AT THE OFFICE, Shari went about her work wondering if and when Evan would really text her, or if that had been the blubbering of a drunken fool. By ten-thirty she was both annoyed and disappointed that she hadn’t heard from him.
At eleven, while on the phone with a client, one of the assistants showed up at her door with a huge bouquet of multicolored flowers. Shari’s stomach did a rolling flip as she gaped at them.
“These came for you,” Tonya said, placing them on her desk. “Even in a vase already. Convenient.”
Shari nodded, staring at the flowers.
“They’re spectacular,” Tonya said.
“They are, aren’t they?” Shari said. “Thank you for bringing them.” When Tonya left, she looked for a card, finding one on a plastic stick in the middle of the bouquet. It was blue and white, embossed with a silver Jewish star. Then she realized the ribbons wrapped around the glass vase were also blue and white. Were these Chanukah flowers?
Dear Shari,
Too sick to come to work today. (hungover) (shocking, I know) But I realized I didn’t get to give you your second present last night, for the second night of Chanukah. Hope these flowers are a decent substitute.
I love you. Please forgive me for being stupid.
Yours, Evan
Shari stared at the colorful flowers— there were lavender roses, fuchsia gerbera daisies, orange spray roses, lavender carnations, and an assortment of greens to fill in the spaces. They were absolutely gorgeous. The card was cute, the thought sweet. But . . .
But she couldn’t bring herself to talk to him. She was still too hurt.
Instead, she grabbed her phone and texted him. Just got the flowers. They’re beautiful. Thank you.
Evan responded within a minute. You’re welcome. Hope it brightens up your office, and your day. Did you get the card with it?
Yes. She hesitated, then added, It was sweet.
Sweet enough for you to meet me for dinner?
I thought you were hungover.
I am. Sick as hell. Pathetic. But I should be better by then. And I really want to see you and talk to you. Have dinner with me.
Shari bit down on her lip, wavering. But she wrote, Sorry, I have to work late.
I’ll meet you after, then.
No, Evan. I’m sorry. Not tonight. I’m not ready. She paused, wondering if she should go on, then did in a burst. You really hurt me, you know. And gave me a lot to think about. You’re not the only one reassessing our relationship now.
He didn’t answer. She held the phone and stared at it, waiting with breath held. Then it rang in her hand, making her gasp and jump. It was Evan. “Hi,” she said.
“I’m not reassessing anything,” he said without preamble. “I got scared, I admit it. My family got on my case, I felt pressured, I got jittery. I should have talked to you about it instead of pushing you away.”
“Yes, you should have,” she agreed. “But you didn’t want to. You’d made up your mind, and that was it.”
“I know,” he groaned. “I was an idiot to let you walk out of that restaurant yesterday, and I know it.”
“I don’t know,” she hedged. “During our short conversation you raised valid points. And if you recall, I did, too.”
“We were fine before yesterday,” he said, an edge to his voice.
“Funny, I thought we were, too. What did I know?”
“Shari, you’re pissed at me, I get it. I don’t blame you.”
“I am pissed, and I’m entitled to be. But much more than that, I’m disappointed,” she revealed quietly. “I knew something was up. I tried to get you to talk to me. But you shut me out. Then you blindsided me. You all but dumped me, Evan.”
“I didn’t dump you,” he insisted. “I just said I thought we should spend some time apart while I figured out what was going on in my head.”
“Not much different,” she said. “And what, you figured it all out in a few hours? Now everything’s fine, it was a false alarm or a quick fix? That’s bullshit.”
“Shari,” he said, “as I watched you walk away from me, everything was screaming in me not to let you leave. I know I did it all wrong, that I screwed up.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“I want to make it up to you.”
“I don’t know if you can,” she whispered.
“Oh honey.” He sighed deeply. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I really am.”
Her eyes stung. He sounded so remorseful. But how was she supposed to just go back to him and pick up where they’d left off? The issue was real, and it hadn’t been addressed or solved. “Thank you for that. But I think I should get back to work now.”
“Please meet me for dinner so we can talk more,” he said.
“No.” She reached over and started fidgeting with edges of the skinny blue and white ribbons.
“I want to fix this,” he pressed.
“I’m sorry, but a bunch of drunk texts and pretty flowers isn’t going to fix this.”
“I know. We need to talk.”
“Well, I’m not ready to talk. I . . . now I’m the one who wants time and space.”
He swore under his breath.
“We both have a lot to think about, Evan.” She sighed. “You don’t think you ever want to get married. That’s fine. But I do. Eventually I want to get married, have a family . . . if you don’t want those things, we’re at an impasse.”
“I don’t want to lose what we have,” he said, almost pleading.
“Had.” Her eyes slipped shut. “Please don’t make this harder.”
“Do you still love me?” he asked tersely.
“Of course I do,” she sighed. “That doesn’t just disappear overnight.”
“Then I intend to make this very hard for you,” he promised. “I was wrong. I admit that. And I handled it horribly. But I’m going to fix this. I’m not giving up. Because I love you, too.”
Her breath felt stuck in her chest and her stomach felt woozy. She cleared her throat and whispered, “I have to go. Thanks for the flowers.” She disconnected the call.
“HI, SWEETIE. ABOUT time you called me back,” Brenda Sonntag said to her youngest child.
“Ma, don’t guilt me,” Evan warned. “I saw you two days ago. I have a bad headache and I’m in an even worse mood.” With a sigh, he scrubbed his hand across his face. “Ma, I screwed up. I . . . I need your help.”
“What’s the matter?” she asked, immediately shifting into Mom Mode.
He paused. His head was still pounding, but at least he wasn’t nauseous anymore. He had no idea how many beers he’d consumed the night before, but he’d paid for it all morning at the altar of the Porcelain God. The headache, however, wouldn’t quit, and the rest of his body felt like he’d been hit by a truck. “I kind of . . . broke up with Shari. Sort of.”
“You what?” his mother cried. “Why? When? What happened?”
“I . . . freaked out,” he admitted. “You all got me so riled up about how she’s so perfect, I should marry her, we have to get married . . . it gave me cold feet. And then, instead of discussing it with her, I said I needed time and space to think things over and pushed her away.”
“Oh my God,” Brenda moaned. He could picture her dropping her forehead onto her hand, as she usually did when she was upset.
“There’s more,” he admitted. “Thing is, I never told her that I don’t want to get married. It was a surprise to her. So now she feels like I used her, like I lied to her.”
“This gets better and better!” Brenda said, sarcasm dripping from her words.
“Needless to say, she won’t see me. Now she’s the one who wants space.”
“I don’t blame her! Wow, did you mess this up.”
“Thanks, Ma,” he ground out. He rolled over on the couch to a better position. “You know, what I didn’t say to you, or Bubby, or that rabid crowd in the living room, and haven’t even gotten to explain to Shari yet, is that I don’t think I want to get married. Not one hundred percent definite on that. It’s not carved in stone.”
“So what’s changed in two days?” his mother asked. “What, all of a sudden you changed your mind? That sounds like a load to me.”
“I sent her flowers, asked her to dinner. Told her we need to talk. She said no.”
“I don’t blame her. She has every right to be mad at you, Evan. You led her on.”
“No I didn’t!” he almost shouted. It made his head ache more. “That’s not true, and it’s not fair.”
“No? You two were serious. You’ve been together for a while now. You’re thirty-three, she’s what, thirty-one?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. At some point in a relationship,” Brenda said, “you have to make a decision: do we take this further, or do we end it here? If you never intended on taking it further, that feels like a lie, or a betrayal. Don’t you understand that?”
“Yes,” he admitted in a low tone. “I get it. I do. But . . . I wasn’t lying, or meaning to betray her. I just . . . I love her. And yes, once in a while I had thoughts about us having a future together. If I ever did get married, I’d want it to be to her. But . . .”
Brenda sighed. “But your work has made you so afraid of marriage, you can’t even consider it.”
“Not afraid,” he clarified, “but wary, absolutely. More than wary— downright cynical.”
“That’s very sad,” his mother murmured. “Very, very sad.”
Evan closed his eyes as his skull throbbed. Before, he thought he was being smart about it, staying away from marriage. Now, all of a sudden, he wasn’t so sure. The damage he’d seen incurred by failed marriages wasn’t something he could ignore. People could be horrible when they were angry and hurt. He didn’t want that to happen to him someday. Then again, he’d never met a woman who made him want to take that leap of faith. Now that he had, the subject seemed to be coming up more and more. For the past two days, he’d thought about it so much his brain was exhausted.
“Why are you so against marriage?” Brenda asked. “Yes, sometimes it doesn’t work out, like with your clients. But that’s not everyone, honey. There are plenty of good marriages. Why aren’t you remembering that? Look at your father and me. Think of Bubby and Pa, before he passed. They were married for sixty-two years.”
“I don’t know how they did it,” he muttered.
“Because they liked each other!” his mother said, as if it were obvious. “Marriage is hard! If you don’t like each other, if you’re not friends, no, it probably won’t last. Are you two friends, do you like each other? It’s not just rainbows and lust and good sex clouding your brain?”
“Mom!” he said, almost a groan. “And rainbows? Seriously?”
“What, you don’t have good sex?” Brenda tsk-tsked, enjoying teasing him.
“I am so not having this conversation with you,” he said, cringing from the inside out.
She snorted. “Do you laugh together?” she asked, taking another tack.
“Yeah, I guess.” He couldn’t recall a specific thing that made them laugh together, but knew that they did often, over little things. Walking down the street, over a meal, in bed . . . yes, they did enjoy each other that way. And he loved Shari’s laugh. It was full and throaty, and it always made his insides fill up with something like light.
“Your dad and I, we still laugh together,” his mother said. “Sure, sometimes he drives me crazy. Show me a married couple that doesn’t drive each other crazy once in a while! But I wouldn’t give him up for the world. I’d never want to lose him. If you’re okay with losing Shari, then stick to your plan of solitude and I wish you luck.” Her voice softened as she added, “But I saw the way you looked at her. And how she looked at you. It made me so happy for you.”
His stomach did a slow flip. “Ma, I have to go.”
“Go on, then. I hope you fix things with her,” Brenda said. “I think she is the best girl you’ve ever been with, by a mile. How happy you seemed together—it made your father and me happy. I had no idea I’d be hearing something like this.”
“I know, Ma. I know. I’ll call you soon, I promise.”
“Call your grandmother, too. She’s convinced you’re going to die all alone and no one will find you until they trace the smell to your office.”
Evan laughed for the first time in days. “Did she really say that?”
“Yup, she did. Bubby’s very colorful.”
“She is indeed.”
“Good luck, sweetie. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
He stretched out on the couch and closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to fall asleep, but he just needed to rest. What a moron he’d been, drinking like that on a weeknight. Drinking like that at all. He wasn’t twenty anymore, and the recovery time was worse and longer with each unfortunate hangover.
He’d just missed Shari so much it ached. And felt like shit for how he’d handled the whole thing. But drinking to numb the pain had only been a Band-Aid. Now, in his apartment, he felt the ache again, and the self-loathing was gnawing at him.
A groan escaped him as he recalled almost getting into a fight with Alex at the bar. First, Jeff had asked him why he seemed to be in a shit mood, and after three beers he’d told his friend the truth a little too loudly. Jeff and two other guys knew he’d been dating Shari, but the others hadn’t. Then Alex, being a dick as usual, started in on him about it. But when Alex cracked, “Hey, she’s hot. Maybe I’ll take a shot with her if you’re done,” something had roared in Evan so fast and hard . . . the next thing he knew, he was right in Alex’s face, gripping him by the shirt and warning him to stay away from her. Jeff and another guy had to tear him off and calm him down. He’d made an ass of himself. He didn’t care.
All he cared about was Shari. He had to get her back. This was on him—he’d blown them up. His stomach rumbled, and for the first time that day it wasn’t from nausea, but from hunger. Well, that was a good sign. He had to go back to work tomorrow. What he needed now was some soup, some bread, and some quiet time to plan how he’d get her to hear him out.
The sky was growing dark outside his window. He dragged himself from the couch, shuffled into his tiny excuse for a kitchen and grabbed a can of chicken noodle from the shelf. As he made his meal, he thought about her—as if he could think of anything else. He hated that he’d hurt her; that was the worst of it all. It actually hurt his heart, made him a little sick, to know he’d done that to her. He kept seeing her face at the restaurant, the way the color drained from it when he told her he thought they should take a breather . . .
Ugh. Dammit. Just thinking of it made his stomach clench again.
Somehow, he had to find a way to make it up to her. If she’d even spend five minutes alone with him, which right now, she wasn’t giving him.