Coming Home to You (21 page)

I hope you’re safe, Neil. I hope you’re well and happy. And I hope that one day, I’ll get to meet you face to face.

Zoë

There were letters I wrote to the Neil I’d invented in my journal that never got sent, the ones that were more soul-bearing and introspective, and there were the ones that were a little more flippant and casually informative. This was one of the former.

I was sitting on the couch in the living room with my journal, staring at the page I’d just filled with words. I marveled sometimes at how easy it was to express my thoughts when I knew no one was actually going to be reading them.

I tapped my pen against my lips, thoughts of Ray and Neil and all the information I’d been given swirling around in my head like leaves in the wind. How did people manage to complicate their lives so much? How did we cause each other so much pain without giving it a second thought?

I shook my head sadly. So many decisions we made on a daily basis had so many repercussions that we never realized.

My phone started singing, and I reached to retrieve it from the coffee table.

“’Lo,” I said absently.

“Hey, you,” Kate said on the other end.

“Oh, hey, Kate. I’m glad to hear your voice.” I closed my notebook and put it on the floor next to the couch.

“So Ray told me about your trip to the realtor’s office today. Sounds like it was
interesting
.”

“That’s an understatement,” I snorted.

“Well, I was trying to be good,” she laughed.

“Did he tell you about
everything
?”

“
Everything
as in the whole story of Sara and Neil?” she asked. “Because the answer to that question would be yes.”

“It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“And sad. Very, very sad.”

“Why is it that, when you’re little no one ever tells you that life can be so…
insane
? And painful?” I asked her, not really expecting an answer.

“I think you’re forgetting about all the good things, Zoë. What about those? Those are what makes life bearable. And all those terrible things that happen—the stupid things that we do to ourselves and the hurtful things that other people do to us—they’re all part of what make us who we are. Remember that.” She sighed, sounding tired. “Don’t let all the negative things block out everything that’s positive. Learn from the mistakes and make them count for something. That’s all you can do sometimes, you know?”

“Are you taking lessons from my mother?” I asked.

Kate laughed. “No, but maybe I should. She does always seem to know what to say, doesn’t she?”

“It’s uncanny,” I replied, suddenly realizing how much I missed her, how desperate I was to get her advice on a few things. For now, though, it was time to go to bed.

“I think we should both go get some sleep, Kate, what do you think?” I asked after a moment.

“I second that emotion,” she said. “Night, night, my friend.”

“Sweet dreams.”

Chapter 20

“I’m so glad you finally called,” Greg said, smiling his charming toothpaste ad smile at me from across the table.

I smiled back, but I felt a little like I really didn’t know where to look. I was beginning to think I’d made a mistake, since I was so self-conscious that I couldn’t meet his gaze for more than a few seconds at a time.

“So what do you think of this place?” he asked, carefully selecting a small piece of bread from the basket on the table between us.

I looked around, grateful for the distraction.

“It’s fabulous,” I said enthusiastically.

A little
too
enthusiastically, I realized once I’d said it.

It was true, though. The restaurant Greg had chosen for our date was one of the best in the city, a place I’d passed many times but never been able to afford. The plates were shiny white porcelain squares that served as a canvas for the culinary masterpieces the chefs created every time someone ordered. The linens were crisp and clean, the décor simple but elegant, the menu extremely select.

In other words, not quite my bag. I tended to be more drawn to restaurants where the menu had actual numbers for prices and wasn’t printed on embossed card-stock.

I suspected, though, that this was the sort of venue Greg had accustomed himself to. One that he might have even considered his due, since he was, after all, so important.

I looked down at my hands, resting lightly in my lap, hoping I might find some inspiration for conversation there.

“How long have you worked at Sloane and Meade?” Greg asked, buttering his bread with precise movements.

“Oh, I think about four years now. They actually bought out a company that I’d worked for before that, and when the company transitioned, Sloane and Meade kept most of the employees. Not that there were that many of us,” I said with a shrug, reaching for my water goblet.

Time for a fresh topic, I thought. I could have told him about the new store I was opening, but I wasn’t sure whether I would be met with support or condescension. Something told me he would have viewed my foray into the world of entrepreneurialism as nothing compared to his own. I was merely hawking lipstick—he was fixing faces and bodies and helping them get that much closer to perfection.

“What made you decide to set up a practice out here, Greg?” I sipped daintily from my goblet of water.

“Well, I got tired of all the drama of living in a big city; and Ursula’s always talking the place up,” he said, tipping his head just so—a move meant to maximize his best features under the glow of the flickering candlelight. “It seemed to be a good idea, since I needed a change of pace and a change of scenery,” he added with yet another smile. That Greg, he was just full of smiles.

Smiles and bullshit, I thought, feeling my eyes narrow.

“How is Ursula lately?” I asked, blinking in an effort to get my eyes back to their normal size. “I’ve been meaning to call her and see how things are going, but things have been a little bit hectic…” I trailed off, not wanting to lie any more than I already had.

Truthfully, I hadn’t given a thought to calling Ursula since the last time I’d seen her. We weren’t friends, and we certainly didn’t run in the same social circles. The fact that she’d wanted to set me up with her cousin had been a total deviation from her character, one which I still didn’t understand.

“She’s great, actually,” Greg replied. “She always falls on her feet, that one. I think she’d landed a job with a PR firm by nine o’clock the next morning,” he said with a small laugh.

I shook my head in awe. “She’s definitely driven, I’ll give her that.”

“It runs in the family.”

“Oh?” I prompted.

I knew this was just a hook, Greg’s way of getting me to ask more about his practice. Not to mention a terribly transparent method of regaling me with all the wonderful attributes that melded into the perfect package of a man sitting across the table from me in this very expensive restaurant. Truth be told, though, I really didn’t want to know.

The night was young, the date was just getting its legs under it, and our entrées hadn’t even arrived. But I already knew that this was going nowhere. I was sorely tempted to just throw my linen napkin on the table, thank him for the water, and leave. I wondered fleetingly how he would handle it. Would he take it as an affront and act wounded, or would he casually play it off?

Not that I would actually have the nerve to do it, but it certainly was an interesting scenario. Hell, he’d probably angle it into a sympathy play for getting our waitress into bed.

“I graduated at the top of my class in med school,” Greg said matter-of-factly. “Two years
early
. By the time I was ready to go into practice, I had five of the top area dermatologists
begging
me to work for them.” He flashed a proud grin.

“Wow. That’s quite impressive,” I said, feeling as though I was reading words from a teleprompter.

Next, there would be a great big flashing Applause sign. This was going downhill even faster than I’d anticipated.

“Will you excuse me?” I asked, rising from my chair. “I need to use the ladies’ room.” I picked up my clutch from its resting place on the table and walked toward the bathroom.

I might have been a bit abrupt in my departure, but I needed air. I felt a little like I was being suffocated. I pushed through the door in the ladies’ room, grateful to find it completely empty of anyone else. My heels sounded loud as I crossed the tile floor to enter the handicapped stall, closing and locking the door with a sigh.

Was I stuck?

I felt stuck. I leaned against the door and closed my eyes, wondering how to get out of this.

Maybe I was being ungenerous.

Greg was perfectly nice and very handsome. He was also very smart and extremely successful. The man may have been perfect on paper, but he seemed to have no more substance than cotton candy. He was amazingly superficial and transparent.

This wasn’t simply a case of unattainable expectations, either.

Admittedly, no one was Paul. No one was ever going to
be
Paul, and I was fully aware of that.

On the conscious level, at least. Subconsciously, though, I knew I was going to have to learn not to measure every man I met against Paul. After all, even Paul had not been without his faults.

I took a deep breath and walked over to the sink, checking my reflection in the mirror. I looked alright, I thought. Not quite as stunning as I’d hoped, but not terrible, either.

My hair was down around my face, my curls lending a little bit of bounce to my otherwise streamline silhouette. The dress I was wearing didn’t exactly disguise the fact that I was flat chested, but it was still flattering and very stylish. It was a rich emerald green that intensified the color of my eyes and complemented my complexion, backless with a gathered halter-top neckline tied by satin ribbons. The drop-waist gave the dress a retro feel, and the hemline skimmed my legs just above the knee. My shoes were patent leather t-strap heels that matched the eggplant accents of the clutch I was carrying.

It was, inarguably, a fantastic ensemble. And on any other occasion, I might have enjoyed it enough to feel pretty.

But right now, I just felt lonely.

I shook my head at how silly I was being and unlocked the stall, walked resolutely to the door of the bathroom to make my way back to the table and back to my date. It was still early, and I owed Greg a chance. Maybe things would take a positive turn. People could always surprise you, so confining them to your own expectations wasn’t fair.

“Oh, good, you’re back,” Greg said as I approached the table. “I was beginning to think maybe you’d crawled out the bathroom window.”

I smiled, settling back into my seat.

If he only knew.

“You won’t go on another date with him, will you?” Mom asked.

I snorted. “Mom, I’m not even sure that he would ask me on another one. But no. I don’t think that I could survive such a tedious evening again.” I smiled, shaking my head at the memory.

After I’d come back from the bathroom, Greg continued to entertain himself with tales of people he’d met in his practice in New York; different celebrities he’d run across, both inside and outside his office walls; travels to glamorous locales that I’d only dreamed of being able to afford.

All of it made me wonder why, despite his claim that he was tired of the big city scene, he would ever want to leave such a prestigious life.

As I watched him swill his pinot noir and cut precise bites of foie gras, I’d mused that he might have left New York because he’d used up the well of women there who didn’t see straight through his narcissism. It was amazing, actually, how much he and Ursula reminded me of each other. They were two peas in a pod, and I wondered if maybe their whole family was like this.

When the dishes had been cleared and the check paid, he’d escorted me to my car—the first true show of chivalry all night. Fortunately, he hadn’t suggested lengthening the evening in any way, so I had been able to make a clean escape after thanking him for the lovely dinner.

The digital clock on my dashboard had read 8:45 p.m.

By the time I’d closed the door behind me and dropped my keys on the coffee table at home, it was 9:15, and I could feel my stomach begin to rumble. It was my own fault, of course, but the pretentious menu had held little appeal, and I’d basically been forced to stick to a ten dollar side salad. Plain, no dressing, no cheese, just basic field greens. Had there been any possibility of it, I would have had grilled chicken on my salad, but chicken seemed much too provincial for the attentions of the chefs in the restaurant. I’d felt like a complete fish out of water as I sat, combing the menu for something that seemed even slightly familiar.

Greg seemed pleased at my selection, delighted that his date didn’t eat very much. He was probably the type that started making snide comments about weight if he noticed you watching the dessert cart roll past.

I hadn’t even bothered to take off my shoes before I’d walked into the kitchen, wondering what I had on hand to satisfy the gnawing feeling emanating from my stomach. I had been halfway through a huge bowl of Fruit Loops when the phone rang.

“Well, I know this may not mean much; but I’m proud of you for going, Zoë. I know that it really was a big step for you,” Mom said, her enthusiasm audible in her voice. “And even though it might not have been the best date, it’s still moving in the right direction.”

“How is going on a crappy date moving in the right direction?” I asked dubiously.

“You know what I mean, you silly girl!”

“You’re right, I do,” I said around a mouthful of cereal. I narrowed my eyes, struck by a sudden thought. “Not that I’m not thrilled at the chance to talk and all—but what are you doing, calling at this time of night? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

My parents were an hour ahead and usually had the lights out by now. It was unusual for Mom to be up this late, much less making a phone call.

“Yes, I know, I know. But I was having trouble sleeping, and I was missing my girl.” She sounded almost wistful, and I wondered if she really was telling me everything.