Chapter Two #2
After hanging up the handset, he wandered over to his wine rack and plucked out the bottle of 1981 Cabernet.
He grabbed a stemmed glass and poured the last of the velvety red liquid, glad that he’d reached the end of the bottle — he didn’t want to be harbouring a hangover the next morning.
Then, taking the glass with him, he turned on his record player, choosing to listen to the vinyl already beneath the needle, and sunk down in his lounge chair while humming to Bob Seger’s ‘Hollywood Nights’.
When the delivery arrived thirty-five minutes later, the scent of spices and soy filled the air, weaving through the townhouse like a tangible memory of better times — he and his ex, who had lived together for five years, had shared a love for takeaway night.
Until she’d chosen to leave him for a woman in her office, casually telling him one sunshiny day while they were out jogging that she didn’t like sleeping with him anymore.
In the next breath she’d promised that she hadn’t cheated, and he wholeheartedly believed her.
Daisy had been too honest a person to cheat or lie.
At the very least, he’d held onto the fact that she’d done the right thing — before shattering his heart.
And if he were being honest with himself, they’d felt more like friendly roommates towards the end anyway.
Quelling this painful recollection while unpacking the containers one by one, he felt steam rising up to greet him, the familiar aromatic balm easing the ache in his soul.
Sweet and sour pork, special fried rice and sticky dim sims. If he’d gone to the restaurant to eat it all there, he would’ve added deep-fried ice cream in the mix too.
With strawberry topping. For a moment, as he took the first bite, the flavours transported him beyond the confines of his townhouse and to the streets of Hong Kong where he’d walked two weeks earlier on a layover, the images offering a brief reprieve from the swell of yearning that threatened to engulf him.
But even as he savoured the taste, the emptiness in his heart echoed, along with a quiet voice in the back of his mind, whispering her name, Zara, as he sat alone at his kitchen table.
With an exhale that seemed to carry the weight of his longing, he pushed back from the table and returned to the wine rack.
Selecting a deep ruby Shiraz that had been a gift from his parents, he uncorked it then poured with a finesse born of countless evenings spent in the same ritual.
Swirling the wine gently, he watched as it caressed the sides of the glass.
Bringing the fine crystal to his nose, he breathed in deep.
The aroma was complex — ripe berries, a hint of oak, and something indefinably warm and spicy.
Bringing the glass to his lips, he relished the first sip as it danced across his tongue and warmed his chest like a lover’s embrace.
Changing the record from Bob Seger to Foreigner, he sunk back into his lounge chair to the tune of ‘I Want to Know What Love Is’.
Quite fitting, he thought with a cynical chuckle.
His gaze wandered until it landed upon the broken pieces of ceramic on the counter.
A pang gripped him fiercely, as if the shattered porcelain mirrored the fissures in his own heart.
Standing then wandering over to it, he touched the jagged lines with a gentleness that contradicted his strong hands — ones that had held the controls of a 747 with unwavering confidence, yet now hesitated with a vulnerability he seldom allowed himself to acknowledge.
Lost in his swirling thoughts, the sweet melody of familiar music and the warmth of the wine, he closed his eyes and let himself float on the current of his emotions.
With lamplight casting a golden halo around him, he drifted towards a dreamy future intertwined with the woman who’d so easily gripped his attention.
A mosaic of sensations decorated his inner landscape — longing mingled with hope, loneliness entwined with the possibility of love — as he envisioned Zara walking through the door, her presence chasing away the shadows of his solitude.
He could easily see them hand in hand, strolling along sandy shores where the infinite ocean met with the land, their tranquil faces brightened by a sun-drenched horizon wide enough to hold all their tomorrows.
‘Where are you,’ he whispered into the silence, his voice barely audible, ‘… Zara Monroe?’ Her name felt like a mantra on his lips, a prayer to the winds that she might somehow find her way back to him. ‘And are you thinking of me, too?’
* * *
Way too bright and early the following morning, nursing a slight hangover from too much red wine, Jay tenderly scrutinised a shard of the ceramic plate, then picked it up and gently fitted it into place with another.
The past half an hour had been a delicate dance of alignment and patience, much like the intricate weaving of fate that had brought him together with Zara for those five beautiful minutes.
The sunlit room was filled with contrasting scents — coffee and the strong aroma of glue mingling with the lingering scent of Chinese spices from last night’s takeout — but somehow this unlikely combination provided a strange comfort as he focused on the task at hand.
With each piece thus far carefully placed, the plate had begun to reclaim its former shape, becoming a pattern of restoration that mirrored his deep-seated desire for wholeness.
Tedious as it was, the process was almost meditative for him, a way to somehow bridge the gap between Italy and Australia, between him and Zara.
Almost three hours and the same number of coffees later, exactly forty-five minutes after the last piece had clicked into place, he held his breath as he carefully held up his pièce de résistance.
The plate was not perfect. Far from it, actually.
Faint lines where it had fractured were still visible, like thin silvery scars, but for him it was whole again, standing as a symbol of possibility and second chances.
With a reverence reserved for treasured keepsakes, he wandered towards his prized possessions and placed the plate upon a shelf that caught the morning sun.
From here on in, every glimpse of it would be a reminder of Zara Monroe and the brief encounter that had potentially exposed his heart, if only a little for now, to the prospect of falling in love again.
In a kind of butterfly effect, she’d spun him in a different direction without even trying, so effortlessly that it was poetic.
And there, in the stillness of his home, surrounded by the comforting embrace of familiar possessions, with her memory around him, he felt a fleeting warmth akin to the one that had caressed his soul when his touch had brushed against hers.
It was strange, how things worked. The plate, once broken and now healed, standing proudly among his books and mementos, was like a guardian of his heart’s most fervent wish — to find Zara Monroe once more in this enormous, unpredictable world, so he could somehow, some way, make her a part of his life.
Forevermore.
Surprised at his own thoughts, he felt the room fade into nothingness as he shut his eyes and lost himself in reflection.
Zara’s presence lingered behind his closed lids — her mischievous honey-brown eyes, her smile a gentle curve that promised endless adventures — and a deeper determination took root within him, as relentless and unyielding as the pull of the ocean.
He’d find her, no matter the miles or mysteries that lay between them.
He was aware of the enormity of this task, certain there were countless women named Zara in the world.
He was also mindful that she might not care if he reappeared on her path, that she might not want him in her life at all.
Heck, she could be engaged, married even, and just not be one to wear a ring. Who knew?
But it was a risk he was willing to take.
The intensity of fate calling for him to follow through with the dice that had already been rolled was unlike anything he’d felt before.
Exhaling slowly, he did his best to release all the doubts and fears that clouded his purpose.
The quest to find her was not a question of if, but when.
He whispered a silent prayer into the ether, hoping for an answer in return.
But silence was the response as the stillness around him contrasted with the storm of feelings within.
He continued to control his breath. In, out.
In, out. Time seemed to slow down, allowing him to fully sink into the depths of his yearning.
Each tick of the clock above the mantlepiece reminded him of the passing moments without her, each one a missed opportunity slipping away like grains of sand through his fingers.
What in the heck had come over him?
Was he mad, chasing some dream?
Was he setting himself up for another almighty fall?
Jay knew it was out of the ordinary to be acting like this.
But honestly, it was out of his hands. He craved an out-of-the-ordinary kind of love.
Had done so for all of his adult life. So, instead of clinging to fear, he chose to cling to hope — hope that time could be an ally, that the same seconds and minutes that kept them apart might one day bring them back together.
And if it did, he’d be making the most of his second chance, if gifted it, to woo Zara, to learn her, to show her how a man should treat a woman.
Tenderly, lovingly, protectively, kindly, respectfully — always.
With every beat of his heart, he sent out silent wishes that fate would intertwine their paths once more.
Anchored by his emotions while drifting in a sea of optimism, he held onto the belief that she was out there somewhere, waiting for him just as he was waiting for her.
Looking for him, like he was looking for her.
Dreaming of him, like he was dreaming of her.