped outside.

Lanie gave me a quick wink as she passed by with her clients. The elevator doors closed, and the car left without me.

“Three bedrooms!” the mother-to-be exclaimed. “Three! We'll have a separate room for the baby plus a guest room. My mother will be able to come from Michigan to visit!”

The husband pretended to frown. “Hmm . . . maybe we'd better rethink this.”

“Very funny,” his wife said, then turned back to Lanie. “So do you think they'll be willing to close quickly? I really want to move in before the baby is born.”

“With the right offer,” Lanie said confidently, “anything is possible. Matt? Are you as excited as Amy is? Ready to make an offer?”

“Definitely,” he said, putting his arm around his bride. “Amy's right. It'll be perfect for us.”

“Great!” Lanie enthused. “I've got to take a short meeting. You two go grab some lunch, then meet me back at the office.” Lanie looked at her diamond-encrusted wristwatch. “Let's say one fifteen. Don't forget to bring your checkbook.”

After escorting the young couple out of the building, Lanie turned around. “Did you see that? I just sold your apartment, probably for full price. Yes. I am
that
good!”

Grinning, she walked toward me with open arms. “Darling! It's so good to see you!” she exclaimed, giving me a hug. “You've lost weight, haven't you? You look great! See? There
is
an upside to divorce. But I thought you weren't coming back until tomorrow. I cleared my whole day so I could drive up and help you close the house. You didn't do it all by yourself, did you?”

“No, I'm putting that off for a couple of days. I came home to talk to Brian.”

The bow of Lanie's lips flattened into a disapproving line. “Gayla. Darling.
Don't
debase yourself by trying to beg him. You've got to face facts. Your apartment just sold. It's over; Brian doesn't want you anymore. If you try to chase after him, you'll just end up looking pathetic.”

“Thank you, Lanie, for that reminder.”

“Hey!” she said, raising her hands. “Don't get mad at me. I'm on your side.”

“Yeah? Well, sometimes you make it kind of hard to remember that.”

Lanie scowled, her expression a mixture of anger and confusion. “That's not fair. What the hell is wrong with you anyway? I'm just trying to help.”

“Are you? Then start by being a little more supportive. Not treating me like an idiot would be good too.”

I didn't even mention the part about not being quite so gleeful about selling my home out from under me. She wouldn't have understood what I was talking about.

“I didn't come down here to chase after Brian,” I said. “It's too late to salvage things; I know that. But I really wanted to talk to him before the lawyers start piling on and things get ugly. I wanted to tell him that I forgive him, once and for all and completely. And I wanted to ask him to forgive me for suspecting him even before I had proof.”

“You can
not
be serious.” Lanie threw out her hands in exasperation. “Did you talk to Libby about this? You can't have that conversation with Brian, Gayla. Not now. Trust me; that's the kind of thing he'll end up using against you. I know you're not over him yet, but you've got to start thinking of Brian as the enemy.”

“Brian was
never
my enemy,” I spat. “Divorce or no divorce, he never will be.”

She rolled her eyes. “Okay, fine. He's not your enemy. And if you bare your soul to him, he won't think of using that against you. Because men
never
do that,” she said in a drippingly sarcastic tone. “If you do this,” she said, pointing a finger at my face, “you are going to end up looking like a fool.”

“Maybe. And if that's true, so be it. But I'm not going to spend the rest of
my
life steeped in bitterness and anger, Lanie.”

She pointed her finger at me again, stabbing it directly toward the bridge of my nose. “Stop it. I know you're upset, but I've had just about enough. I am
not
bitter—”

I talked right over her, ignoring her commentary. I really didn't care about Lanie's wounded pride, not at that moment. “And let me tell you something else, Lanie. If there was ever a man worth making a fool of yourself over, then Brian is that man.”

“You're an idiot,” she spat. “You always were. Even back in college. And I was an idiot for ever taking you on and trying to make something of you. Waste of time. Well,” she said in a clipped tone, “I've learned my lesson. I'm done here, Gayla. Good-bye. And good luck.”

She turned around and walked away, her heels echoing against the lobby's marble floors as she strode toward the glass doors. “You're going to need it,” she called over her shoulder. “Let's just see how you do without any friends to help you.”

Henry, who was standing out on the street, opened the door. Lanie marched through it and took a right turn down the sidewalk.

As I watched her disappear from sight, I was filled with relief but also with regret. I had known Lanie a long time, even longer than Brian. There was no way I wouldn't miss her, but she was wrong about me. I wouldn't be without friends. For the first time in my life, I understood what real friendship looked like.

 

Though it was still early afternoon, I decided not to drive back to New Bern that day. I'd sleep in my apartment that night. Who knew how many more opportunities I'd have to do so?

It was funny to be back home after so many weeks away. Everything was almost exactly as I'd left it. It felt like an exhibition in a museum dedicated to the life I used to live.

My desk was just as disorganized and messy as it had been on the day I'd fled the apartment in an anguished panic with nothing besides my keys, not realizing I'd be gone for nearly three months. In the bedroom, I found the clothes I'd folded on the morning of my departure still sitting on top of the dresser, waiting to be put away. The novel I'd been reading was still sitting on the nightstand, a dog-eared fold marking the place I'd left off, a pair of purple-rimmed reading glasses lying beside it.

Apparently it hadn't occurred to Brian, and obviously it hadn't stood in the way of incurring the sale, but if I'd been home and trying to show the apartment, there would have been vases of fresh flowers on the tables and a bowl of fruit on the kitchen counter. Every surface would have been cleared of clutter and the least indication that actual human beings occupied this space. I'd have tried to make it look like the world people imagine they'd like to inhabit, instead of the one they actually did.

Instead, the rooms looked completely authentic, almost painfully so. But walking through them didn't upset me as much as I had supposed it might. There were things that brought a smile to my face or made me feel wistful, pictures and little artifacts of our family history, items that I would want to take with me when I left. But I didn't feel as connected to the space as I once had. They were just rooms now, and the memories I had created there, the good and bad, would be boxed up and brought with me when I departed, the same way I would bring along the furniture and photos and bed linens.

This wasn't home to me, I realized. Not anymore. My heart belonged to a more northern latitude now. How odd.

I went back into the bedroom to put away the stack of folded clothing. As I opened the drawer, I heard a noise coming from the living room.

“Brian?” I called. “Is that you?”

I walked through the bedroom door and met him coming down the hallway. Seeing my face, he did a double take.

“Gayla? What are you doing here?”

“I came to see you. There was something I wanted to tell you, but Henry said you'd left, carrying a couple of suitcases. Guess you're planning on being gone for a while.” I swallowed and tried to force a smile. There was no point in giving in to tears.

“Well, yes. I had to run some errands, and then I was going to head out of town, but before I got to the bridge, I thought of one more place where I might have left my phone, so I decided to come back and take another look.”

“Your phone?”

“I lost it a couple of days ago, looked everywhere for it. Or so I thought. Turns out it was right where I left it: in the freezer.” He pulled his phone from his pants pocket. Sure enough, it was coated with a glaze of white and starting to drip. “I suspect it's a goner,” he said.

Even in these circumstances, it was impossible to keep from chuckling a little. I mean, honestly. Who leaves their phone in the freezer?

“Brian, how did you ever think to . . . You know what? Never mind,” I said, realizing there were more important questions on my mind. “Did you get any of my phone messages?”

“I did, a couple of them. I'm sorry, Gayla. I should have called you back. I intended to, but there were some things I needed to attend to before I was ready to do that. As a matter of fact, I was on my way to New Bern when I remembered the phone and the freezer. I thought we should sit down and talk. It isn't the sort of thing you discuss on the phone.”

He had planned to come up and see me face-to-face? That was decent of him.

“I know,” I said. “You've listed the apartment and you need my signature on the paperwork. I think it sold already. The couple Lanie brought over loved it. They're probably in her office right now, writing up an offer.”

“Really?” he asked, looking a bit shocked. “That was fast.”

I nodded. “They're pushing for a quick occupancy. I'd planned on staying here for a few weeks to sort myself out, but maybe I'll have to check into a hotel. Unless I'm lucky enough to find a perfect apartment quickly. Doesn't seem likely, though. I just fired my Realtor. Or maybe she fired me. I'm not sure. It doesn't matter. . . .”

Brian shook his head back and forth violently, as if he was trying to clear water from his ears. “I'm sorry, but . . . Gayla . . . what are you talking about?”

“About Lanie.” I sighed. “We had a falling-out. I think the damage is beyond repair.”

Brian screwed his eyes shut and held up his hand, as if trying to block out the sound of my voice. “No! Not that. I don't give a damn about Lanie. What was it you were saying about finding a new apartment?”

“Just that I'll need to do it soon. I've got to live someplace after the divorce.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Do you think I'm filing for divorce?”

“Well, yes. Aren't you?”

“No. I don't want a divorce.”

My throat felt so tight that, for a moment, it was hard to speak. I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I never did. Not really.”

Brian took in a breath and let it out again, then smiled. “Good. I'm glad.”

He opened his arms, and I fell into them. He held me tight, smoothing his hand over my hair as I blinked back tears of relief and happiness.

“But why were you coming to New Bern to see me?” I asked once I'd gotten hold of myself. “What was so important that you couldn't discuss it on the phone?”