Chapter 11 #2
I turn back to face the wall just before her first question is asked.
“Is being charming a way of manipulating people so that they like you?”
I laugh, shocked at how she’s come out of the gate with such a brutal first question.
“In a way, I suppose it is. You’re right, I want people to like me. It’s important in my job that people trust me, and people trust someone when they like them.”
“How can people tell if you really like them back, or if you’re just being nice because you want them to like you?”
“It’s my turn to ask a question,” I reply.
“This is a follow-up.”
“We didn’t agree to have follow-ups.”
“We didn’t agree not to have follow-ups.”
Words stop skating across the roof as I think about her question.
“I hope people don’t make any distinction,” I answer truthfully.
“But also, I think there’s something to like in most people.
So my complete answer would be that although I might not want to spend the holidays with most of the people I know, there’s usually something I like or admire in everyone I’m nice to. ”
More silence.
“Your turn,” she says.
Does that mean she’s satisfied with my answer? Does she hate what I’ve said? Jesus, I don’t know why I’m questioning myself so much around this woman? She’s making me agree to things, confess to things, rescue kittens—none of which was on my agenda for today.
I pull out a triangle from my pocket and unwrap it. I wince when I read the question. It feels wrong.
“You’re making me nervous,” Avril whispers from the other side of the arch. “Just ask me whatever it is you had.”
“Have you ever been in love before?” I say, before I can talk myself out of it.
“I don’t think so. You?”
“Is that your third question?” I ask.
“You’re a stickler, Ben East. You need to lighten up.”
I roll my eyes. “No, I’ve never been in love.” I’m more certain than she is. I’ve deliberately kept my connections in New York…light. It’s easier that way. My expectations are managed and I’m not disappointing anyone. It works. I’ve not even come close to being in love.
“So it’s my turn again,” I say.
Someone opening the locks on the Oyster Bar pulls our focus.
“My stomach is growling, in case that sound didn’t travel,” she says.
I ignore her. “Why is Boston so important to you?” I ask.
“I’ve told you. I want to prove myself.”
“But there are other ways.”
“Right, but Poppy and Worth are so cerebral. So binary. I’ve never seen Worth so proud as when I told him I was going to study economics at Columbia.
He understands that. So if Boston is a success, and I’m the person who’s been responsible for the entire thing, that will be demonstratable to them. And they’ll know I was the reason.”
My mind starts ticking away. Whether or not Boston comes off, there must be another way to quench Avril’s thirst to be taken seriously by her siblings. She’s going to spend her entire life on a plane or a train from here to Boston just to prove a point. It seems like madness to me.
“Have you thought about not working with Worth and Poppy? Doing something on your own?”
“Absolutely not. I love working with them. We’ve been through a lot together and the hotel is something positive that binds us, rather than it just being about blood or tragedy.”
My stomach drops to the floor. Being bound by tragedy.
The truth and pain of that hits deep in my chest. I know that feeling.
Bray and I are so deeply connected because of what we went through as children that sometimes just seeing him can stir things up in me that I thought were long buried. Things I want to stay there.
“I get that,” I say.
“What are you thinking about? Your dad?”
“Yes.” My voice is a broken whisper.
“How did he die?”
“A broken heart, I think.”
“He and your mom split?”
I sigh, as I think back to that time. I don’t know if they actually ever split up.
“He lost his restaurant. It went under. After living in our car for three weeks because we’d lost everything, my mum took me and my brother back to England, to my aunt’s house.
Dad stayed in New York, trying to get our life back.
He had a heart attack two weeks after we left.
” I gasp out a breath, as if getting the words out took physical effort.
“That’s so sad…” The sound of her voice trails off, as if she’s turning away from the wall to look back at me. But I can’t turn around. I don’t want to look at anyone right now.
Silence travels along the ceiling and the void is filled with some yelling and the struggling squeal of metal sliding against metal.
“Thank you for telling me,” she whispers. “Did your mom…how did she cope? Is she okay now?”
“She always says she moved forward, but not on. She remarried after Bray and I had come to New York. He’s a good guy who has a daughter, so we inherited a grown up sister, and although we’re not super-close, we look like a family at Christmas if you don’t look too closely.”
“That’s nice,” she says.
It is, but at the same time, every time I see mom with her husband, I’m reminded that he’s not my dad. That my dad died.
Her voice clears my head, and I take a breath.
I didn’t expect this to get as deep as it has. I don’t want either of us to be sad today.
“My turn,” I say. Before she can argue, I add, “Do you like my arse?”
Her diaphanous laugh echoes through the space. There’s no need for any architectural design to carry the sonorous notes. The sound lights a touchpaper of joy within me, lifting me a little higher in my shoes.
“You gotta be honest,” I remind her.
Now her laugh reaches me only because of the curve of the ceiling. It’s smaller, more intimate, but no less uplifting. “Yes, I like your ass,” she admits. “You don’t need to tell me whether or not you like mine. You’ve been checking me out since I got into my gym gear.”
“Guilty as charged,” I reply. “Your turn.”
“We’ve got to tell each other the truth, right? No ifs or buts?”
“Absolutely.”
“Were you telling the truth when you said you’d never brought a woman back to your apartment before? You know, after Aurora and Deacon’s engagement party, you said—”
“I know what I said. And yes, it was the truth.”
“So how come I was the exception to your strictly enforced rule?”
It’s a question I don’t have an answer to. So I decide to answer honestly. “I don’t know.”
More silence stretches between us.
God, I really like this woman.
“Come on,” I say. “I think we’ve both had more than six questions. Let’s go and eat.”