I look for my phone, buried under a pile of cleaning material, since I’m still only halfway through the apartment. As I should have expected, there’s a new unread message from Lark already waiting. Photoshoot tomorrow, he says, with your favorite photographer, so I know you’ll enjoy it. Say you’ll come?
I stare at the message, a knot of confusion in my stomach. Actually, I type out, looking from my phone to the tie and back again. Are you free tonight? I was hoping to talk.
Of course. I’m just at mine, working on some proposals. Come by anytime.
The speed with which he replies, and the eagerness in his answer, sends off guilty alarm bells throughout me. He might think this means I’m having second thoughts about what I told him last time.
But I need to do this. I need to let go in order to move on. So I tell him I’ll be over in an hour, purposefully not even giving myself enough time to do my makeup properly or go all out. I just throw on a cute top (I’m not a saint), dust on some mascara and go.
Lark’s building looks as shiny and new as ever when I park outside. I climb the steps up to the glass front door with my heart in my throat. Tucked safely inside my purse is the tie that I ironed and rolled up in a neat little ball to return. My plan is to say my piece, hand it over, and head home hopefully feeling lighter and more ready to let go and move forward with my life.
It’s what my therapist would want me to do. Or so I tell myself, anyway.
The doorman at the desk lets me in with a smile and a nod, and pushes the button on the elevator to let me up to Lark’s floor. I try to smile back at him, and spend the whole elevator ride checking in the mirrors against the back wall to make sure that my hair isn’t a complete disaster. My smile looks wooden, tense.
Probably because I feel like a ball of nervous energy.
But when I step off the elevator, all of that melts away at the sight of Lark. He’s leaning against his kitchen counter with a book open, reading it with a little crease on his forehead, like he’s concentrating hard. It’s not until I knock gently, stepping through the doors to allow the elevator to close behind me, that he jumps and sets the book face-down on the counter.
When he does, I catch a glimpse of the title. Marketing Beauty Brands. A small smile touches my face. “Work research?” I ask.
He smiles back. “I want to make sure I’m doing everything I can for you, that’s all.”
Something flutters in my stomach. I force myself to ignore it. “Do you do this much homework for all your investments?” I side-eye him.
He lifts one shoulder in an easy shrug. “The ones I truly believe in, yeah.”
There’s that flutter again. Oh. I clear my throat and force myself to remember why I’m here. “Listen, I—”
“I just wanted to let you know, Cassidy, before you say anything else. I’ve gotten the message.”
I stop talking, blinking in confusion. For a split second, I try to remember if I drank enough any one night this week to have left a drunk voice message for him or something and then forgotten about it.
But he catches my expression and shakes his head, still smiling. “I mean, I understand that you want to take time for yourself. I won’t pursue you anymore. I can take no for an answer, you know. Once you repeat it often enough.” His eyes twinkle as he says it, but behind them, I’m sure I can detect a note of sadness in his voice. “From here on out, it’s all business with me, okay?” he continues. “I don’t want you to worry, or to think I won’t put my all into helping you just because our relationship didn’t work out the way I’d hoped.
My heart sinks, even though this should be exactly what I want to hear right now. He’s not going to pursue me anymore. That means I don’t have to fend off his advances, or constantly worry that I’m going to be weak and give into them.
It’s a good thing, I tell myself.
So why does it feel so bad? Looking at him now, all I want is for him to take it back. To tell me he’s not going to move on, that he can’t live without me. But those kinds of admissions only happen in movies, and anyway, would I want him to say that? Isn’t the healthiest type of relationships the one where both people are in it voluntarily, not because they’re afraid of what will happen if they’re alone?