Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
CINDEL
My date with Eamon went surprisingly well.
Initially, I went along with it simply because I wanted answers, but somewhere along the evening things changed.
He listened to me, asked me about myself, and even understood how the pain of losing someone is ever present, despite years passing.
Maybe it’s just because I’ve never seemed to find a partner who showed more interest in what was in my mind than between my legs.
Eamon was a gentleman and very easy on the eyes.
Could I see myself going on a date with him again?
Probably. Is dating your boss breaking some kind of ethical work code?
Most definitely. Do I think Eamon is my musical stalker?
I. Don’t. Know. However, one question has repeated itself in my mind multiple times.
“So you think there was foul play?” What an odd question.
Emerging from my bedroom, I find Andrea bumping around the kitchen, making herself a sunrise smoothie.
She is dressed in a wide legged pants suit vs.
her usual athletic wear, which tells me she has meetings today.
She is a go-getter. If my roommate wasn’t working crazy long hours, she was arranging consultations with potential customers to take on even more projects. At least, that’s what she tells me.
If I’m being honest, I’ve never even been to any of the buildings she works from. Not even during a lunch break. The thought made me wish for our college days, when she only worked twice a week at Scoops. Thinking back on how close we were then makes me feel like we're practically strangers today.
Just behind me, I dangled the basket of goodies from my parents’ trip to Martha’s Vineyard. I clear my throat loudly, but she continues scooping powder into the blender. Her back still to me, she asks, “Where’d the flowers come from?!”
Luckily, I already had my hearing aids in. “Eamon. He came over last night after our date—”
The blender comes to life, tearing through chucks of frozen fruit and ice.
It’s an obnoxious way of getting her point across, but message received.
Pouring her orange-colored drink into a to-go tumbler before turning to fully face me.
She sees that I have something behind me.
“What’s that?” Nodding her head in my direction.
I bring the basket to my front. “I haven’t had a chance to talk to you since I got back. It’s from my parents. Soaps and dressing from Martha’s Vineyard.”
Andrea smiles and steps forward to take the basket from my outstretched hands.
Peeking inside the woven bin, before looking at me with a raised eyebrow.
“You didn’t want them, did you?” Her ability to sniff shit out is unparalleled.
Setting the gift down, she begins to lift soap bars of various sizes and colors to her nose, exploring each scent.
“Can we talk?” I sit on the first piece of furniture we found together, when we started living here.
It was a pedestal dining set we discovered on the side of the road, after someone moved out of the building.
Three of the chairs were unstable, but after we lugged it back up to our apartment, we set to work.
A little wood glue and a few nails, it was gold!
It’s been extremely reliable, holding our asses up through countless meals.
Andrea finally sits across from me, pushing the vase of roses to the edge of the table.
For a fraction of a second, I expected her to send the whole thing shattering to the ground.
Lackadaisically, she peeks at her rose-gold watch then seems to study every inch of the room, while she sips from her frozen beverage.
I breath out audibly causing her eyes to finally snap back to me.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said. That was dick of me. Who you're with is your own business…”
She’s right in front of me. I know she hears me, but she remains neutral as she examines her black fingernail, while tracing the outer rim of her drink.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, truly meaning it.
Her eyes wander back to me. How is it that she can manage to be both melancholy and irritated, all wrapped into one? “So, you're dating him now? You and… Eamon?”
I glance briefly over at the two-dozen long stem roses on the edge of our kitchen table. “We went on one date.”
Her arms fold on the table in front of her. “Do you plan on going on another?”
I mirror her body language, not meaning to copy her, but I don’t care for her tone. “I guess, yeah. If he asks me.” It’s quiet for long moments, as we look at one another across the dependable surface.
“Don’t bring him here again,” she declares, then stands with her drink.
“Wait… what? Why?!” I spin in my chair and watch with confusion as she grabs her work bag and slings it over her shoulder. Is she not going to answer me?
She reaches for the front door before turning and speaking. “If you’ve ever cared about our friendship, you will do this one thing I ask.”
The inside of my throat feels thick, making it difficult to swallow or even respond.
She just stares at me as my mouth opens and closes, but nothing comes out.
I’m dumbfounded! Shocked! My parents telling me what to do is expected, but from Andrea?
! I shake my head with confusion. “Why?” My question comes off more as a plea.
My roommate. My best friend. My once, ride or die, groans with frustration as she opens the door to our apartment, steps through, and slams it shut.
Jeez Louise! What’s crawled up her butt?
! Imagine if I told her that someone has been following me, leaving me messages and gifts over the past few weeks!
I have no fucking idea why she has such a vendetta against Eamon.
I mean, she doesn’t even know the guy! Okay…
I may not know him much better but still.
Could the man in question be the one playing all these mind games with me?
He literally came out of nowhere and has been showering me with attention.
It sort of adds up. Do I want it to be him?
I do seem to be going along with everything, all the same.
Does that make me the insane one or him?
You know what… it doesn’t matter. Either way, being vague with Andrea was a necessity, because I have no doubt, she would lock me in my room and feed me burnt waffles under the crack of my door for the rest of my life.
Thinking back to other guys I’ve been with during my college days, doesn’t exactly validate my choice in men.
I was seeing someone who kind of dealt drugs.
One time he was so high, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
He brought me back to his place. I tried to leave.
He forced himself on me. It wasn’t our first time together and I was his girlfriend at the time, but I said no.
I didn’t like it when he wasn’t himself.
I dumped him once he sobered up. Consent is important.
I felt taken advantage of. Like my power was stripped away.
I remember that night I went to Andrea’s.
She lived in a rinky-dink apartment before we lived together.
I was extremely upset. Crying and shaking, I told her everything.
Well, like some freaky coincidence the next day, he wasn’t in class.
One of his buyers told me he had moved back to Connecticut.
Like overnight! Even his social media was gone.
I never saw or heard from him again. That week, Andrea and I got this apartment together.
She’s been my guardian angel ever since.
My heart aches when I think about how loyal and fierce a friend she is.
I never want to take that for granted, but I don’t want to be controlled either.
This weekend is the Craft Bazaar, so I spend what little time I had left tagging and organizing all the projects I plan to display in my booth.
Andrea, like the celestial being she is, had my custom sign ready.
Even managing to borrow a folding table from one of her jobs.
I sit on my bed surrounded by piles of clothes, tags, and accessories, when I feel a sudden vibration.
I move and shift heaps, searching for my phone that has somehow become buried.
Finally extracting it from a collection of shirts, I see a message notification from an Unknown number.
I let out a slow controlled breath as I slide my finger across the screen.
Unknown: Long stem roses? Very cliché.
My fingers hover over the keyboard, ready to respond. Wait… Why would Eamon have a different number than the one I have saved? I consider for a moment before I type back. Maybe it’s a burner phone? My thumbs dance along the keyboard, then I hit the send arrow.
Cindel: So is a bed full of candy!
I hold my breath as I await a response. Please be Eamon, I repeated again and again to myself. Dots appear indicating their typing, then the message pops through.
Unknown: Perhaps… but you seemed to have appreciated the walking stick.
I forget how to breathe. This couldn’t be the same man. Could it? Eamon never asked me about my injured foot when I returned. Is he clever enough to…
Another message appears breaking my train of thought.
Unknown: Be a good girl and wear your earbud. See you soon, Princess.