Part 25 (1/2)
”All right, but for the record, I am sorry,” Evie continued, unwilling to let her expert placement of a rocking chair wholly absolve her wrongdoing.
”I get it, Evie. Here, let me show you some Maya pictures. We've gone a little camera-crazy.” He pulled his iPad out from his messenger bag and starting scrolling through pictures.
Watching Paul at work, she craved feeling the smooth metal of her own Mac notebook. She missed being a touch away from her pictures. She longed to hear the rhythm of her fingertips tapping the keyboard. But more than anything, she wanted to check her e-mail. Jack said he was going to contact her about designing his restaurant. She wondered if he actually would, and if he did, would it even matter to her? What really mattered was that she had messed things up with her actual boyfriend. So why was she thinking more about Jack? It didn't make much sense.
But really, few things did anymore.
Chapter 19.
In the first weeks of January, during a freeze that weathermen were describing as the ”Big Apple Chill,” Evie could palpably feel the distance Edward was putting between them. He called to follow up on her electricity situation, but when he didn't suggest getting together, she was crestfallen.
It was hard not to wonder if Edward had diverted their relations.h.i.+p from the path to something serious to a fun interlude on the dating superhighway. The only stumbling block so far (at least in her mind) had been the macabre New Year's Eve dinner at JAK. Though she tried to suppress it, and even rewrite the course of the evening in her mind (especially the parts that were fuzzy from the alcohol), she knew all too well the way she had come across. Like a girl who wasn't over her ex. Who still got fl.u.s.tered in his presence. Who cared a little too much what he thought of her. Who had something to prove. Now she felt compelled to show Edward that she was wholly ready to commit to him, even if inside she was coming to wonder if Jack might always occupy at least a slice of her heart.
She surprised him at the hospital a few days later and took him to lunch at Spice on Second Avenue. Over coconut-curry soup and veggie dumplings, they talked about anything but Jack and New Year's Eve, and by the end of lunch, they seemed to have gotten back into their familiar rhythm. Back in his office, she produced a gift from her pocketbook.
”I have something for you.” Evie paused before handing over the silver-wrapped package.
Edward looked at the small box curiously.
He peeled apart the silver paper, at first trying not to tear it but then getting impatient. His face glowed when he saw the present, a newspaper article framed in antique silver. To the corner of the frame Evie had affixed a sticky note that said, ”Mine certainly did when we first held hands. xx, Evie.”
”I really wanted to read some of your old science articles, but since I don't use the Internet, I couldn't find them. So I decided to go to the library and I tracked them down in the stacks. It was harder than it sounds. Anyway, I photocopied the one you wrote about whether hearts actually skip beats when people get excited.” She tried to stifle her smile.
”Arrhythmic palpitations,” Edward said, with a scholarly head bob.
”Exactly.” Evie smiled. ”The medical jargon is really hot.” He could spout the most esoteric medical knowledge without being pedantic, unlike Jack, who spoke about reducing a sauce like it was designing a rocket s.h.i.+p.
”So I've been told. Seriously, though. This is amazing, Evie. I love it.” He embraced her.
”I really hope you like it,” Evie said, watching as he set up the frame next to Olivia's picture. She still felt anxious, though, and didn't want to wait for him to ask her out again.
”Are you free to see a movie this weekend?” she asked while his back was still turned.
”Definitely,” he responded, and Evie could feel her fingers tingle.
”Oh, and guess what? If you had any doubt how much I respect your opinion, I have news for you.”
”Really? What kind of news?”
”I'm going back to school. One day after visiting Bette, I dropped by the New York School of Interior Design to ask about their cla.s.ses. It's right on Seventieth Street on the East Side. It turns out they have a one-year certification program and Bette offered to pay part of my tuition. Apparently her was.h.i.+ng out Ziploc bags all those years led to some amount of savings. Edward-walking into the building, seeing the designers walking around with portfolio books, discussing their projects, I felt like I was finally in the right place. It was electrifying.”
”That's wonderful! I'm so happy for you.” He hugged her again.
”It was weird, just enrolling like that. The registrar was a little surprised when I asked if she needed to see my SAT score.”
”Not everything has to be difficult,” Edward said.
She was coming to learn that.
”And to be clear, this has absolutely nothing to do with redesigning JAK. I have no intention of doing that. I need you to know that.”
”I trust you,” Edward said, with a gentle squeeze of both of her shoulders and a peck on her forehead. ”The design school is right near the hospital. We can meet for lunch.”
She exhaled a deep breath of relief hearing his forward thinking. ”Thanks. I start in September. Caroline ended up telling Jerome that I designed his office and he insisted on paying me for the work. He even hired me to remodel their guesthouse in the Hamptons. So with that and Bette's contribution I won't have trouble covering the tuition.”
”And you balked the first time I suggested this to you,” he said playfully. ”Listen, I have to deliver grand rounds in twenty minutes. But I'm excited to hear more about this.”
It was after seeing another romantic comedy, this one about a doctor falling in love with a hypochondriac so she keeps inventing things that might be wrong with him, that they did finally sleep together. Before the date, Evie had taken painstaking care to look great, splurging on a new minidress and ankle boots and having her hair professionally blown out. She waxed, plucked, shaved, combed, trimmed, and polished everything that needed attention. It felt a bit like going through a human car wash, but when Edward picked her up looking especially adorable in faded gray corduroys and a gray zip-up sweater, she was glad she had gone to the trouble.
Within minutes of returning home from their quick bite of pasta after the movie, her new dress and boots lay in a careless pile in her living room, her lace bra and panties resting on top like the cherry on a sundae. The s.e.x was even better than she expected it would be, the wait they had to endure to get to that moment only heightening the intensity. The first round was fast and ferocious, both of them desperate to explore the other's body, maybe even make sure they were as compatible s.e.xually as they were otherwise. Once that box was checked, they slowed down a bit, taking time to kiss and speak softly to each other in between pa.s.sionate embraces and rounds of lovemaking. She found their bodies fit like lock and key. Her head rested perfectly in the dip between his shoulder and chest. His feet reached just the right length under hers so he could tickle her toes with his. Each climax felt like putting in the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle.
Life was good.
The registrar at the New York School of Interior Design had said Evie was welcome any time to visit and collect materials for the upcoming semester. She could barely wait. With the syllabus and recommended reading list in hand, Evie walked home from the school in a happy fog. When she got to West Sixty-Sixth Street, she detoured left unexpectedly. Before she knew it, she was on the other side of the revolving door of The Hamilton, the building that housed the one-bedroom the broker Emmeline Fields had tried to entice her to see.
”Can I help you?” the doorman asked. He was dressed in a maroon and black uniform with gold ta.s.sels, as elegantly clad as a Buckingham Palace guard.
”Yes, in fact you can,” Evie said. ”There's a one-bedroom apartment for sale here. Or there was. Represented by Allman-White. I was wondering if I could see it. I don't remember the open house schedule.”
”Sorry, ma'am. That apartment sold at the end of January. A couple with a new baby purchased it.”
”Okay, thank you,” she said, more disappointed than she thought she'd be.
”There is another apartment on the market,” the doorman said, putting his hand on the door to keep her inside. ”It's a two-bedroom. A great family apartment with river views. It's another Emmeline Field exclusive. I can ask the super to call up and see if anyone is home to show it to you.”
Evie pictured Olivia's toile coc.o.o.n in Edward's town house. How she'd love to create something even more beautiful for her here, in this family apartment.
”Well, I don't have a family. Or a husband. Yet,” Evie added, inexplicably confessing her personal life to the doorman. ”I hope I will soon. And when I do, I'm coming here to look first.”
”Good luck with that, miss.”
”Thank you, sir. You can let Emmeline know I stopped by. Tell her I'm the one whose bag she found near the Brighton school. And that I'll be back.”
”Will do. The building has a gym, a playroom, and a-”
”I'm so sorry,” Evie said, ringing cell in hand. ”I've got to take this.”
She rushed out of the building, staring at the screen of her phone. Those ten digits. It had been a long time since she had seen them. But she'd never forget them.
”Jack,” she said. ”How are you?”
”I've been better, truthfully. I'm perplexed as to why you haven't returned any of my e-mails. I must have sent you half a dozen since I saw you on New Year's Eve. I've been checking my account constantly.”