Chapter Twenty-Two
I t was raining when Samuel got the call from Leah to meet him at the MMJH. But he walked to the subway station and rode into Manhattan. It was still raining when he got off the subway, raining on 16th street as he walked in.
Same exhibit profiling Abraham Kaplan of Abe’s Kitchen greeted him just off the side of the entrance, a video tape playing on a loop.
But all that mattered was Leah.
She stood just in front of the entrance to the Abe Kaplan exhibit, her hair long, her rain boots peeking out from under her jeans, a cardigan sweater hugging her curves.
She was spectacular and yet it was as if she sucked all the light inside, locking it away.
All he wanted to do was hold her.
But she’d never let him. Not like this.
Instead, he smiled. “So we’re getting our museum day?” he asked.
Her smile was sad, and all it made him want to do was put his arms around her. To comfort her in ways that she rarely let anybody. “Yeah.”
It was an exhibit of art created by Jewish athletes, and he’d thought of her when he saw it. Immediately.
His brother had wondered why he’d been so interested in a random art exhibit like it, but to him this wasn’t random. This was Leah.
“I couldn’t wait to show you,” he said. “I just am glad I’m getting the chance to.”
He could see she wanted to smile but there was something stopping her. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t answer, just took his hand. “Let’s walk through the exhibit,” she said. “We need to talk afterwards anyway.”
Her tone was ominous, but he knew if he pushed, he wouldn’t get anything out of her. So he nodded and walked through the halls of the museum, his fingers entwined with hers.
But they stopped at a glass exhibit case, and she pointed, the bright nail polish on her fingers leading the way, the lights on a runway. “It’s why I left the party.”
He looked closer, recognizing the item in the case as a mask, the mask he’d contributed lettering to at the Tzedakah Exchange gala. “You left because of a mask?”
She laughed, and for a second the sadness he saw in her dissipated. “No,” she said once she’d regained her composure. “I left because of a client. The client that inspired the mask.”
He nodded, but he didn’t think she was going to give him more, not there and not with that expression on her face.
“Anyway,” she said as she dropped his hand. “There are always clients and stories and things, but the way ours goes now needs to be private. Do you want to come over to my place? I’m closer.”
His jaw dropped and he didn’t know what was happening. “Um…of course?”
“To talk,” she said. “Although it’s probably better if we go to the Stars and Icing I saw on the corner. Better place to chat.”
Which meant a few things. She was managing reactions.
But all the same, it seemed like she was holding back.
What was going on?
He nodded. “Okay.”
*
It was a bright, beautiful, Manhattan afternoon when Leah left the museum, Samuel walking by her side. She’d shoved her hands into her pockets to keep from reaching out, the same way she’d reached out to him so many times before.
If this day was different, she’d be walking with him, their fingers intertwined like their lives had become. But now, they were tangled, twisted, knotted, on the way to being cut thread by thread.
Truth to tell, Leah realized the threads that connected them had been cut long before. She’d been thinking the worst as she left Liam’s party but the days of all-nighters, where Carly’s contract and her next cup of coffee had been the only things on her mind followed one after the other. This contract had been harder to negotiate than any other she’d ever done, but it was important. The time was worth it, and when the negotiations had finished, Leah wanted to collapse and she had.
Until she remembered that the outside world called and Samuel left texts and emails.
Each text, each email fed into her guilt, draining her and reminding her why she was a horrible bet.
Now, she and Samuel had settled into one of the small booths in the back of the 13th Street location of Stars and Icing, the chocolate pudding freeze they’d ordered in beautiful glass bowls in front of them.
And yet all of the chocolate in the world couldn’t support her through this conversation, and soothe the wound she was about to create. Sometimes, the things she had to do were painful, but there was no choice.
None.
“So,” he said. “Are you okay?”
Which was one of those million-dollar questions; innocuous, and yet not at the same time. Pointed. “No,” she said. “I’m not okay.”
He nodded, and she could see his body change, from the slight relaxation of someone about to eat dessert to someone who was bracing themselves. “What’s wrong?”
Now she was in it. Now she had to say something, and make it clear, whatever it is. “I can’t do this,” she managed. “I can’t continue with the contract.”
If she concentrated, she thought she might hear the sound of his jaw breaking on the table, but it only looked that wide. His eyes looked like endless chocolate pools of sadness, which hurt.
“What?”
“I know,” she managed. “I thought…but I don’t…won’t have the time to do the emotional work that a real relationship—what you deserve—requires. My job is always going to intervene. My life isn’t mine and that isn’t fair.”
“So that’s it?”
She nodded, quickly, trying not to consider the way his words stung. “Yes,” she said. “I can’t continue on like this, knowing I’m going to hurt you for real. I can’t do that.”
“So you’re going to leave at the first sign of trouble? Not even give me a chance to work things out with you?”
She shook her head. “You saw what happened when I let my guard down and relaxed. My job intervened and I couldn’t get back to you, or anybody, for a week at least. I just… I can’t.”
“I can work anywhere,” he said. “I can get lost in work for hours. I can sit and do my work in the stands of a hockey game…”
“It doesn’t matter because my job isn’t just sitting there. It’s focusing on what’s going on. I can’t be without a phone ever, and I can’t give you what you deserve,” she managed even as her heart was breaking. “I can’t. I just can’t. But I can give you something else?”
He blinked; he was confused. She understood that much.
“I forgive you,” she said. “For high school. You’ve matured, you’ve changed. We’re different people now, and it’s not fair to let you believe that I still harbor that kind of upset.”
He looked like he’d gotten hit by a truck and all she wanted to do was break down and tell him that she could stay with him, that she could be with him. But the thought of cold hard reality was making her nauseous.
“Thank you,” he said, finally. “I appreciate that.”
She could see he was having trouble figuring out what to do and how to handle things. This conversation, their connection, heck. Anything and everything.
But he sat there, across from her, his hands just behind the border of being able to touch her. And then he clenched his fingers and let them go. She followed his movements, wanting to take that step of touching his fingers with hers.
She couldn’t take refuge in his touch any longer, nor could she ease the pain he was visibly feeling. She was having enough trouble as it was keeping her own swirling storm of emotion locked away inside. “Is there anything else I can do? Do you need help?”
He shook his head, then paused, as if he’d remembered the section of the contact where he’d asked for consideration, for a favor to be granted later.
And if nothing else, now could be that later.
“I’ve got a big contract coming,” he said. “But I need an agent. If you know anybody, can you send them my way?”
“I can do that,” she said, pushing the words out as quickly as she could. “I know someone who might be helpful.”
“I’d appreciate that,” he said. “So I guess this it?”
She nodded. “This is it.” And then she stood up. “I have to go,” she said before she lost it completely in front of him.
Second thoughts, third thoughts followed her out of the restaurant and onto the subway that took her back to her apartment.
She was alone, and that was how it was meant to be.
Right?