From Paris to Forever (The Finding Forever #1)

ONE

I leaned close to the mirror, steadying my hand for a final coat of mascara.

Tonight was my favorite night of the year.

It was the Annual Art Auction supporting local art programs at the High Line.

I’d been excited for this night for six weeks, even with a few hiccups along the way.

Hiccups are manageable.

No matter how organized I am or how much I plan, shit always happens.

Back up plans on top of back up plans help to keep the anxiety and overwhelm to a minimum.

Nobody needs to see that, and I want to avoid those moments at all costs.

They are ugly, like a cave troll—the Tolkien or Harry Potter variety.

No thank you. This night is dedicated to beautiful things. This wasn’t the kind of event where ugly gets to show up, they are on the Hard NO list.

This night is for celebrating wonderful art created by kids of all ages across the NYC public schools and some up and coming local artists.

The evening is full is rainbows and unicorns, not ugly cave trolls or any problems.

I would not allow any of those variations of myself to attend, make an appearance, have a cameo or be the star.

Tonight, that Charlie is locked away and compartmentalized.

We can deal with that in a much later therapy session.

This was an event I looked forward to, not just for the cause, but for the chance to network with some of the most influential people in the city.

For now, the most difficult decision to make is which shoes to wear. Shoes, my humble (not so humble) opinion, are the best part of any outfit.

I have to make the right choice. I need a jury. My midnight blue gown is stunning with spaghetti straps, a deep V in the front, and no back.

It barely skims to floor and is adorned with tiny sequins that shimmer like twinkling stars. The dress is a statement itself, but shoes will complete it.

Shoe option one is a classic all silver Tony Bianco heel and makes complete sense. It doesn’t detract or distract from this dress.

However, option two is Jimmy Choo. Not only that, it’s a metallic sandal. My Ferragamo Ines Stiletto silver sandals whisper from the closet, too. Ugh, that stiletto heel, opened toes, but not for tonight. Right? I rescued them at Nordstrom Rack. It was the humane things to do.

I grab my phone, snap a picture of the options and text Lena. I need her help. I’m in too deep to make a rational decision.

Me: Which shoes? I’m feeling option 3. Opinions?

Lena: Pedi looks amazing Sick invite!

Lena: Open toes in March- bold and YES!!!

After taking and deleting a dozen different angles, I snap a photo I actually like and send it to Lena.

Ferragamo Ines, you made the cut tonight.

Don’t let me down.

I slip both heels on and slowly maneuvering my left foot on the bench in front of our bed, barely managing to balance or importantly not fall over, small victories tonight.

Luckily, these beauties are outdoor virgins—never exposed to wild—they don’t leave a trace on the white ottoman.

The little strap is hard to tighten with nails, but I finally get the heel fitted perfectly.

My phone dings. I reach over to the bed to read the text.

Lena: Damn, look at you! Marry me

Lena: Get here already.

I can’t help but laugh at her. Lena always knows how to make me feel amazing. On with the final touch, a deep red lipstick and done. Perfect. Not perfect, earrings. I barely hear the front door creak open, but Michael’s home. That’s unexpected. I pause seeing Michael walk into the doorway of our room.

“Hey,”

I called out. “I’m almost ready. Just need to put on my earrings.”

He was still in his work clothes, his tie slightly askew. He looked disheveled, like he’d run his hand through his hair a hundred times. An unusual look for him. Lena liked to comment on how much he looked like the guy from Supernatural. Not the one from the Gilmore Girls, but the other one. Dean. That’s his name. Dean Winchester. It’s weird that his brother, not-Dean, was Dean on the Gilmore Girls. I digress.

Michael, never Mike, seemed like the kind of guy that grew up playing baseball and enjoyed season tickets at the Yankee Stadium (with actually good seats, not the nosebleeds). He never had to pick between a hotdog or a pretzel, because his dad always bought both. That was his vibe. To be fair, that wasn’t Michale’s childhood. He played lacrosse while attending private schools. His parents were busy but I doubt he heard the word no often. Still probably doesn’t. Or if he hears the word no, it’s ignored, like it’s just the starting point of a discussion. An obstacle.

“You look stunning,”

he commented as his eyes traced my body.

He shifted oddly, almost uncomfortable in his own skin. My first thought was he had a bad day a work. We all experienced those.

I smile at him with a little worry, “Thank you. You okay?”

There it was. I was right. Michael put his hands in his pockets and pulled them right back out. He looked like he might be itchy. His body language screamed that everything was off.

“Charlie, we need to talk,”

he cups his neck with his right hand and put the left on his chest.

I froze, the earring halfway in my ear. “What’s wrong?”

He breathed heavily, avoiding my gaze. “We need to talk. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and I don’t think it’s fair to keep dragging it out.”

A knot instantly formed in my stomach. “Michael, what are you talking about? What’s going on? Can we talk about this later or in the ride over? I need to leave now. I should have left fifteen minutes ago. I couldn’t decide on heels.”

I pointed down to the heels while twirling my ankle. They looked pretty damn great sparkling as they caught the light.

He finally met my eyes, his expression pained. He looks physically sick. “We can’t be together anymore.

The other earring slipped from my fingers, falling to the carpet with a soft thud. “What? You’re breaking up with me? Now? Are you fucking kidding me!”

Heat reached my cheeks, tingling. My chest tightened making it difficult to force air into my lungs. I didn’t know if I was angry, confused, or sad.

He nodded, his face etched with guilt. “I’m sorry, Charlie. I know the timing is terrible, but I can’t keep pretending everything is okay. It’s not okay.”

Something shifted inside me. I knew I was supposed to start crying or beg him to stay, but that wasn’t what was happening. This emotion was sadness, maybe a kind of being crushed, but not the kind Michael was expecting. The tension in my chest kept building, warming my body. My heart pulsed in my chest like it was trying to escape. The heat twisted down my arms. The back of my neck tingled and little white flecks raced across my vision. Was I going to pass out? I slowly took in enough air to subdue this panic. I was wrong though. I felt anger, betrayal and wrath. Not sadness.

“What the actual fuck!!! You couldn’t wait until tomorrow? This is a huge event for me, Michael!”

He rubbed his hand across his forehead, looking helpless, sweating. I can’t remember another time seeing him this frazzled.

“I didn’t want to ruin your night, but I couldn’t keep this from you any longer. I’ve been feeling this way for months. I didn’t want it to happen at the event or in public. I wanted it to be private.”

My mind raced, trying to process his words. Months? How had I missed this? “I know you too damn well. You wanted to control the situation. This is damage control. Nobody can see what is happening if it’s done in private. Right? Tell me I am wrong? Fucking tell me!”

He sighed. “I’ve been avoiding it, hoping things would get better. But they haven’t. I’ve felt disconnected, like we’re on different paths.”

He paused and held his breath for too long before continuing, “There’s someone else. I don’t want you to be blindsided if you heard it from someone else. I didn’t want to embarrass you. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. You’re always busy and I didn’t know how to tell you.”

I swallowed hard, fighting back tears. Hurt. I felt hurt. “We are BOTH always busy. So you just decided to drop this bombshell on me right before the most important event of the year to me? I love this night. I feel great about this event. It’s special. You’re so selfish!”

“Why aren’t you more upset?”

Michael questioned.

“Really? That’s what you’re going to ask me? Why I’m not falling apart, crying, or maybe begging you to stay. Make empty promises on how I will change. No fucking way!! I am not perfect. I never claimed perfection, but I didn’t do anything to deserve this. This is YOU thing. You fucked up, not me. I’m not crying over that.”

He looked down, now unable to meet my gaze. Truth fucking hurts! “You didn’t do much to prevent it, either. You’re here, but you’re not.”

Looking at him confused by his statement, but also understanding it, I wasn’t sure if I should be angry at him or myself. I firmly believe that the success of any relationship is the responsibility of all parties involved. I didn’t check in. I wasn’t present. Those are all truths.

Always uncomfortable with the silence, Michael filled the void, “I’m sorry, Charlie. I really am. I didn’t plan on it going this way.”

Anger bubbled up, mingling with the hurt. “You know what? It’s fine. If you’re checked out, I won’t beg. If there’s someone else, you’ve made your decision. Let’s not waste any time with the bullshit. It’s unnecessary.”

Michael hesitated for a moment, then accepting my coldness nodded. “I’ll pack some things and stay at a hotel tonight. We can talk more tomorrow.”

Not meaning to be so snappy, “We don’t need to talk more. I’ll be gone by tomorrow at noon.”

I turned my back to him making sure to communicate I was done discussing this.

There was literally no fight in either of us. When did that happen? How did I miss it? I didn’t chance looking back, not wanting him to see my eyes as the held on to the tears I refused to let roll down my cheeks. Not tonight. This face was going to remain stone cold and flawless. No cave trolls!

I heard him leave the room, the sound of his footsteps retreating down the hall. It was only a few minutes later, the front door closed with a soft click.

Standing there I watched my reflection in the mirror.

The woman looking back at me was dressed for a glamorous night out, but the haunting gaze of my eyes told a different story.

I committed to locking anything else away tonight.

I took a deep breath, willing myself to stay composed.

I wasn’t giving anyone the power to break me. It definitely wasn’t going to be ruined over a break up. This isn’t middle school.

I pinched my cheeks, took a few more calming breaths, and adjusted my boobs to showcase they were enjoying their glory years.

I found my lost earring on the floor and put it in.

With one last glance in the mirror, I grabbed my Versace La Medusa crystal envelope clutch, a Christmas gift from Michael’s mom, and headed out the door.

Tonight, I’d lock those emotions away and focus on celebrating.

This night was mine.

This night is more important than a boyfriend would ever be. It sounds like I just boarded the bitter bus, in fact, I stepped on it with only one foot. I promise to get off at the next stop! I send a quick text to Lena telling her I’m en route.

Me: In Uber—7 minutes out!