Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
GATSBY
I t’s almost nine o’clock when I set Maia on my bed. I cover her with a throw blanket and let her sleep. I go to the library and call Aslan.
“What happened with Jerry?” he asks.
I give him a brief explanation. He’s still on the loose.
“They’ll find him, he’ll pay some bloodsucking lawyer to defend him, and afterward, he’ll be searching for a job and maybe selling the secrets of my company. After all, he was the fucking chief technology officer.”
“Does he have an NDA?”
“Yeah,” I answer, slightly annoyed.
Aslan releases a weary sigh. He’s not happy to let it go, but he’ll do it because, in a way, he understands that I’m done with the conversation.
“How’s the conference? Are you coming back soon, or are you planning on staying for a month or two?”
“I don’t know.” It all depends on what Maia plans to do after the conference.
I want to spend more time with her, but I know nothing about her schedule.
Is she staying or leaving right after she’s done giving her keynote speech?
“We miss you,” Aslan says.
That’s his way of saying, please be here next week. Without much introduction, I say, “I finally spoke with Maia.”
“Is she going to leave you alone?”
“I pray to God that’s not the case.” All I wish is that I could erase the distance between us and all the years we spent apart. I know it’s mostly my fault, and the ruthless regret clogging my throat might not disappear.
Tonight, we were able to put our differences aside and be friends.
How about tomorrow?
Will she forgive me?
Will she trust me again with her heart?
“That’s not what I expected to hear. Did anything change between the two of you?” Aslan asks.
“A lot, nothing…” I pause, trying to think about the changes between us.
After all, it’s been fourteen years. “Of course, she’s different from the girl I met so long ago.
We both are, but underneath all the years, there are still two hearts beating at the rhythm of our souls.
I’m still the same dreamer. She’s the dream.
I don’t know how or when, but we’ll make this work out for us. ”
“I can feel it,” he says.
“What?”
“The hope in your heart. I hope things work out between the two of you.”
“Me too.”
Since I’m not ready to talk more about Maia, I switch the conversation. “What are you up to tonight?”
“Nothing much. Keaton and Savannah went shopping. Savvy is leaving for New York by the end of the summer.”
“You two will become empty nesters,” I joke. “This is your second round. Will you be doing a third?”
“If that’s your polite way of asking if Keat and I want to have children, yes, we do.”
“It wasn’t what I was going for, but congratulations? When is the wedding?”
“We’ll let you know when we have a date. Mom wants to help organize it. Keat doesn’t know if she should try to have it while her mother is alive or wait...”
“That must be tough.”
“Mom organizing or Keat’s mom dying?”
“Either. Both?”
“I’m more concerned about Mom. My fiancée likes her but what if she leaves me because our mother crosses too many boundaries.”
I laugh. “Then don’t let her,” I suggest.
“We’ll let her help within reason, and you? Will you let her mess with your big day?”
Yes, I don’t say out loud. Mom gets away with a lot of things. We might complain about her, but we still let her win because we know what it is to almost lose her.
If anything, we want her to be happy. She doesn’t plan on meeting another guy because Dad was the love of her life. My sisters disagree with her decision.
I’m the last person to criticize Mom. After I left Maia, I was never interested in anyone.
I didn’t lose the will to live. We know how delicate Mom is, so if helping with our wedding makes her happy, I might let her.
Then again, I have to wait for Maia to discuss our future before I think about an engagement or more.
Also, she mentioned earlier that she might not want to get married or have children.
“I don’t know if I’m getting married. All that matters is that I spend the rest of my life with Maia. Can we talk about something else?”
We spend the next couple of hours discussing Spearman LP. It’s around eleven when he excuses himself. Keaton is back. I check one last time on Maia, and she’s still asleep. Though I’d love to wake her up and continue talking about us—or maybe make love to her—I leave the room.
On Tuesday morning, I wake up early, go to the gym, and skip my daily run. Maybe later tonight Maia will agree to go with me to Central Park. It all depends on her schedule. Other than a few appearances on a couple of panels, I don’t have much to do at the conference.
When I step into the penthouse, I smell bacon.
The scent pulls me right into the kitchen, where I find my Little Blue, freshly bathed, wearing one of my t-shirts, and dancing to the rhythm of “Say You’ll Be There” by Spice Girls—one of her favorite songs.
I remember her telling me that every time it came on the radio, her mom would start singing and Maia and her sisters would dance with her.
This moment is everything I envisioned, but never thought would happen.
I gave up the dream so long ago.
For years I repeated her name every morning, ensuring it wouldn’t be erased from my mind or heart. I saw Maia’s face as often as I closed my eyes. I begged for a life where we could find each other again.
I want to pinch myself and ask if this is real or just another nightmare where she disappears when I try to touch her.
Though I hate to break the spell, I greet her, waiting for her to fade. “Good morning, beautiful.”
She turns around and smiles, still singing with that beautiful voice she likes to hide from the rest of the world.
Maia is here, in my kitchen.
It’s not a dream.
This could become my new reality, but I don’t know how to make this permanent. I wait until the song is over to say, “It smells good.”
“It’s bacon. Of course, it smells good.” She gifts me that special smile that says, I’m happy you’re the first thing I see this morning , or at least that’s what I hope it means. I used to know every smile of hers. All are different, even when they look so similar.
Will I get the chance to relearn them again?
“Thank you for cooking breakfast.”
Her eyebrow rises. “So, there’s a Maia playlist in your library.”
“You found it, huh?”
“Yes. It was surprising and comforting. Hence, I felt like I should cook something.”
This feels exactly like old times. I take that as my cue to open the conversation. “Can we talk about us?”
“What do you mean with us?”
“I think we can still salvage our relationship.”
She shakes her head. “No. There’s a lot of history between the two of us.”
“And maybe that’s a good reason to make this work. We could fight for it,” I argue. “We still have feelings for each other.”
“It isn’t enough, and we don’t…” she almost growls. “What are we fighting for ? The past we shared or a future that we can’t see because neither one of us knows who the other one is?”
I take a step forward. “We could figure that out together.”
“It’s not that simple,” she argues, turning around and shutting off the stove. “You want to patch something that broke without realizing it’s irreparable.”
She’s wrong. Everything is salvageable, except death. “You want to forget something we created. Do I need to remind you how it was? Warm, bright, and unique—like you.”
“You destroyed it,” she throws the words in my face.