Fight or Flight(62)
“Then why are you standing in my office talking to me about how you miss sex with me when your wife has just died?”
“I don’t know,” he moaned. “I’m saying it wrong.”
“Do you want me to forgive you on Gem’s behalf? Is that it?”
“You knew her best. What would she say?”
“Did she know, Nick? Did she know about this other woman?”
“Women,” he whispered. “They looked like you.”
I suddenly felt queasy as understanding began to dawn. Nick thought he loved me but it wasn’t love. It was an infatuation he’d never been able to rid himself of. He’d self-destructed over and over again, searching for something that didn’t exist. And he’d pulled Gem right down with him. Along with the queasiness, I felt an unbearable sadness for my lost friend, and an impatient need to get her widowed husband out of my sight. “She would have forgiven you,” I whispered back. “She gave up a lot for you and Gem would have needed to believe that you were worth it.”
“She wanted a baby so badly. She thought it would bring us closer together. I killed her.” He suddenly sobbed.
I flinched, looking down at my desk, the ache in my chest for Gem almost more than I could handle. “She loved you. Just hold on to that.”
“Say you understand, Ava, please. Say you get it now. That you know I really did love you. I think I still—”
“Don’t.” I glared over at him. “Get this through your head now, Nick, and then leave and don’t come back. You don’t know me. You never knew me. Forget about me and move on with your life. Go home and grieve for a woman who I have to believe in your own weak way you loved. And then forget about the past. I have, Nick. I’m not saying this to be cruel. I’m saying it for your own good—I don’t love you. I don’t even like you. A part of me wants to be angry at you for Gem’s sake. But you don’t deserve to have that from me. So now, as soon as you walk out that door, you’ll be just a memory.”
For a moment he stood there staring at me, like he couldn’t quite believe this was how it was ending. Was he honestly so delusional he thought it would end differently?
“Your mom thought …”
“My mom thought what?” I asked wearily.
He shook his head, his smile bitter. “She thought you were still in love with me.”
“You do remember my mother doesn’t know anything about me, right?”
Nick gave me a sad, pathetic smirk. “It’s coming back to me now.”
“Good-bye, Nick.”
He stared at me for so long I gestured to the door.
Finally, he nodded. “Good-bye, Ava.”
And as he disappeared out of my office, his footsteps fading away, I felt a peace settle over me that I hadn’t felt in a long time. Two days ago I never would have imagined being brave enough to have this discussion with Nick, but Caleb was right. I had needed to do that.
I thought about calling Caleb to confide in him about the disturbing and woeful conversation I’d just had with my ex, but that felt too much like something a girlfriend would do. Instead I called Harper.
“Harp, you won’t believe what just happened to me,” I said on her voice mail. “Call me so I can tell you all about it.” I hung up, hoping she would return my call. I’d spent much of yesterday rolling around in bed with Caleb, but during a breather I’d called Harper and she hadn’t picked up. Not sure if she was mad at me or avoiding the questions she knew I had about Vince, I was a little worried.
But if I knew my best friend like I knew I did, she wouldn’t be able to ignore me if she thought I needed her. And right now I needed to tell someone about Nick, because part of me couldn’t even believe that had just happened.
Harper had texted me to grab a quick lunch with her at the restaurant so we could talk. I was hurrying toward Canterbury when my cell rang. Seeing it was Roxanne Sutton, my hard-to-please client, I groaned, but answered the call as I turned left on Milk Street.
“Roxanne, how are you?”
“How am I?” Her high-pitched voice screeched through the phone and I winced. “I’ve just seen the chaise for the master bedroom. Who approved that fabric choice? Because it was not me!”
Irritation made my skin flush hot, but as always I kept my feelings on the inside where they belonged when dealing with a client. “Roxanne, you did approve it. I sent you samples over a week ago that you approved. My upholsterer got to work straightaway and the chaise is the first completed piece for the master suite.”
“I did not choose that fabric,” she insisted. “And frankly, I am appalled by your lack of commitment to this project. Stella assured me that you were just as good as Paul, but I am having serious doubts.”
Irate as I found myself marching down Pearl Street toward Canterbury, I did my best to mask it. “I’m truly sorry you feel that way because I certainly have been giving my all to the project.”
“Not your all. Now …” She took a deep breath. “I am willing to give you a second chance because I have seen the work you’ve done on previous projects that I found satisfactory—”
High praise indeed.
“So I insist that you meet me at the summerhouse again, on Wednesday, so I can remind you of what it is that I’m looking for in this redesign. Hopefully the visit will help you recommit to the project.”