I’m a few miles away from the shop when I realize I forgot the vintage thimble I’ve been meaning to give Kasia for her collection. I hate having to backtrack but smile at the fact that it means I’ll be able to give Prescott a second goodbye kiss.
As I approach the shop I notice that someone is inside talking to Prescott but I can’t see who it is since the windows are frosted over. Something in my gut tells me to hang back a bit. Maybe I shouldn’t spy on him like this but then I begin to make out exactly who is in there with him.
It’s Worth.
I can see his face in one of the mirrors that Prescott has on display and I wish I couldn’t. What is he doing here and why are they sitting so close to each other? Prescott and I discussed meeting with him privately and decided it was a bad idea. Then I remember Prescott ushering me out the door to my appointment. Could he have planned this meeting in secret when he knew I would be away from town?
I’m about to step out of the shadow and enter when I see the only thing that could stop me.
A kiss.
As soon as I see their faces next to each other I turn away. They are definitely not a safe distance apart and certainly not far enough apart for an ex-boyfriend when your current boyfriend is about to come back. Everything is blurry through the window but I don’t want to see any more. I walk a few yards past the window. How could he do this to me? How could he kiss Worth right in the shop?
Maybe there’s an explanation. I think about going back to the store and demanding to know what’s going on. But where would that get me? I saw what I saw. Ever since Worth’s name was mentioned I thought I felt him pulling away. It was just a bit at first and then this past week after Worth’s performance at the community meeting Prescott has seemed quieter than he has been recently, more shut down. Not to mention his silence after his presentation at the city council.
He assured me that Worth was nothing to him anymore and, gullible heartsick fool that I am, I believed him. I always do this. I jump in when I should tread. I thought we were going slowly. I though the whole point of going at this speed was to prevent the deep cut opening in my heart at this moment. I really thought we were on the same page about building this relationship but apparently not. Does he have any idea what he’s throwing away?
How could he even think about being with the guy who is planning to tear down his beloved Yardley House? I’m sure he couldn’t care less about the bank, but I believed him when he talked with such eloquence and passion about that special roof and the augmented doorways and hand-blown windows. How could he do this to me?
I can’t face him or anyone. I’ll go to Kasia’s next week. I’m too angry and too hurt. I’ll make up some excuse later. I can’t get over the fact that he was with him right there in the middle of the afternoon in the shop where we both work. He’s smarter than that. Then I think maybe that’s exactly what he wanted. He wanted me to see. He wanted a scene where he could claim I was being dramatic and he could dump me without having any blood on his hands and then rush off with Worth to become a matching set of candlesticks. Were we just too different to make this work?
I march up Ferry Street back to the apartment with no intention of giving Prescott the big scene he wants. I open the door and Lizard is on the couch.
“It’s the middle of the afternoon. What are you doing home? Are you sick? Oh, no. Did you eat the Pad Thai I had in the fridge because that wasn’t Pad Thai.”
“I’m not sick,” I say and collapse on the couch next to her. “And what do you mean that wasn’t Pad Thai?”
“That’s not important—or at least not important right now. What’s going on?”
“I saw Prescott kissing someone in the shop.”
“He was what!” she shouts, jumping up from the couch. “Are you kidding me? In the middle of the day he is just making out with some rando in the store?”
“I wouldn’t say making out and it wasn’t some rando. His ex, that horrible guy Worth.”
“Ugh. With the fancy car and million-dollar haircut who’s tearing down the buildings?”
“Yeah, that guy.”
I tell her the whole story about how I was on my way to Kasia and when I came back I found them locking lips.
“Well, what did he say when you walked in?”
“Walked in? I didn’t step foot in the place. I don’t even think he saw me. At least I hope he didn’t. As soon as I saw Worth on him, I left.”
Where are you? You okay? I text to Danny. I’ve been sitting at the pizzeria waiting for him, wondering if I misunderstood the plans for dinner. I’m getting worried. I stare at my phone and nervously smooth out the red-and-white tablecloth under my hand. We’ve been coming to Gaspo’s a lot since we got together. It’s quickly becoming “our place” and I’m glad we decided to meet here. Kicking Worth out felt good. I’m nervous about telling Danny that I met with Worth privately but I’m glad I can tell him how I kicked him out. I hope he’ll understand. He’s got to.
Finally the bubbles indicating he is texting me back appear. I immediately feel relief. Maybe he ran into a friend, started chatting and lost track of time. He does know everyone. Maybe he and Kasia stopped for a cup of coffee somewhere. There are lots of reasons he might be late, I tell myself.
Ate some bad Pad Thai. Not feeling well. Went home. Poor guy. I hate the thought of him in any pain. I look at my phone and it takes me a second to realize why the text seems odd. There isn’t a single emoji. Danny usually creates the strangest combination of tacos, smiley faces and flags in even the shortest response. He must be feeling really crappy.
I’m so sorry. Let me bring you some soup, I text back. Maybe something with a salty broth will make him feel better. I can fix a tray for him and tell him all about my afternoon. Come clean. Clear the air.
This time it barely takes him a second to respond. No, is all he says. I wait to see if he follows up with anything else but he doesn’t. When I’m sick I just want to crawl into a spot and be alone. Although before I met Danny everything made me want to crawl into a spot and be alone. I want that a lot less currently, and I definitely want to crawl into a spot with him now—but still I need to give him the space he needs to feel better.
Okay. Just text me if you need anything at all. I stare at the text before sending it. First I think about including an emoji but that’s really not my style. Then it hits me. What I want to say is: “Love you.” I enter the text carefully and stare at it for a second. I’m shocked I wrote it but the fact is I do. I love him. I love his openness and honesty. I love how he makes me laugh and I love how he makes me feel when we are together. The cursor at the end of the message blinks like a siren forcing me to make a decision. How do you feel, Prescott? How do you feel? The answer comes to me quickly. I love him. I do.
But a text is not the way to express it. I delete it and just leave the part that offers my help if he needs it.
When I get home I mostly spend the time online searching for Danny’s Amore hoodie. I pay extra for the overnight shipping and plan to give it to him the next day in the shop. I might even tell him exactly how I feel.