Chapter 30 Henri
Henri
Come on, we’re going to be late!” Iris calls from our living room.
“Just a second. I need to find my hat.” I toss clothes from my trip to Colorado aside, searching for the beanie Liam gifted me.
It has to be in here somewhere, but I’ve looked through the pile strewn across the floor at least a dozen times since I got home a few days ago. “Where the hell did it go?”
My call with Mom on the car ride home was longer than I thought it would be, even with traffic.
I told Mom about Liam, and about all the feelings cluttering my chest. The truth of everything I was carrying alone spilled out of me in a tidal wave I couldn’t contain.
Mom gave me a firm reminder that she was in fact my parent and I’m not a burden if I need to help.
I know that if I heard that a month ago, I wouldn’t listen, but now I’m leaning into being helped.
When I arrived at home, Iris was waiting for me with wine and, as promised, Sex and The City ready on the TV.
I told her I needed just one day to feel like shit.
She laughed in my face before telling me that I’d need longer than that.
I wasn’t just grieving the end of a relationship, but a future I had wished for before it was cut short.
And in some way, wallowing and letting endless tears leak out of me was a show of respect for everything I felt with Liam.
After the crying sessions, she and Jasmine made sure to take me out to celebrate getting into my graduate program.
They watched over my shoulder at the bar as I submitted the smaller- than- predicted payment I had to make to cover my fees.
We cheersed our drinks, toasting to all the good things to come.
Now, I toss a sweater at the wall, but it floats to the floor harmlessly before it can land.
God. I should just leave. Marty and Alexi are already at the venue setting up for their exclusive New Years party that people beg to be invited to and travel across the country to attend each year, and I promised we’d be there early to help.
It’s just a hat, I try to tell myself.
But it’s not.
It’s walking through the Christmas market because he knew I wanted to without having to ask and then seeing that my ears were cold. It’s insisting that I deserve to have something nice that I didn’t feel like I had to earn. Evidence that Liam was in my life.
I slam my fist into the carpeted floor over and over.
My bedroom door creaks and Iris steps inside. “What is it?”
“I lost my hat,” I blubber pathetically and my eyes start to sting.
Iris, patient as ever, sits on the floor with me, my head resting on her shoulder until I can compose myself to leave.
As it turns out, the chandelier-lit ballroom is nearly completely decorated as a regency era day dream.
I’m fairly certain that they’ve chosen this theme so they can play out some sort of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley forbidden romance.
We arrive in time to help with a handful of floral arrangements and “test” the signature cocktails.
Marty and Alexi are already in their custom outfits and hand Iris and I garment bags with our own period accurate silk gowns with high empire waistlines .
I’ve also been given a shimmering mask, which is required of all the guests.
It’s nice to dress up and get out after holing up in Iris and my apartment for the last week.
But my optimism only lasts through the first few hours. Surrounded by people trying and failing to waltz to the string quartet positioned at the far end of the hall, I truly hope that I’ll be able to push past the weight after midnight, and step into a new reality, however unlikely that is.
I make my way to the decadent buffet table with Croquembouche towers, macrons, bowls of fruit, crab puffs, and pretty much any other thing you could be craving. With a plate in hand, I work to stab at melon balls.
“Henri, I was hoping to run into you. The check for your services will be sent after the holiday,” says a woman in a lavender dress. Her shiny black hair is secured back in a sleek chignon. It’s not until she lowers her pearlescent mask that I recognize her.
“Fallon, I didn’t expect to see you here,” I say, giving up on the cantaloupe that slips off my toothpick.
“Marty and Alexi throw the best parties and I never miss them. God, last year it was celestial themed and there were enough beaded Staud dresses to last a lifetime.”
“If I could get my hands on one, I’d make every excuse to wear it.”
She chimes a laugh and starts to load her plate with pineapple.
“Fair enough. I just wanted to thank you for helping Liam with that final article. I know it was last minute, but the final product was amazing. It’s been live less than twenty-four hours and we’re on track to break records for digital, though the ending was a bit unexpected.
But you lived it, so I guess it wasn’t much of a surprise to you. ”
“I wouldn’t know. I still haven’t read it.”
“I think it would be worth your time to see the outcome of your time together. As always, he was deeply honest with his words in a way few people are. It’s truly sad to see him go.”
“He is something special.”
“Tell him hello for me,” she says with a wave before vanishing into the crowd.
“Yeah, I’ll hold onto that for three years,” I mutter.
The party swells around me, more guests pouring in the closer we get to midnight. By eleven, everyone is happily drunk. I dance with Iris and Jasmine and even manage to steal Marty and Alexi for a few minutes before they’re pulled away by adoring guests.
But as midnight draws closer and people start to pair off, I start to wish I was somewhere else. Eventually, I give into the feeling. It’s nice to know there will be another over-the-top party next year, and that I’m really not missing anything by ducking out early.
When I reach the elevator, there’s a couple already there, making out against the wall, only bothering to pry themselves apart long enough to slip inside. It’s a pretty easy decision to wait on the next one instead of becoming a voyeur.
As I wait, curiosity itches at me, Fallon’s words weaving through my mind. In a moment of weakness, or desperation, I pull out my phone and type in Spitfire’s website.
There at the top, is Liam’s article. The image used is a stock photo with the woman’s face blurred out. The headline reads: Always the Holiday Date, Never the Girlfriend.
I tap on it before I can talk myself out of reading.
It might be easy to think someone who hires a date is pathetic. But I think they’re more honest than most of us are. They know what they need. Support. Someone who is unequivocally in their corner.
And that’s what Jane (name changed) specializes in. As a professional date, she gets to know her clients, what they need and fear, but most importantly what they seek to prove to others. She shows up for people in the ways they wish they could show up for themselves.
Reader: I have never met someone who cares so much about every person she meets, and over Christmas I was lucky enough for her to care about me.
When the elevator door dings open, I walk inside out of habit, barely pausing to press the button for the first floor.
My vision swims as I continue to read. Liam details our adventures through New York and our trip to Dulcet Point.
To my surprise, he includes everything—our falling out and reconciliation after the office party, the way he moped around in my absence, only leaving out the intimate details of our relationship
Would I do it again? Hopefully I don’t need to. But I think what Jane showed me and her other clients is what it feels like to be understood, setting the bar high for a future real partner.
The final line steals the breath right from my lungs.
Reader: One last thing. I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you this. I think I fell in love with her, and I don’t think I need to do it again with anyone else, because she’s it for me.
I’m wiping my eyes when the elevator opens again, so at first I think it’s a cruel trick of the light when I see the brown-haired man standing before me wearing a gray wool coat. A flash of red is gripped in a fist at his side.
“Henri.” The way he says my name, like he never thought he’d get to say it again, clears up any doubt.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, hesitant to get my hopes up for nothing even as my heart keens at the sight of him.
My eyes dance across the freckles on his slender nose, up to his shaggy hair, consuming all I can of him while I still have a chance to.
Those final moments at the airport weren’t nearly enough.
“You left your hat.” He holds up the hand that’s clutching it like a lifeline.
“I did.” This isn’t real. He came back for me. No one does that. But this is Liam, defying my every expectation and shattering my reality in the best ways.
He shakes his head. “And I let you go, when I shouldn’t have.”
“The resort?”
“I quit. It’s June’s problem now, like she wants it to be. I’m back, and I don’t want to wait three years. I don’t want to keep just accepting whatever is thrown at me. I’m making a fucking choice and that choice is you, Henri,” he says and swallows. “If you’ll have me.”
Outside, the entirety of the city starts to chant as they count down to midnight.
10, 9, 8 . . .
“Yes.” I rush to him.
7, 6, 5 . . .
“I want you here. I want everything with you,” I say.
4, 3 . . .
My hands find his cold-nipped red face as his land on my back, fabric swishing under his fingers. Home. This is what home feels like. The place where I belong is here in his arms.
2, 1 . . .
And we kiss from one year into the next, knowing that there will be endless moments like this to come.