I wave and make my way to the elevator. Once inside, I press the button to the eighth floor and wait. It’s slow moving, but better than walking up the flights of stairs. I could move, but I like my place. It’s a one-bedroom with a small kitchen and living room. The view is fantastic and I have access to the fire escape where I sit during the summer and people watch. I think that’s one of my favorite things to do – people watch.
Tonight, lights brighten the dark streets and passersby mingle in front of the stores and buildings that still have their displays up. They’ll start coming down tomorrow and just like that, the holiday season is over. Everyone will forget for months about how stressful and wonderful the past few weeks have been, until it starts all over again. I won’t forget. I have too many memories, and each time I close my eyes, Xander is right there reminding me of everything we shared.
The knock on my door doesn’t surprise me. I know it’s Oliver before I even open it. He often frequents the coffee shop across the street, especially when we’re not getting along. I don’t know why he feels that this is like the other times before. Breaking up with him and leaving was the best decision to make. Being away gave me time to see what my life is like without him. I didn’t sit around and pine for him, or even call him. I used the time to connect with my family. I experienced what it was like to be free and let myself go, and when I did I was rewarded with Xander, a man who sees me for me and isn’t pressuring me to be someone I don’t want to be.
Oliver knocks again causing me to roll my eyes. Charles, no doubt, confirmed that I am indeed, home. Charles doesn’t know any better, but Oliver does. He knows that I don’t have anything to say.
As I look at the door, I see that I didn’t lock it. That’s not something I usually forget. I know my mind is elsewhere, maybe still in Beaumont. I open the door, standing between it and the doorjamb. Oliver is resting against the opposite wall. The look on his face is pensive. He’s thinking and showing me that he’s hurt. If he would look at me he’d see that I don’t care. Not anymore.
“I’m happy to see you’ve finally decided to come home.”
I sigh and fight the urge to roll my eyes. “We aren’t scheduled to rehearse until tomorrow. I’m home.”
“Most performers rehearse day in and day out to make sure that when the curtain goes up they’re ready. They don’t take a two week vacation and come back like nothing has changed.”
“Everything has changed, Oliver. What did you think? That I would stay home and sulk, waiting for you to call? Not this time. I told you, I’m done.” I move to shut the door, but he stops me. I could fight him. I could yell and scream and the guy down the hall will come running or the lady across from me will call 911 without even opening her door, but he’s harmless. When I say Oliver is the quintessential Broadway producer, he is. He’s a pretty metro boy who cares more about his appearance than lifting weights. His weekly mani-pedi’s are a must for him.
“Yvie, you don’t mean this. Sure, we’ve hit a rough patch, but once you come to your senses, everything will be better.”
I throw my hands up. “To my senses? What does that mean?”
“Marriage, Yvie. We could become a powerhouse couple, and you keep pushing it off.”
I rub my temples and wish I hadn’t answered the door. I’m going on a lack of sleep. I’m exhausted and really just want to crawl into bed.
“I need some sleep, Oliver. I’ll see you tomorrow at rehearsals.” I walk toward the open door and hold it, motioning for him to leave.
“And we’ll talk tomorrow?”
I let him think that I’m contemplating his offer. He steps out of my apartment thinking that he’s won again. I look at him as I start to close the door. “Oliver, it’s over,” I say as I slam the door quickly and slide the lock in place. Resting my head against the door, I wait until I hear his footsteps move down the hall. I pull out my cell phone and bring it to life. My background picture is of Xander and me at three a.m. this morning, lying on his bed. My head is on his shoulder and my hand on his chest. We were looking at each other as he took the picture. I don’t know what possessed me to set it as my background, but I’m happy that I did.
I pull up his name, my thumb hovering over the letters as if they’re able to be touched. As if he knows I’m thinking about him, a text pops up from him.
Xander: Did you make it home?
Just knowing he cares makes me smile and makes my heart hurt. It’d be so easy to give in to him and not look back.
I’m home, door is locked and my bed is screaming my name.
Xander: You were screaming my name pretty loud a few hours ago.
I don’t know how he does it, but a simple look from him and I’m a wanton whore, lifting my skirt in the car just so I can have one more time with him before I had to leave.
I know. I haven’t forgotten.
Xander: I meant to ask you earlier – when can I see you next?
My heart beats a little faster knowing that he wants to see me and is already asking. I just don’t know what the answer is. I think that if I leave the ball in his court, I’m not faced with saying something stupid or out of place.
I work five nights a week, but I can take time off. It’s usually no more than 2 days.
I press send before I can change my reply. He needs to know that my job is important to me even though I want to see him.
Xander: You know, I’ve been thinking… well, I’m just thinking! Good night, Tiny Dancer.
I stare at my phone, wondering if I should reply. Part of me wants to know what he’s thinking and the other part wants to be surprised, romanced. Xander is definitely someone who can romance me.
It’s been six-weeks since I dropped Yvie off at the airport for a second time and not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought about her. I can’t look at the weight bench without memories of that night flooding my mind and have thought about moving it into my office and replacing it with another. Even though I sterilized it, I cringe each time someone uses it, out of jealousy and for sanitary reasons.