“Graham?”
The phone wobbles in my hand and I almost drop it to the floor. Surely I’m wrong. I must be so twisted over Mallory and stressed out that I’m imagining things. That has to be it.
“Graham?” she asks again. Her voice is clear this time and exactly how I remember it.
I force a swallow, my emotions strung all over the place. I’ve waited to hear her voice for years, wondering what I would say to her. Now that she’s on the line, I have no idea what to say at all.
“Vanessa?” I ask.
“It’s me,” she says breathily. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember my voice.”
Images of her lying in my arms, of her smile, and then of her husband’s face standing at the end of her bed flip through my mind. My stomach knots.
“Why are you calling me?”
“Lincoln’s wedding is all over the entertainment channels and magazines. He looks so much like you did back then.” She pauses. “How are you, Graham?”
“Vanessa, I . . .” I scrub my hands down my face, searching desperately for some calm in the center of this storm. “So you see my brother on television and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll call up the guy I fucked over years ago’?”
She’s taken aback by my tone, and frankly, so am I. Whatever I thought I’d say before isn’t what I’m feeling right now.
“Where’s your husband?”
“We split up a while ago,” she admits. “I should never have married him in the first place.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I say. “You probably fucked him up too.”
“What?”
The anger I’ve felt towards this woman boils to an all-time high. “Did you have no conscience at all? You were married, Vanessa. Married. Do you have any idea what that even means?”
“Graham . . .”
“Then you fuck with me, both literally and figuratively, because it wasn’t good enough for you to get my cock. You had to go worm your way into my life, cause problems for me with my family.” The more I say it out loud, the clearer it becomes.
“I loved you!”
“You didn’t love anyone but yourself. I doubt you even understand what love means.” As the words tumble from my lips, I laugh. “I didn’t understand what love meant until recently.”
A long pause settles over us, my outburst giving us both time to think. I remember all the ways I felt about Vanessa and all the ways I feel now towards Mallory. They’re completely different. Black and white. But one wasn’t love and the other . . . might be on its way there.
“I was thinking I might be in Savannah in a few weeks. I thought maybe we could meet up. Say hello.”
“No.” It’s a simple answer, a one-word shut down.
“You don’t even want to think about it?”
“Vanessa, I wish you the best. I can honestly say that with no reservations. I hope you have a terrific life and get everything you want. But none of that has anything to do with me.”
“I’m not asking to date you again or—”
“Good. Because we didn’t date then and we aren’t about to do anything now. We aren’t friends,” I say over top of her objections, “we aren’t acquaintances. We aren’t anything.”
“You can’t say that.”
“I just did. Goodbye, Vanessa.”
I end the call and place my phone on the table. I imagine Vanessa’s perfume on my skin and her smile looking back at me. I can’t.
Picking up Mallory’s roller ball, I roll it onto my forearm and breathe in the scent of lavender. I’m sure it’s less to do with the oil itself and more to do with the woman that gave it to me, but as soon as fragrance hits my nose, my frustration starts to melt away.
Mallory
“There they are!” Digging through the back of the towel closet in the bathroom, I spy the container of batteries I’ve been looking for. “Why are they in here?”
Shrugging, I pull them out and take them to the kitchen to their rightful spot: the junk drawer.
The house smells like cinnamon and sugar, the sweet scent of snickerdoodle cookies. I woke up happy this morning, even though I went to bed a little down in the dumps. Leaving Graham after our yoga exercise was a moment I’ll always remember. Not because it was super sexy, because it wasn’t. It’s also not because he said anything sweet or profound, because he didn’t.
When his hand touched mine, it wasn’t with any ulterior motive. When his lips kissed my cheek, it wasn’t foreplay. When his eyes met mine, he wasn’t seeing my face or my body. He saw . . . me.
In those few seconds, a warmth rushed through me. Something was exchanged between us in that moment, something realer than we’ve experienced. As he saw me, so did I.
The way he looked at me, with respect and admiration and maybe even something else that I’m too afraid to consider, shook me. The longer his gaze lingered on me, the more I felt like the woman I’ve been searching for. And as our conversation turned to our plans for the future and he began insisting I go back to school, for business, no less, and he asked how he could help facilitate that, I felt like the world was at my feet. It was the feeling I used to have. The one I lost so long ago.
That’s what I took with me to bed and that’s what I woke up with. A feeling that maybe I’m going to be okay.
And I get to see him today. That doesn’t hurt.
Popping the cookies out of the oven, I make sure the picture frame I purchased off her registry this morning is wrapped. The tape didn’t want to stick, but it looks pretty.
The mossy green dress I wore to my first day at Landry is laid on my bed. I slip it on and add a pair of heather heels and a simple gold necklace. When I look in the mirror, I do something I don’t normally do: I genuinely smile.
For the first time in a long time, I know the girl looking back at me. I see her strength, her confidence, and while they might be cracked, they’re there. They were gone for so long.
“You’ve got this. You’re going to be okay,” I whisper in the mirror before grabbing the gift, my keys, and heading to the Savannah Room.
Mallory
THE SAVANNAH ROOM IS A beautiful estate in the city. There are grounds to walk and enjoy nature, as well as a golf course and tennis courts. In the center of the gardens is a network of old, brick buildings that have been maintained since before the Civil War. The main part is used for large gatherings, political events, weddings, and rallies. There are smaller conference rooms along the periphery.
Glancing at Graham’s text, I veer my car to the side towards the golf course. A valet greets me, says nothing about the state of the interior of my car, and whisks it away. I’m left standing in front of the clubhouse.
A gentle breeze blows across grasses, carrying with it a feeling of warmth. Of new beginnings. Tucking the gift in my arm, I climb the stairs and hear the sounds of talking and laughter right away.