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The sign outside the clinic reads Deck the Halls and Whack Off Some Balls.
Bet’s humor makes me laugh. I do love her signs, and I’d be willing to bet most of the other New York City residents lucky enough to pass by do too. Nerves strum through my fingers as I push open the clinic door. I haven’t seen or heard from Mason in five days. I spent a day comatose in my hotel room after he left. Then, after my mother’s incessant prodding, rode the train to Paris. After lunch with my mom, we went to Shakespeare & Company. Instead of shopping for clothes, we read quotes and discussed books and drank coffee. Eventually, she excused herself to go back to the hotel, claiming exhaustion.
She’s disappointed. In me. I never ever wanted to be a disappointment to my parents. I wish for them that they had a son. Or at the very least, a child who would move down the street and happily carry the business on for a third generation. But they ended up with me. And as much as I wish they’d received someone else, it wasn’t my call.
I am the person I am. I need to be true to myself. It crushes me, knowing I’m not all they want. But maybe by being all that I am, I’ll be able to give them more. More of what really matters. Because it doesn’t take a tarot card reader to predict that by not being true to myself, I was on a landslide, and in the long run, I’d drag them down into my mental hell.
The next morning, I hopped on the first flight to New York. I returned to the as yet unsold corporate apartment. Then I went into the office today. Met with Margaret in HR to confirm I’m back. Met with my boss. He updated me on work. My promotion was still on the table, and I accepted.
I shouldn’t be randomly stopping by to see Mason, but I want to see him. I need to see him. I have no idea what I’m going to say, nothing planned.
Once I decided to remain in New York, I did consider calling him. But, given how we left things, a phone call felt too weak. I hope he’ll still want to date me. Not marry me. That’s ludicrous at this stage. We’ve been together for, like, a nanosecond. But I’d love to be his girlfriend.
Mason and I jumped all in. Maybe that would’ve been fine, but then all hell broke loose. It’s not like I’m an expert at relationships. But common sense says jumping all in so quickly isn’t the smartest plan. I’d like for us to find a healthy middle ground, a place somewhere between not seeing each other and marriage. A healthy place that works for Kara.
When I push open the clinic door, I’m expecting Bet’s magenta hair, but as I approach the reception window, dark hair greets me. Ashley raises her head from a stack of papers she’s scribbling notes on. Her eyebrows angle, creating a deep wrinkle. She slides the window back. “Do you have an appointment?”
“I’m here to see Mason.”
“Dr. Herriot isn’t here.” She reaches to close the window, and I block it. The waiting room is empty, so I don’t have to worry about causing a scene.
“What’s your problem, Ashley? You haven’t liked me since we first met.”
She leans forward with both hands on the edge of the counter. “My problem? You don’t know me, but I know you.”
I step back, cautious, as if she might bite. “What do you mean?”
She huffs and gives me a look that says she’s annoyed she’s forced to interact with me. “I’m from New Orleans. I went to school at North New Orleans High. You and your friends would come to the Starbucks where I worked almost every single day after school. It was like I was invisible. Not once did you flash a hint of recognition, even though I saw you almost every day. You and your rich, private school friends in Range Rovers and Louis Vuitton.”
“Holy shiitake. I knew you looked familiar. I just couldn’t place you. I don’t expect to see anyone from my hometown here.” There is a hardness to her gaze. I shuffle on my feet. “I’m sorry. In high school, I was a little lost in my own world.” It’s fair to say I’ve been a little lost post-college as well, just in a different way. “Ashley, if I did something mean back then, I am sorry.”
Her chin juts out, and for the first time I notice a tiny piercing right above her lip. How did I miss her piercing before? She might have been my soul sister back then if I had been paying attention. I sent ripples through my circle of debutante friends when I returned after my freshman year with a nose ring. The expression on her face borders hostile. I’ll have to work on developing a friendship with her, now that I plan on staying in New York.
Her scowl softens as I waffle on my feet, uncomfortable. “It was a long time ago. I assumed you hadn’t changed.”
“I guess I’m like anyone else. In some ways I’ve changed, and in some I haven’t.”
She glances at her computer screen, then back to me. “Dr. Herriot had to go pick up his daughter from pre-school today.”
“Is everything okay?”
Her rounded nails tap the counter with a slow, rhythmic beat. “His mom’s sick, so he had to pick her up from school today. He’s a good guy. You’re lucky he’s into you. You know that, right?”
“I do know. I promise.”
She pulls off a neon pink Post-It note. “You know, you may be too late.”
“Too late? What do you mean?”
A devious smirk flashes across her face as she scribbles on the note. “I can only imagine how those moms are reacting to a single dad in scrubs.” Her tone lifts as she offers the pink square. “Here’s the address. Good luck.”
I type in the address on my Uber app and escape the uncomfortable waiting room as quickly as possible. My gut tells me if I make an effort with Ashley, she and I could grow a friendship. She’s protective of Mason, so she can’t be all bad. But it’ll take work. And time. And right now, I need to see Mason.
The Brooklyn Heights preschool sits mere blocks from Mason’s home. Several women, who I assume are parents, climb the concrete steps into the school. I follow.
The wide hall reminds me of the school buildings from my youth. Classroom doors line both sides of the hall, and the doors and wall space are covered with construction paper cutouts and children’s artwork. I stand in the middle of the hall, searching left and right. Toward the end of the hall, to my right, I spot the back of Mason’s dark head of hair. I bypass a woman scooping to hug her child as I make my way to the end of the hall.
A teacher stands in the doorway of each classroom. Parents fall in line near their kid’s classroom door, and the preschool teacher greets the parent then calls their child to the door. As I approach, I notice a blonde woman standing beside Mason. She’s gazing up at him, laughing at something he says, her hand resting on his forearm. The scene before me is a sucker punch of epic proportions. It’s been five days since we officially said goodbye. Five. Days. And here he is with a woman on his arm picking up his child.
You may be too late.
If I’m too late after five days, then I’m a crazy fool. It really was all too quick. Everything I’ve been telling myself about us not having enough time to fall for each other is absolutely correct. The woman’s hand glides higher on his arm, and she tosses her head back with another laugh. I spin around and trip right over someone’s toddler. The toddler shrieks, forcing me to pause and bend down to make sure the kid I plowed into isn’t hurt.
“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I gush to both the crying kid and the mom. My heart is pounding. The mom, a woman in black leggings with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, scoops her kid up onto her hip and kisses the plump wet cheek. She turns her back, effectively dismissing me, and I scoot by her, repeating a mumbled apology, when I hear Kara’s shrill, “Deelah!”
I pause. Light from outside cascades through the open front entrance doors in the middle of the hallway. A gap in the thinning crowd forms, creating a clear path through the hall.