Chapter 6 Not Exactly Mayfield
Not Exactly Mayfield
— T ODAY —
“Wait… what?” Barb’s mouth hangs open for a while as the train moves along the rails. We’re halfway to our destination, and, after talking about her pregnancy, the conference, and the TV shows we’ve binged recently, she inevitably asked for the thousandth time what happened with Frank. And though I’d kept it a secret till that point, I finally came clean. “ He asked you for an open relationship? Is that—” She shakes her head, shock widening her eyes as she leans forward. “Ames, why didn’t you say anything? Why did you accept?”
My lips twist with a sad smile as I shift in the faux-leather seat, the back of my thighs sticking to it uncomfortably. Barb is the second person to know about this besides Frank and me, and I’m quickly reminded of the reason why I’ve kept it a secret until now.
Because it’s fucking humiliating.
My mind sinks back to the darkness it was soaked in at the time, my conscious brain trying to put into words the way I felt. Every time I think about it, it’s like being back there, crushed by that same sense of hopelessness and inevitability. “I know it sounds crazy, but—”
“I’m not judging you,” she rushes to say, and with a bitter chuckle I look out the window.
“Trust me, Barb. I judge myself harshly enough for the both of us.”
“You shouldn’t. I mean—”
“I let that man walk all over me,” I say in a firm voice. “I let him dump his emotional garbage on me, use it to manipulate me into doing what he wanted until I was in such a fucked-up, exhausting situation, I couldn’t find a way out.” Swallowing, I focus back on her. “Trust me, I deserve to be judged, but I won’t make the same mistake ever again.”
Her hand rubs over her bump. “I have noticed a change in you lately. You’ve been a little…”
“Bitchy?” I offer.
“No, not bitchy. Just… you won’t take any shit. I like it.”
She’s right. I won’t. I think I took all the shit one can take, and I’m overloaded. “I’m done living my life to please others is all. Because do you know what I was left with at the end?” I shake my head. “Nothing. I spent years running after my dad’s approval and never got it. I withstood months of Frank’s bullshit, and we broke up anyway. And though I let Martha have basically everything she wanted, we’re hardly friends anymore.”
Barb nods solemnly.
“I can’t live my life for anyone else, because in the end I am all I have.”
Her hand squeezes mine in a silent You have me too. And I know I do, just as she knows that’s not what I’m talking about.
Turning to the blurred scenery outside, I inhale. “I said yes because I was afraid. I didn’t know how to let Frank go. And with everything else that happened… The prospect of losing my best friend, my fiancé, and my dad all at once was the most terrifying thing I’d ever been through, so I just…”
“Chose them over yourself,” Barb whispers.
I nod, hugging my arms around myself. Unfortunately, they don’t feel like the shield I need right now. “At some point I realized it was all too far gone—that while I was desperately trying to keep one part together, the other one was crumbling. I pretended not to see it. I tried to make it work, to make myself smaller and smaller so that everything else could fit.”
Barb sighs loudly, something close to anger in her expression.
“But someone wouldn’t let me.”
She tilts her head up, an eager smile ghosting her lips. “Ian?”
Watching her wishful eyes, I nod and look away, and she must know the conversation is over, because she settles against the headrest and turns to the window.
Ian.
Every time I tried to ignore my instincts, he shoved the truth down my throat. Every time I tried to pretend nothing was going on, he forced me to face the music. And somehow he did all of this while making me laugh and smile and feel not completely alone in the world. In some magical, inexplicable way he made the darkest time in my life the one I can’t regret.
My friendship with Martha, my job, my relationship—he demolished and dismantled it all.
He destroyed my life. And by doing that, he saved me .
“Oh my God, I’m too pregnant for this.”
I turn to Barb, scattering the contents of her handbag across one of the beds, after heaving our two enormous suitcases through the hotel room’s door. The trip from Creswell to Mayfield is only two hours long, but in this heat it felt like much more. “I’m convinced we were on that train for days.”
With a nod, she awkwardly lowers herself onto the bed, lying on top of makeup and tissues, as I throw a look at the window. Turns out, I really should have read the email they sent us about the location, because we’re hardly in Mayfield. We’re deep in the countryside, with fields of wildflowers on every side of the property. There’s a pool I’m definitely planning to enjoy, and, based on what I’ve seen, the Whispering Willow hotel is just as beautiful as promised, with high ceilings and a French grandeur that reminds me of La Brasserie.
Not bad at all, but there’s not a hint of gray, concrete buildings and busy crowds walking in every direction, so it’s not May-field.
I sit on the other bed, my shoes sinking into the thick dark red carpet as I face a flat-screen TV that I wish I had in my own apartment. The double beds that take up most of the space are covered in fluffy pillows and what looks like a warm duvet, and the wall opposite the room’s entrance has two large windows that look onto acres of white daisies. It’s breath-taking.
I remove my sneakers, sit cross-legged on my bed, and power up my laptop. The air here is so humid, you can almost chew it; desperately fanning myself with my hand, I click on the browser. As I stare at the white page, all the conviction that brought me on this trip goes out of me.
Sure, I want to see Ian. But will he want to see me? After what happened, I’m not so sure. And how will I explain everything? Plus, I don’t know what he does or where he lives. I know plenty about him, but not anything that can help me find him.
After typing “handsome Ian in Mayfield,” I shut the laptop. Mayfield is a big city, and I’m sure he’s not the only Ian around here.
“Ames?” Barb says softly from her bed. She tucks her hand under her cheek, her frizzy curls flattening against the pillow. “You know the results only come up if you press ‘enter,’ right?”
I give her a half smile.
“What’s the plan?”
Scooting down, I rest my head on my pillow and face her. “I don’t know what he does for work, I don’t have his address, and he’s not a hobby guy.”
“Not a hobby guy?”
“No. He’s an opinion guy.”
She gives me a slow, uncertain nod.
“No sports that I know of, no favorite spots around town he ever mentioned. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to think of anything useful he might have told me, but there’s just nothing. I have no idea how to find him.”
“No surname, either, huh?” Her lips twist to one side. “Are you sure he’s not, you know, hiding something?”
“Uh, well…” I give her a small shrug, my shoulders drooping. “Actually… I was hiding something.” Her eyes bug out, so I quickly hold a hand up. “Not— Back then, my dad was quite popular on social media. Remember? The fourth season of The Silver Spoon ?”
She sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh, right.”
“If I told him, I figured he could connect the dots and… well…”
“Nobody wants to be known as the ‘Dictator’s’ daughter?”
“Pretty much.”
She hoists her head up, holding her weight on her elbow as her hair cascades down one side of her body. “I might be missing something, but… why don’t you just call him?”
“He blocked my number. Plus, if we’re face-to-face, he’ll have to listen. He won’t be able to tell me to get lost.” So much about my rashly thought-out plan relies on the assumption that he doesn’t completely hate me. Even more, that he feels about me the same way I feel about him.
It’s a huge, huge assumption, considering he made it impossible for me to reach out.
“So,” she says, sitting up. “The plan is… no plan.”
Throwing a glance her way, I bite my bottom lip. “Is it crazy to hope that fate will bring us together?” I let out a single chuckle. “I’ve already given it a huge boost by coming all the way to Mayfield.”
“Fate?” She smiles wide, then gets up, walks over, and gestures at me to make space. “Like destiny?”
“Like… like I’ll walk down the street and he’ll be there. Or tomorrow I’ll need an antihistamine and he’ll be the pharmacist. Or his dog will run off his leash and leap into my arms.”
“Oooh.” She lies down next to me, then pokes my side. “A meet-cute.”
Yeah, sure. Or a meet-ugly. Any type of meet would work, really.
“You could pick up his coffee by mistake.”
“He could be driving by when my car stops.”
“You don’t have a car.”
When I shrug, Barb chuckles. We both stare at the ceiling for a while in companionable silence, and the endless possible scenarios swirl in my mind, each one more glorious than the last. I’d even be happy to crash my nonexistent car into his.
“I can’t believe you talked to this guy for so long and you don’t know what he does.”
I open my mouth to explain, then think better of it. “I’m crazy, huh?”
Her head rests against my shoulder. “Well, the odds are against you. It’s, what, a million inhabitants to one very handsome guy?”
Yeah, it is.
“But what were the chances of my grandma taking his spot at the wedding? Of him sitting down next to you? What were the chances he’d love my cake and he’d bring it up with you, a chef?”
Turning to her, I let out a small, thoughtful sigh. “He asked your grandma to sit in his spot so he could talk to me, and he didn’t even eat the cake.”
“It’s really difficult to comfort you.” She taps her fingers over the back of her hand. “Can I at least know if you two…” Her coffee-brown eyes widen suggestively.
When I look away, she gasps. “Oh my God, I knew it! Did Frank find you together? Is that what—”
“We didn’t even kiss, Barb,” I grumble. I’ve done so many things in the past year that I’ve come to regret, but cheating isn’t one of them. Though I guess it wouldn’t have been cheating anyway. “Look, all there is to say is that the instant Ian sat down at my table, I knew he wasn’t just a random person who’d leave a shallow imprint on my life. I knew he was different—that he wouldn’t be a stranger for much longer. That he was going to stay.” I pause, struggling to explain it with words. “It was the way he looked at me. I didn’t recognize it right there and then—it took me a while, actually—but it was like he’d been searching for me his whole life.”
“Ames…” Barb says with a shaky voice.
I smile, though my first instinct would be to do the exact opposite. Maybe the day will come when we’ll be together, and letting him go the first time won’t hurt as much as it does now. But regret is a merciless feeling.
“I know it’s crazy. Coming out here knowing there’s a ninety- nine-percent chance I won’t find him. But it’s easier to run after that one percent than to let him go.”
I notice tears running copiously down Barb’s cheeks, snot smearing her upper lip as she tries to sob on the inside.
“Wha—oh. Oh, I’m sorry. Hormones, huh?”
“ That one percent ,” she whimpers, exploding into more sobs. Unable to help a snort, I stand and walk to the bathroom.
I’m fetching toilet paper when I hear a gasp bounce off the ugly wallpaper in the room. “Ames!”
“What?”
“Ames! Ames!” she shouts. I dart out of the bathroom, expecting to find her on the floor or in a puddle of her own water, but she half runs toward me, a hand on her bump. “I know how to find him! I know how to find Ian!”
“What?” My heartbeat spikes, fear and adrenaline mixing dangerously in my mind. “How?”
She swats my arm over and over again. “We asked the guests at my wedding the names of their plus-ones for the placeholders! Ian was his dad’s plus-one, right? His surname will be there!”
The toilet paper roll falls from my hands to the carpeted floor as my brain registers her words.
The guest list.
That’s how we can find him!