Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Relationships: What a Piece of Cake
It’s been two hours since we started talking and we haven’t left the same side of the bench.
“One thing is for sure, we need to make people see I am different before this interview.”
“Like your addiction to Diet Coke?”
“What? NO,” Holden says defensively. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
“Okay, what are you drinking then?”
Holden pushes the drink away from me so I can’t take a sip. It doesn’t go unnoticed that he is still using the word “we” in conversation. A definite sign I am still a part of this strategy despite Chris’s poor judgment.
We have hardly gotten on track with how we are going to minimize any fallout from this interview since I’ve walked in here. I know that will probably be a later conversation, because Aidan’s text has halted any conversation of that for tonight.
Aidan: I miss you…
Three words is all it takes. A sinking feeling forms in my gut as I type and untype what to say back.
Holden must’ve stopped talking between now and five seconds ago, because his eyes are blankly staring back at mine when I stop texting.
“I am so sorry, Holden. Let’s meet up tomorrow.”
Holden stoically nods as he slides out of the booth without hesitation. I grab my bag, ready to leave the restaurant.
On the sidewalk, I type the address—4217 Palomino Crest Road, Calabasas, California—Ghosty and I stand at the side of the curb, waiting for my driver.
“You didn’t need to jump as soon as you saw the text,” she says.
From the opposite end of the sidewalk, a man moves straight toward us, eyes glued to his phone. Completely unaware he’s about to walk right into the girl that has been following me…
“Watch—” I start, but the thought fades as he doesn’t bump into her but walks straight through her.
Her body fractures into fading light, matching my pendant’s color as she hollows out, pulling pieces of her into thin air.
The man walks away, completely oblivious to the interaction, his attention already back on his phone. She is morphing back to her physical state from before.
“So, you are really dead, aren’t you?”
“Only in physical form.” A faint smile appears for a fraction of a second. There is no doubting this anymore.
As she shapeshifts in front of me, questions surrounding the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus and every alien sighting at Area 51 aren’t far behind.
“So how did you figure it out?” I start to ask as the rideshare pulls up to the curb where we are standing.
It’s the longest car ride of my life.
The Toyota Corolla smells like apple cinnamon air freshener. Everything is pristine, with the extra power cords accessible to me and neon dice in the mirror.
In the corner of my eye, I catch a wallet-size photo of a kid, no older than five years and wearing a tiara, hanging on to the sun visor.
“Would you be willing to make a quick stop on the way? Really quick.”
The driver says nothing.
Over the top-forty music playing in the background, I repeat myself. His accent is so thick that it takes my brain a moment to realize he is saying the word “no.”
I’ve heard the word “no” so many times in my life that it has become as familiar as seeing the sky every day. However, today…
Fuck, I refuse.
“I’ve had the worst forty-eight hours of my life.
I had my coworkers put my face on a cake where I’m drooling on my boss’s couch.
My boss just took credit for my idea. My boyfriend thinks I’m ignoring him.
I am failing miserably in my career and personal life.
For the love of god, please stop at a grocery store. ”
There are hardly any breaths in between the words as I exert all the air left in my lungs. When I am done, I inhale.
Iván, my driver's name according to the app, lowers the volume on the stereo all the way to zero as we drive. Painfully silent.
Nothing annoys my brain more than sitting with no words, leaving me to the most self-destructive path… my inner thoughts. I just wait for him to say anything.
A few sharp turns and minutes later, Iván cuts through those thoughts with a cold, “You got five minutes” as I see the sign for Ralph’s come into frame.
“Do you want anything while I am there?”
In the rearview mirror, I see him shaking his head.
“Okay, God bless you. Best driver ever!”
“You got five minutes,” Iván yells back.
I clasp my hands together to form a clap before leaping out of the car, rushing into the store, feeling the imaginary countdown on me.
There are good people in this world. Good enough for me to rush into the bakery aisle, go into the freezer and grab a chocolate and vanilla ice-cream cake—Aidan’s favorite. I add a vanilla cupcake in my basket for the driver, because today is a day where I refuse to accept “no” from people.
Most of all, I deserve a cake that didn’t have my face on it.
I am a little over the five-minute mark with the line for checkout being oddly long for nine o’clock at night. The inside of my cheek is raw from gnawing at it. My foot incessantly taps against the tile. All I can think to do is leave a voicemail.
“Hey, babe, got your text. I tried to call you and it just keeps going straight to voicemail. Just want to let you know I’m going to head to your place right now. I just finished up work and wanted to talk. I… love you.”
By the time I finish the message, the granny in front of me bags her last grocery item. Speeding through the checkout to the parking lot, I step outside to see that the Toyota Corolla is still there.
Instead of heading to the back seat to sit, I walk over to his driver’s side window to show off the cupcake. He lets the window open halfway, grabs it, nods and gives a brief smile before rolling it back up.
In a thick Russian accent, he says, “Thank you?”
I skip to the back seat to buckle up for the rest of the drive.
Twenty minutes later and a few nails bitten to nubs, the driver says, “We are here. Where should I park?”
The white columns, colonial setup and bright green door are displayed in the distance as I look out the car window. We are stopped at the gates.
“Here is fine. Thank you for everything.”
My man, Iván, drives away as I press the call button on the gate box.
“Who’s there?”
“Ruth, it’s Charlotte.”
Just like that, the gates swing open. The ten-foot door just stares back at me as I make it down their long driveway.
Without mental preparation or warning, Miss Ruth swings the door open as I walk up the steps to the front porch.
“Hi, sweetheart. We missed you,” Ruth says, bringing me into a warm hug. When she lets go, I notice her apron is covered in flour.
“Would you like some water?”
“No, it’s okay. Where can I put this?” My fingertips hold on tightly to the cake box.
Without asking, Miss Ruth assures me that Aidan is home. Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore are out of town.
“Thank you, Ruth.”
She takes the box from my hands and walks away toward the kitchen. The winding staircase is just waiting for me. His room is the last bedroom on the right…
“Help a girl out, Ghosty.”
The necklace has returned to its lifeless, dull state. Nothing is intervening between me and the stairs.
“Do you need anything else?” Miss Ruth yells as she makes her way back to the foyer.
“No!” I scurry up the stairs, willing my feet toward his door.
One knock. Nothing.
Two knocks. Still silent.
And after the third knock, I let myself in, witnessing the back of his head.
He got a haircut. It’s shorter and blonder, more refreshed than his usual wildness, which he wears so effortlessly.
Has he gone outside and gotten a tan? I stand there waiting for him to notice me. He is lasered in on the screen.
“I got us a cake. Ice cream. Your favorite.”
His smile feels eerie as he turns to me, remaining perfectly still and silent. Watching me carefully…
“Do you want a slice now? I can run back downstairs to grab forks and have Ruth get us each a slice?” My words come out jumbled.
“No…” Aidan takes a long pause before stepping closer to me. And I can’t tell if he’s mad or upset.
“What are you doing here?”
“I got your text and, uh—” All my words are meshing together in my mind, trying to piece together why I am here. All I can think to say is—
“Do you remember that time at Phi Lambda when we devoured a whole cake that your fraternity brother’s girlfriend made?”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you that high before.”
“Jessica was so pissed. She should’ve known never to leave something that tasted that good in the fridge.” He chuckles as we both picture the expression on her face.
“Yeah, so I got you another one. Minus the weed.”
“So, this is an apology cake?” He asks.
“No…”
He shakes his head at me before returning back to the screen to yell at one of his buddies who just killed him in the game.
“No, it’s more like—"I miss that version of us’ kinda cake.”
All I hear is aggressive clicking coming from the controller, him smashing into the buttons for a few moments before he reverts his attention back to me. Dropping his headphones on his desk and moving to the mattress where I am seated.
“Sorry, thank you for the cake. That was kind of you.”
I want to hear, How have you been? Haven’t been able to reach you in days. We haven’t done our weekly traditions in two weeks.
Instead, he says, “I miss you.”
The smile that seems sincere is morphing into those puppy-dog eyes.
“You do?”
“Yeah, I’m just surprised you came here after I texted you…”
His hand extends over to my thigh as he leans in. My free hand grabs for my pendant, clutching onto it for some reason I can’t explain.
No gust of wind. No creepy voices. No sight of her.
“Aren’t your friends going to be mad if you stopped the game?”
Aidan shakes his head profusely. “No, they can wait.”
He tells me exactly what I want to hear. The exact thing I wish he had said three weeks ago before the fire.
Running my hand through my straightened hair, I look up from the floor to meet his eyes. Unlike Holden, Aidan’s eyes are hooded and hopeful.
“So, Chris finally trusted you with one of his new clients?”
“It’s Holden Strauss…” I gulp.
“Oh, the guy from that over-the-top basketball show?”
“Yeah. That would be the one.”
“He sure fell off the face of the earth.” He chuckles and my arms immediately cross over my chest.
“The weirdest thing happened the other week…”
“Yeah?” Aidan is watching me carefully and my heartbeat is a drum filled with umms and likes to fill the gaps in my mind.
“Chris invited me to a client pitch meeting. Out of nowhere, Holden calls me out in the middle of the meeting because he doesn’t like everyone’s ideas in the boardroom.
After he calls on me, Chris basically hands me the responsibility of helping him with strategizing his comeback.
I think he was nervous that Holden hadn’t signed with us yet.
We haven’t had a big name like his in a while… ”
“So did he?”
“Did he do what?”
“Sign with you…”
“Oh yes, he did.”
“Wow, this is huge. What was so good about your ideas?” he says. A coldness rushes past my shoulders and a full-body shiver takes over me.
“Luck of the draw… Just another age-old story where my fate is in the hands of one man’s opinion.”
“Probably wanted someone who was softer around the edges and prettier than Chris.”
I lift my shoulders and try to physically shake off what he means by that. Without a second to think about it, I ask, “Are you happy for me?” It comes out as more of a whisper. A question that I don’t know if I want to speak louder.
“Of course I am happy for you. You are making big moves. Holden Strauss is trusting you with his image.”
I can feel my chest tightening and my throat becoming itchy.
“How’s the video game venture?”
As soon as the words come out of my mouth, Aidan pushes off the bed. He stares with pursed lips. “Not going.”
I push my body back to a crisscross apple sauce position on the bed, trying to maintain optimism in my voice. “I am sure you are just being hard on yourself.”
He rubs his chin a few times. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Crossing my arms, I know this is going to become a losing battle for us. You can never win with the Whitmores.
“I am trying to.” I softly whisper my words back.
“They won’t back me.” His voice is elevated now.
“Who won’t?”
“Who do you think?” he retorts.
Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore were nothing but generous with him. But I guess for work ethic, that was something you couldn’t teach and they knew that.
“There has to be a logical reason why they said no.”
“They said it was too risky. That I don’t know the implications of the amount of money I am asking for.”
“Maybe it could be risky?”
“So you are siding with them?”
“No, I just know they are big investors in other companies, so they probably know the signs…”
“What? I can’t scout a good company like they can?”
“You are twisting what I am saying, Aidan.”
“Look, I am really happy things are going so great for you at work. Let’s not talk about my failures…”
“It’s always going to be like this, isn’t it?”
I want him to stop. Desperately. Aidan Whitmore’s problems always feel heavier than everyone else in the room. Sometimes I feel like if I were to hand deliver my heart and head, it wouldn’t be enough.
Aidan has derailed me from my question. All I wanted was one night where we ate a whole ice-cream cake together, devouring every last bite, where it didn’t matter how late we stayed up or how terrible our stomachs ached.
Just one more night like it used to be.