5. Learning to grovel
Learning to grovel
“Hi, you’ve reached Malcom Hodge. Please leave a brief message, along with your name and number, in case I decide to call you back.”
Jules waited for the beep, then began speaking.
“Hi, Malcom, this is Jules. Jules Shaw? I don’t know if you remember me, or not, because it’s been a while, but—” she broke off, shaking her head in disgust as she realized how stupid she sounded.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting to get your voicemail …
although most people don’t answer calls from numbers they don’t recognize, right?
I mean, I usually don’t, so it makes sense you might not, either.
Oh, my God, I’m rambling.” She paused to take a calming breath before continuing.
“I was just calling because I wanted to talk to you and maybe, I don’t know, um, just talk.
Anyway … I really do hope you’ll call me back, so we can talk.
I wanted to apologize, among other things, so, please call me back. ”
Mortified at the ridiculous message she’d just left, Jules palmed her forehead with an agonized groan, berating herself for not having written something coherent out beforehand, instead of winging it. “Oh, my God.”
She then did something she’d never done with a man before—she waited to hear back from him.
She waited for three days and … nothing. Nothing.
It seemed likely he was simply ignoring her, which was another first for her, and a huge ego buster.
It actually sucked balls. Big, sweaty, hairy balls.
She kept checking her phone, thinking she now fully understood how crappy ghosting him all those months ago was, and decided a gesture was in order, because she wasn’t ready to give up yet.
Briefly, she thought about asking Paige what to do, but quickly shot that down, since she would likely give Jules the riot act for having waited so long.
Deciding the next best thing would be to ask her mom, Jules made the FaceTime call on Thursday, during her lunch hour.
“Well, hello there,” Edie Shaw answered, warm surprise in her voice.
“Hi, Mom,” Jules returned, taking in Edie’s chin-length, blonde hair and light brown eyes, which made her look perpetually young, much younger than her seventy years. “I was wondering if you had a minute?”
“Of course. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Well, something. I actually need some advice.”
“Is it about your stocks? Because your father is in the other room—”
“No, my portfolio is fine,” Jules assured her. “It’s not about that. It’s actually about … a man.”
“You need advice about a man? That’s rather unexpected, to say the least.”
“I know.”
“All right. So, what kind of advice do you need?”
Jules overlooked her mom’s obvious amusement. “Advice on how to make amends.”
“Did you say ‘amends’?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, then that will depend on what you did. I’ll need to know what kind of ‘amends’ we’re talking about, before I can offer up any advice. ”
Jules gave her mom the abridged version of events, condensing the last fifteen months into two minutes, ending with the convoluted disaster of a message which had been left in Malcom’s voicemail.
“That’s not as bad as I thought it was going to be,” Edie mused.
“How bad did you think it was going to be?”
“Well, I at least thought it was going to be something you said or did, not something you didn’t say or do. So, this might be something I need your dad to weigh in on—”
“Weigh in on what?”
The male voice, belonging to Richard Shaw, interrupted the two women, causing Edie to chuckle and Jules to groan, since she’d been hoping to keep her dad out of this situation.
“It’s nothing,” Jules said loudly.
Richard’s face came into view as he looked at the phone over Edie’s shoulder. “Hey, Freckles.”
“Hey, Dad.”
“So, what’s going on? What do I need to weigh in on? Stocks?”
“It’s not about her stocks,” Edie answered. “It’s about a man.”
Richard cocked his head to first look at his wife, then Jules. “A man? Do I need to put someone in the hospital?”
Jules laughed at the thought of her diminutive father putting someone in the hospital, let alone a man at least six inches taller than he was. “Take it easy, Dad.”
“What? I could do it. For you, I’d make it happen.”
“Thanks, but that won’t be necessary.”
He rubbed his hands together. “All right, so what’s going on? I’m ready to weigh in.”
Edie quickly proceeded to share with Richard everything Jules had said, and when Edie was finished, he pursed his mouth and said, “Are you sure you want to proceed with this man, and not just let it go? I mean, if he was still interested, he would have called you back, right? And the fact he didn’t immediately call my beautiful daughter back tells me he’s an idiot, and you’re probably better off without him. ”
“I think I agree with your dad on this—not the part about Malcom being an idiot because we don’t know that for sure,” she said, giving Richard a reproachful look. “However, I think the rest of it is valid. It really might be too late.”
“I know. But I won’t know for sure until he tells me it’s too late, and I think I need to hear that, or else I won’t be able to let it go,” Jules said. “I want a chance to explain, and then, if it is too late, I can apologize to him properly. But I need to get him to talk to me first.”
Her parents were both silent for a moment, and then Edie said, “All right, well, you could try calling him again—”
“No,” Richard interrupted. “Flowers.”
“Flowers?” both women repeated.
“Yes, flowers,” Richard insisted. “Men like to get flowers, too, and since we hardly ever do, I think it would be unexpected. Impactful, even.”
“Impactful,” Jules mused, at the same time Edie said, “That’s actually a good idea, honey. I’ll have to remember that the next time I make you upset.”
“You never make me upset,” Richard insisted, kissing her temple.
Jules good-naturedly rolled her eyes at them, used to the fact they were always way too happy with one another. “Okay, I’ll send him flowers. What kind would you suggest?”
Richard was quick to answer, “Not roses. That would be boring, and my beautiful daughter is the opposite of boring.”
“I would send him some hydrangeas,” Edie suggested. “They’re sort of gender neutral, but I think they’d be … impactful.”
“Hydrangeas … okay.” Jules nodded slowly, liking that option a lot. “Thanks.”
“That’s perfect,” Jules said to the florist on the following Monday, pointing to a simple bouquet of blue hydrangeas in a square, glass vase, with bits of baby’s breath mixed in. They were also close to the color of Malcom’s eyes.
The florist, a slightly older man, carried the arrangement over to the cash register and pointed to the display stand filled with various card options to enclose with the flowers. “I don’t get too many women sending flowers to a man on Valentine’s Day. It’s usually the other way around.”
Jules had completely forgotten about Valentine’s Day, as it was a holiday that meant very little to her, as she’d never been on a date with anyone on that particular day, nor celebrated it with anyone.
“Oh, shit. Sorry,” she quickly apologized for her language.
“They’re not meant to be Valentine’s Day related, so let’s change the delivery date to Thursday, instead. ”
“We can do that.”
“Thank you. I’m trying to make a … conciliatory gesture … to someone who’s not very happy with me,” Jules explained, looking over the selection of cards, and ending up choosing a plain one without an occasion listed on it.
The florist frowned at that claim, seemingly having a hard time believing it. “Well, a nice bouquet of flowers should help your cause,” he said neutrally.
“I hope so.”
Jules thought for a moment, then wrote, I’m not giving up, yet , and signed her name.
She then pulled out one of her business cards and wrote a phone number on the back, along with, For a character reference, feel free to call my mom.
Her name is Edie , to be funny, hoping he might appreciate her turnabout.
After putting the two cards in the tiny envelope, she handed it to the florist and arranged for delivery on Thursday at the law firm Malcom worked for, and left.
Jules spent the weekend in a state of almost disorientation.
And … she didn’t like it very much. She couldn’t concentrate on anything and couldn’t stop checking her phone every five minutes, it seemed.
By the time Sunday night rolled around, and she hadn’t heard anything from Malcom, she came to the conclusion that since she’d never had to work for a man, she might not be doing it right.
Either that, or she hadn’t done enough.
The next morning, just before noon, she took Malcom’s card and dialed the number of the law firm he worked for.
Klein & Schmidt was a fairly small corporate firm, and when the receptionist answered, Jules asked for Malcom, a little surprised at how nervous she felt at the prospect of talking to him .
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Hodge just left for lunch,” the receptionist informed Jules in a business-like tone. “Would you like to leave a message in his voicemail?”
And be ignored again? Jules wasn’t going down that path again. “Did he go with a client?” she asked instead. “Is it a working lunch?”
“No, not that I’m aware of.”
She decided this was a necessary time for a lie. “Do you happen to know where he went for lunch? This is his sister and I was thinking I could join him if he was nearby.”
Jules waited for the other woman to question Jules’ claim, or at least be suspicious as to why his ‘sister’ couldn’t call her brother directly to find out where he was, but the receptionist answered with the name of a restaurant Jules was familiar with.