“Because I will, if that’s what it takes.”
She sighed. “Will you just let me pay for my own dinner?”
No...“Sure, Claire. I can let you do that. I made us a reservation at Michael Mina for eight o’ clock. Am I allowed to come pick you up or is that out of the question as well?”
“I’ll meet you there. I know where that is.”
Of course...
“Well, I’m looking forward to it. Have you come across any good campaign ideas yet?”
“Yeah.” There was a rustling of papers in the background. “Roses are red, sPhones are blue. I’m going to buy one and so should you.”
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“No, that was a real idea. It’s about to find a home at the bottom of my trashcan.”
“Great decision.”
She cleared her throat. “So, I take it that your conference is about—”
“I don’t want to talk about work, Claire. And I’m sure you don’t either. Let’s talk about you.”
She was quiet for a few seconds. “Okay...What do you want to know?”
“Tell me what you like to do in your free time.”
For hours, I listened to her talk about her favorite hobbies—dissecting interior design magazines, studying bridge architecture, running, and reading books. It was quite refreshing to talk to someone whose point of reference didn’t revolve around celebrity culture or the latest reality TV show.
While she was in the middle of explaining her dreams of running a marathon, I heard her yawn and looked at my watch. Five o’clock.
“I guess we should call it a night...I didn’t realize it was getting so late.” I lay back on my bed. “You know, you can call me whenever I cross your mind too.”
“Well, if that ever happens I’ll do that. Goodbye, Jonathan.”
“Goodbye, Claire.”
I knew she wasn’t going to call me, so for the rest of the week I called her when I was done with all my meetings. I kept things simple and steered clear of asking any personal questions; I had the feeling she wouldn’t be too receptive to that.
When my plane landed back in San Francisco on Saturday afternoon, I sent her a text: “Michael Mina’s @ 8:00. 252 California St. Just in case you “don’t” know where that is. See you there.”
“Wait a minute,” Corey said, laughing. “What do you mean she stood you up?”
“I don’t think there’s any other way to say it. She. Stood. Me. Up.” I rolled my eyes.
“I thought you said she seemed mature.”
“She is, she’s just...” This doesn’t make any sense...
“Welp. Oh well. Do you want to go over the Sorrento account today? Their camera software is worth investing in and we could use the upgrade.”
“Later.” I sighed. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”
“Bottom of what? Bottom of—Do you know you’re talking about a woman who has A) told you you’re way too young for her, B) admitted that she has two sixteen year old daughters—daughters, plural! And C) stood you up last night? Do you realize any of that?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t make sense. We talked all week. She didn’t call or text me to let me know she wasn’t coming.”
“I think she’s trying to show you that she’s not interested in you. She probably thought standing you up would help you see that since you keep ignoring what she says.”
I didn’t believe that. I’d felt how she reacted to me on the dance floor on her birthday, seen the way she looked at me when we were out running, and heard the way her voice hitched whenever I called her on the phone.
I could admit that she was good at playing nonchalant and being a smart-mouth—and she’d definitely mastered the poker face, but she wasn’t pretending to act like she was affected by me.
“Whenever you want to focus on what’s really important, i.e. this Sorrento account, feel free to call me back.” Corey hung up.
“Sir?” My driver pulled over and turned his head around. “They’re not allowing cars to go any further.”
“Thanks, Greg.” I stepped out of the car and looked at all the activity that was surrounding the Oasis Drug and Alcohol Rehabilitation Center.
There were the usual yellow and blue balloons, the white coated doctors greeting guests from the doors, and the “purity waterfall” which stood out front spewing red colored water; my mom had told me the red signified something, but I forgot what it was.
I’d spent yet another fifty thousand dollars for her to get treatment for her drug addiction, and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time.
I walked inside and took a seat near the back of the auditorium, watching the same exact ceremony I’d seen eleven months ago.
I watched my mom smile as she took the completion certificate from the head doctor on stage, watched her recite the “Today Begins My New Life” poem, and watched her eyes light up with the same self-promises she’d made several times before.