Chapter Twenty-Five – Verity #2
The front door jangles a few times before the lock clicks and Hannah slinks in.
“Ugh, I hate when men set early dates. Like, do they not understand that I can’t just teleport myself after work? I have to come all the way home, get ready, and then head right back out again. And they always pick places far away from where we live, which just tacks on more time.”
She makes the same complaint every week without fail. If it were up to Hannah, we would be living more midtown or even downtown, but because of my budget, we’d been stuck picking a place way uptown, away from the hustle and bustle.
“Who’s tonight?”
“Vince. Works as a consultant, is supposedly six three, and has a pic of himself cooking shirtless on a yacht.”
“Oh, a new one.”
“Mhm, we matched on Monday. Tomorrow night is the third date with James.”
“That’s the one who looks like a young Shemar Moore and took you to that fancy new rooftop bar, right?”
“Correct.” She kicks off her oxfords and dumps her Goyard on the dining table.
“You have packages on the couch.”
“Ooh, yay.”
I pop my food in the microwave and then twist around, watching her rip into the bubble mailers with startling ferocity.
“What’d you get?”
“This new transfer-proof lip gloss. Bridget Vaughn posted about it and—Oh. That reminds me. You busy tomorrow night?”
“Uh, no?”
“Great. I have a gift.” She slides back over to her bag and pulls out a rectangular envelope, holding it out to me.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.” She’s trying to contain her smile, but the apples of her cheeks round and create those little crinkles around her excited eyes.
I peel the envelope open and pluck out the paper inside. My heart leaps when I realize it’s a ticket to one of my favorite ballets of all time.
“Shut up. Han. Swan Lake? I’ve been dying to go.”
“I know.”
“This is for me?”
“Sure is. My boss had a spare ticket up for grabs, so I jumped on it. Which wasn’t that hard because all the dude-bros I work with weren’t interested.”
“Holy crap, this seat is amazing. Are you sure you don’t want to go?”
“And skip out on banging James? I appreciate the ballet, Vee, but I appreciate that man’s dick more.”
“Thank you.” I wrap her in a quick hug before going back to admiring the shiny ticket. “I needed this.”
Since breaking up with Cullen, I’ve had little motivation to try going on new dates. Any time I opened a dating app, I just kept swiping left because none of the men smiled the way he does.
Which means I spent last weekend cooped up in the apartment doing nothing while hearing the busy city buzz around me. All my friends were preoccupied with their own dates or out of town, and that just made me feel even lonelier because my solidarity was a result of my own choices.
I’ve been silently dreading another weekend on my own, but this changes everything.
I will get myself all dressed up, almost like a little me date, and enjoy the ballet. Maybe I’ll even splurge on a glass of bubbles and remind myself that I am okay.
“Oh my God, Vee! You finally got a Goyard?”
“Huh?”
I pull my attention from the ticket to the yellow drawstring bag dangling from Hannah’s fingers.
“Don’t huh me. This is a huge deal. Which one did you get? Are we twinning? You know, I didn’t want to say anything, but that tote of yours is literally on its last legs. I was this close to buying you one myself and forcing you to accept it.”
“That’s not yours?”
She frowns, tossing her thumb at the bag on the dining table. “No. That’s mine.”
“I know, but…you didn’t order a new one?”
“No. I told you I was eyeing that Dior one, remember?”
“But, then I don’t—” I cut myself off with a confused sigh.
If Hannah didn’t order it, and I didn’t order it, then what the hell is it doing here?
Hannah doesn’t seem to pick up on my mental puzzle solving and proceeds to pull the handbag out from its cloth cover. The stunning tote is a mirror of the one she owns, except hers is dark green and this one is deep blue.
Ugh, it is pretty.
Hannah lifts the bag to her nose and takes a sniff, rolling her eyes dramatically. “I love that new bag smell. So damn addictive.”
“Hey, don’t shove your face all over it.”
“If this is your new work bag, my face is the least dirty thing it’s going to touch.”
My brain can’t fathom the idea of such an expensive bag being used for my commute. Something like that should be perched in the closet in its protective bag.
“It’s not mine.”
“What? Then whose is it?”
“I don’t know.”
Hannah frowns. “Where did it come from?”
“Well, it was sent to me.”
“From whom?”
“I don’t know.”
For a split second, it looks like she wants to shake me. She places the bag on the couch and then digs into the green box, pulling out a small white card from amid the tissue paper.
“You didn’t think to check if it was a gift, genius?”
“Who would gift me something that expensive?” My tone is thick with exasperation as I point to the bag.
Hannah walks over and presses the envelope against my sternum, forcing me to grab it before it plonks onto the floor.
“Who do you think, babe? I’m going to get ready for my date.”
She winks as she slinks off, leaving me to stew over her cryptic words.
I rub the envelope between my fingers, feeling the woven texture. The apartment buzzer goes off, and I trek over to accept what is probably my nightly flower delivery.
My feet stop in their tracks.
I drop the envelope like it’s hot coal.
No. There’s no way. He wouldn’t. Would he?
Why?
The buzzer goes off again, and I quickly accept it before padding back to where the terrifying envelope sits on the floor. I stare at it like it’s a weed growing from the ground.
There’s a knock at the door, and one of the same three rotating delivery men stands there with another bouquet of flowers. I would’ve thought I’d be sick of them by this point, but oddly enough, I’m not.
I still refuse to keep them for many reasons, but they make me feel special.
Flowers are a common item with a high price point, not the sort of thing you typically purchase for yourself on the regular because why spend your grocery bill on plants that will die in a few days?
Far better to use that money on something practical.
Which is why it’s nice when someone else buys them for you. It’s a modern luxury.
I place the new bouquet on the dining table and pluck out the mini envelope. Since receiving the first bouquet, I haven’t bothered to read the messages inside. They sit in my bedside drawer, piling up.
I glance back at the envelope still on the floor and then pick it up, holding it next to the one from the bouquet for comparison.
They are different. The one that came with the handbag is slightly squarer, and the paper seems more expensive and eggshell colored.
Maybe I’m wrong then. Maybe the bag isn’t from him.
I take a seat at the dining table, thumbing open the envelope from the handbag. It takes some wiggling to free the little card inside, one that seems to be handwritten as opposed to the flower ones, which come typed. Yet another difference that settles my overly invested heart.
The calm is short lived.
The color reminded me of your eyes.
C xx
My brain screams, but my chest oozes into a puddle of sappiness.
What the hell is this man up to?