Chapter Four
December 2nd, 2018, was quite a memorable day in my life. As I glanced through the memories on my e-calendar, I realized how much I missed my life with Clara.
The door had opened, and Daisy had been there, standing defensively.
“I’m here to see-”
“Clara.” She had curtly said. “She doesn’t want to see you.” She grimaced.
“Daisy, don’t be melodramatic.”
She frowned.
“I-”
“What’s going on, Daisy?” Her voice had come from the living room, cutting me off.
Over Daisy’s shoulder, Clara’s face had appeared pale and subdued.
“He’s here to see you.” Daisy turned to her.
She had fallen entirely quiet and had ambled inside her bedroom.
“How could you be so mean, Jacob?” Daisy said.
“I’m sorry.”
“Say that to her, not me.” She left the door open and walked into the kitchen.
Carefully, I made my way to Clara’s bedroom. The door was not locked. I felt it was a good sign. When I stepped in, she was not shrouded in her duvet; instead, her back was turned to the room, and she was quietly gazing outside the window. It seemed she was prepared for anything that might happen.
“Clara,” I called to her, hoping she’d turn to face me, but she did not. “I’m sorry for acting so foolish, I-”
“It’s good you admit you were foolish.” Her voice came unexpectedly. My mouth fell open, and it took a while before I recovered from her words.
“Well, I’m sorry. Could you please look at me now?”
No response came. After a moment, I walked closer to her and dared to slip my hands around her waist. She did not protest as I had imagined, so I went further to fully hug her.
She sighed.
“You don’t know how much I miss you. You didn’t reply to my texts and hid yourself from me.” My body had warmed against hers.
“Please, I might act foolish sometime in the future, but do not hide yourself from me. I’d rather suffer any other punishment than not see you.“ I confessed.
Slowly, she disengaged from me and turned to face me.
“How did I come to love a silly man like you?” Her eyes started to tear up.
“Oh, Clara,” I drew her in for a kiss.
“I miss you more.” Her tears soaked my shirt when I embraced her.
“I can’t imagine spending Christmas without you, my love.” I kissed her hair.
“What?” She hit my chest with her fist, apparently annoyed. “You can’t imagine spending only Christmas without me?”
“No, no-”
Her eyes had dangerously widened. I got the message.
“I can’t,” I said, pressing her body closer. “Imagine spending my whole life without you. What can I do to stop your tears?” By then, her face was wet with hot tears, as was my shirt.
“I don’t think you can...they just keep coming. I can’t help it.” She cried even more.
“Oh, Clara.”
Bringing her face to mine, I wiped her tears with my thumb.
“Do you miss me that much?” I tried to make light of the situation, hoping it would make her stop tearing up.
“I wanted to come to you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, I-”
“You were angry with me, and it is justifiable, sweetie.”
“I don’t like it when we fight,” she began. “We are apart, and it just breaks me...” Her voice was shaken.
“And I am a fool not to have realized that. I’m very sorry for not coming earlier. I’m sorryI made you wait this long. I’m really sorry, my love.”
She wound her arms around me, tightening the embrace more than before.
“I’m sorry, too.” She breathed against my chest, and then gradually, her tears subsided.
Who could have ever thought that that day was a sort of foreshadowing of what was to come?
I remembered she wouldn’t even look at me. I disgusted her so much that my lips parted to call out to her, but she went right into the house and shut the door.
I raked my fingers through my hair. I was going insane.
I had peered that morning and waited to catch a glimpse of her, but she never came out. I couldn’t fathom why. Even on my way out to work, I intentionally waited behind in my car, discreetly watching for her to step outside, but she never did. Perhaps, I finally concluded she was tired from her travels and still asleep.
At the office, my concentration, no doubt, dwindled with the passing of every second. I wanted to go home; I wanted to see her and try to make amends. So, I told Jackson to keep the files away and cancel or postpone the business meetings for the day.
I drove back home and patiently waited on my porch. I wanted to make sure not to miss her entry into the house. At intervals, I would walk to and fro the porch, and at other times, I would hastily dash inside the house to get what I needed. She wouldn’t appear until I stayed longer inside the house because I was starting to feel cold.
Brisk steps.
Jingling of keys.
I peered out, and there she was, as beautiful as the day. Her bright face was so serene and lovely. I didn’t spend a minute longer inside and carelessly rushed outside.
I found myself wanting to tell her how beautiful she was. I wanted to touch her baby curls with my lips; I wanted to.
But she was not relentless in vanishing as soon as she appeared.
Defeated, I dragged myself indoors. What was I going to do? What could I do? I needed to see her at all costs, to talk to her, and to tell her how sorry I was.
I’d never felt so desperate in my entire life, and I felt pathetic, like a drunk starved of his wine.
The TV was on, and someone was showing both the anchor and a small audience how ratatouille was prepared.
Fortunately, it made me remember how much Clara loved chicken pot pie. She would literally want to have it all the time while we were dating, and I was more than grateful to my mom for having trained me in the art of cooking.
While I prepared the dish, I could only think of the smile I wanted to see on her face. I was the cause of her shift in behavior. I admitted it, and I wanted to remedy it. I didn’t know how to be especially careful with her feelings, but I would try my best at it. It had to be today and not any other day.
While preparing the pie, I also proposed inviting her to the upcoming company anniversary celebration.
Approaching her porch, I could hear my thumping heart. It was as though it was battering my chest. I was indeed nervous and, worse, afraid of rejection. I was extending the olive branch, but it was her choice whether to accept it or not.
The fragrance of the fresh flowers that aligned her porch seemed to put me at ease. I combed my hair back and adjusted the collar of my shirt. Suddenly, before I could ring the doorbell, it all struck me as a déja vu; it was all coming back to me, the past.
I can remember, just like yesterday, the first time we met. Daisy had perfected a meet-cute for us, but we had been so panicky that we went out for drinks.
That past that held the freshest nerves of love, when she had hiccups, and my palms couldn’t just stop sweating out my anxiety. That time, when we had our first kiss, I could have sworn that I would never have anything to do with the family business or plans for the company to become the next big thing in California.
I rang the doorbell. No response came. I rang it again, and for a long while, it seemed that I was already being rejected by the tinkling of the doorbell.