“I’ll try,” he promises. He removes his hand from mine and holds it out again for me to shake. Hopefully, we have finally come to an understanding.
I’m a little disappointed when Ian doesn’t call all day. I really thought he would. By the time night falls, I’ve talked myself into being okay about it. He’s not a phone person. Why would he start to be now? I’ll probably hear from him tomorrow. Or maybe the next day, when he’s settled somewhere.
- 11 -
Two months go by.
The wondering is agony.
*Where is he?
*Why hasn’t he called?
*Did he mean anything he said?
*Has he met someone?
*Why won’t he just call?
And then the pseudo answers.
*He’s out playing all over the freakin’ country.
*He must really hate the phone. Or it’s his schedule.
*He meant it; he just doesn’t know what do about it.
*He’s meeting a different someone every night.
*The time difference screws everything up.
Then there’s the self-ridicule.
*I was crazy to think he would ever be a permanent part of my life.
*He wouldn’t waste his time talking to me on the phone.
*Of course, he didn’t mean a word of it. Who do I think I am?
*There are a thousand prettier, smarter, more talented, funnier, bigger boobs, longer haired, better legs that are NEVER hairy, way sexier, more experienced girls out there.
*He will never call me.
And then he does! He calls. It’s late one Friday night and I’ve been up studying. And I’m so happy to hear his voice, I can’t even stay mad. At first, I’m distant, but he just keeps asking question after question. We cover school, family, New York, Tessa, Jared and more school. It’s been over an hour and he doesn’t seem ready to let me go. He’s been all over the country, just as I thought. But that doesn’t seem to be ending anytime soon, so I’m not sure why he’s calling now.
“Little Bird … are you happy?”
“Well … I don’t know. I’m okay. Are you happy?”
“I miss you,” he says softly.
“I miss you, too.”
“You should come see me. Do you have any time off soon? I’m gonna be in Texas for a while. I’ll fly you out.”
“I do have a long weekend in a couple weeks.”
“That would be great.”
He asks the exact dates and I mark it on the calendar by my desk: GO SEE IAN!!!
“You must be tired. It’s late here and even later for you. What are you doing tomorrow?”
And then another hour has passed. By now, I’m in my bed, phone clutched to my ear and we’re both talking in sleepy whispers. Neither of us wants it to end. But eventually, he can tell I’m about to fall asleep.
“Night, Sparrow Kate Fisher. Dream of me tonight. I’m already dreaming of you.”
“I will,” I say and I know that it’s true.
My dreams are all over the place, but Ian is in every scene.
The next night he calls again. And we repeat our gloriously wonderful dance of sweet talk and every day chatter. I’m so happy, I can’t even stand it. He must be past whatever was holding him up. I make the decision before I fall asleep to not over-analyze it any more. He’s calling me! We’re on the right track.
When he doesn’t call the next night or the next or the next, I’m still riding high from those two conversations. He’d said he was flying out to California, so I know he’s busy and now there’s an even larger time difference.
When he still hasn’t called the next week and the dates to “GO SEE IAN!!!” are looming over my head like a raging gorilla in heat, I begin my downward spiral.
The dates come and go.
Nothing. Not a word from him.
I’m angry. No, you know what? I’m pissed. Yeah, that’s right I said it.
Pissed, pissed, pissed, pissed, pissed. Flippin’ pissed.
Another month goes by and it’s the last week of school. I have studied until I feel like I could unscrew my head and all that would be left is string cheese. After it’s been left out of the refrigerator. When it’s all floppy.
I’m exhausted, but manage to get through finals. I have no idea how I’m doing and at this point, I don’t care. I’ve written paper after paper after paper and couldn’t tell you what any of it is about. It will be a shock if any of it makes sense.
Ian Sterling has invaded my head space, my body, my guts, if you will. Even now, he’s in there waving his arms around, shaking up all my organs and muscles and nerves and blood and leaving me all gutted out.
Asher is a steady presence. He knows I’m sad about Ian, but I haven’t told him much about it. Half of the time, I’m glad for his company and the distraction. The other half of the time, I’m mad at him, too. He keeps trying to show me how wonderful he is, how doting, how sweet. At every turn, I throw in some remark or gesture to remind him that we’re friends and that’s all it will ever be. I get the sinking feeling that he thinks if he just keeps doing all the right things long enough, he’ll convince me otherwise. It’s exhausting. I can’t handle the guilt of hurting someone. He keeps pushing, and I keep putting more distance between us.
I do agree to go to a charity function with him. He asked me months ago and it had sounded fun at the time. He calls to see if I’m still going with him.
“Sure, I’ll go. I just … yes, yes, I’ll do it.”
“I might have bought you a little something.”
“You did? You shouldn’t have.”
“Wait until you see it to decide.”
Later that evening, I open the box that Tessa has placed on my bed. She’s waiting to watch me open it. “Asher dropped it off this morning. He seems excited about whatever’s inside.”
I heave a huge sigh. I’ve been doing a lot of sighing these days.
Inside the box are champagne-colored shoes with tiny jeweled flowers stitched along one side. They’re exquisite. The prettiest pair of shoes I’ve ever seen.
A little note card says:
These reminded me of you.
Asher
I put my head in my hands.
“He’s got it bad,” Tessa says.
“What am I going to do about him?”
“Why do you have to do anything? He likes you. He knows how you feel or don’t feel…” She sits beside me on the bed and pulls my head onto her shoulder. “Look, I know you’re a mess over Ian. But, you’ve got a great guy here who is willing to let you be a mess. Go, have fun for a while.” She squeezes me tighter. “And don’t feel bad about it! I mean it!”
We go shopping later and I find the perfect dress. It’s a short vintage dress, sleeveless, with a fitted bodice and flowy skirt in the same shade as the shoes. It’s like the two were meant to go together.
Asher’s mouth drops when he sees me. My hair is pulled back. I do feel elegant. Maybe Tessa’s right and I need this time out. I’ve been sad long enough.
“You are stunning,” Asher says.
“Thank you. And thank you so much for the shoes, Asher. They’re beautiful.”
“Beautiful shoes for a beautiful girl.” He smiles at me and then his look gets mischievous. “Your legs look a thousand miles long, mm, mm, mm,” he shakes his head and does a quiet whistle.
I roll my eyes. “C’mon, you, let’s go.”
After my little fit with the New Year’s Eve pictures, Asher has done his best to keep our appearances in the gossip magazines to a minimum. Every now and then, a photographer finds us and I’ll see a picture in Tessa’s stack of magazines, which is just surreal, but for the most part, we’ve maintained some distance.
However, all the big dogs are out tonight. When Asher and I pull up in his limo and step out, the cameras’ clicks are a dull roar. He takes my hand and leads me through the chaos. Just before we step inside, Asher turns around and gives the paparazzi a wave. I look back too
and am blinded by all the flashes.
The dinner is delicious. The entertainment entertaining. Asher is a perfect date. He has our table charmed and keeps the conversation going whenever there’s a lull. I’m trying really hard to be fun, but my mood is still dark. I can’t seem to snap all the way out of it.
Asher bids on a gold antique mirror that used to belong to John Hughes’ first wife, Ella Rice. It’s beautiful, but I always preferred silver myself. It’s for a good cause. However, it will fit right in with Asher’s gaudy apartment.
A vast amount of money is raised to keep the arts in public schools. And everyone goes home with a warm, satisfied feeling. After all the champagne, I’m even feeling fairly warm and satisfied, until Asher takes me to his house instead of mine. I didn’t even notice where we were until we get out.
“What are we doing here? I thought you were taking me home.” My tone is edgy. I’m tired and while it’s been a fun evening, I just want to go to bed.
“I thought it would be nice if we have a drink here before I take you home,” Asher says, rubbing my shoulder. He leans down and nuzzles my neck.
I brush him off. “Asher,” I say with warning. “It would have been “nice” if you had asked me first.” I stare him down.
Asher nods. “You’re right. But come on, you would have said no. You’ve been on edge for weeks. I just want you to have a good time. I’m ready to see you happy again.”
My hands are on my hips. I want to glare at him, but I can’t really be aggravated with him. He has done everything he can to make me feel better, and I can’t even spend another hour with him?
“Okay. But just for a little while. I’m really tired.”
An indistinguishable time later … I have had countless raspberry flirtinis and am feeling lighter than I have in months. I twirl around the expansive living room and watch how the skirt of my dress flies out perfectly. I know something is nagging me just under the surface, but I can’t even think of him tonight. Thinking of him is killing me. It’s wearing me down. I don’t want to be worn down. I want to dance. I want to laugh. I want to take off this dress now. It’s hot in here, and I’m so tired. I just need to twirl more.
Asher is feeling happy too. He laughs when my dress falls to the ground. He reaches out and touches my skin and I jump, flirtini splashing across my chest. I can’t ever keep a whole cocktail in the glass when I’m in this house. He pulls me close and leans down, and so softly that I can barely feel it, he licks the liquid off, his tongue flicking just under the top of my lacy bra. It gives me chill bumps. I close my eyes. It’s nice.
I really do want to forget. Maybe this will help me forget.
I vaguely remember Asher laying me on his bed. I can picture him over me, but then—nothing. The rest is a blur. When I wake up the next morning, my head is pounding, and at first, I don’t know where I am. The sheets feel so soft against my skin. I sit up. Panic. I am completely naked.
God. What have I done?
I look over and Asher is still sleeping. He’s faintly snoring. I get out of bed and look down where I’d slept. My stomach turns. I run to the bathroom and get sick. I grab a towel and wrap it around myself, willing the nausea to stop. It doesn’t. I’m sick again, until nothing is left.
I’ve lost my virginity. I didn’t even know it went missing, but now it is long gone. The blood on the sheets was my first clue. The soreness between my legs, a confirmation.
It might be minutes or it could be hours, I’m not sure, but all the pain of the last few months hits, and I weep on Asher’s cold bathroom floor. I’ve never felt so desolate, so alone, so angry. And even though I got myself into this mess, I still feel violated. I don’t even know what happened. Did I come onto Asher? Were we so drunk we couldn’t help ourselves? Why can’t I remember anything?
Then it comes back to me. I remember taking off my dress. I caused this to happen. I don’t remember anything else, but I know that I can’t blame Asher for my stupidity. I force myself to get up and creep to the door, making sure Asher is still sleeping before I sneak out of the bathroom. He is. I grab my underwear, make my way to the living room and pick up my dress. My hands are shaking so hard, I can barely put it on. I see the shoes from Asher and I want to be sick all over again. Only because I don’t want a cab driver to ignore the crazy barefoot girl, I put the shoes on and close the door behind me.
A fleet of cab drivers wait outside Asher’s building, and I’m home in no time. I quietly let myself in and get in the shower. The tears pour out of me as scalding water pounds onto my skin.
I had saved myself this long—nineteen years, to be exact. I wanted my first time to be special. My parents taught me to wait for marriage and I always thought I would … until I met Ian. Then all I could think about was how I wanted him. For a blink of an eye, it seemed like I might have him and then I lost him again. No, I didn’t lose him. I never really had him. Just the almost promise of him.
At the very least, I believed that I’d be present for the experience. Now, I wasn’t even given that. Just a drunken encounter with a guy I thought was my friend. Was he so drunk that he couldn’t be bothered to wait until we were coherent?
Rage settles in my chest.
When I get out of the shower, the steam is thick. My skin is beet red and has stripes on it from the water. I put on my sweats and go to my room. My phone is on the bed with a text from Tessa saying she’s at Jared’s and a dozen missed calls from Asher. I don’t even listen to his messages; I just delete every single one.
I’ve taken something for my head and am crawling into my bed, when there’s pounding on the door. It goes on and on. I ignore it. I hear him yelling, “Sparrow, please! I need to talk to you. Open the door!” I cover my head and put a pillow over the covers. He stops for a couple minutes and then starts knocking again. “Sparrow, I’m sorry!” Finally it’s quiet.
I fall asleep under the pile.
It’s been a couple of weeks since that night, and I still feel numb. Asher calls once a day. I still haven’t talked to him. I’ve started a compulsive habit of showering multiple times a day since it happened. I know I’m not right in the head about it all, but I don’t know what to do to get better. Part of me wishes I knew what happened, but mostly, I’m glad that I don’t. I wonder if any of it will come back to me.
Tessa and I have three more days in the city before we fly home. She’s going to spend most of that time with Jared and even though she keeps trying to talk me into coming along with them everywhere, I turn her down. I haven’t told her what’s wrong with me. She knows it’s bad, but she’s not pushing me. I forcefully told her once that I can’t talk about it and she backed off then. She knows I will when I’m ready.
I’ve found a new coffee shop, one where I’m sure I won’t run into Asher, and I’m about to head there when the phone rings. I grab it out of my pocket and am trying to see who it is, but am all clumsy. I accidentally push talk.
Oh, crack.
I hold it up to my ear.
“Hello?” he’s saying. “Little Bird? You there?”
“Hello?” I answer and then kick myself for saying anything. I should have just hung up.
“How are you?” he asks.
“Oh, I’m just fine, Ian. Just fine.” My voice is one big razory bite. “And how are you?”
I don’t want to know how he is. Even in my hostility, the never-ending manners I was raised with force their way out.
“I’m good. It’s so great to hear your voice, Sparrow. So great. I’m in Atlanta right now, on my way…”
“What do you want, Ian?” I interrupt.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, what do you want? Why are you calling?”
“I just had to hear your voice,” he says.
“Well, now you’ve heard it. Anything else?”
“Sparrow … I …”
“What? Sparrow, what?” I mock his confused tone. “Spit it out, Ian.”
“I’m at the airport righ
t now, I’ll be in New York this afternoon. I want to see you.” He does spit it out. I didn’t know he could talk that quickly.
Complete silence.
“Sparrow?”
“I don’t think so, Ian.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, I don’t think so, Ian.” I pull the phone away from my ear and am about to hang up when I hear him.
“Sparrow, wait! Please. Please just once?”
I hang up the phone and walk out the door to get my coffee.
- 12 -
I pull the shoes out of my purse and give them to the guy accepting donations at Goodwill.
Bye, prettiest shoes I have ever seen. I wish I’d never laid eyes on you.
Next, I walk by a farmers’ market and even though we’re leaving in a few days, I decide to bring some flowers home. I love the purple and green flower lettuces. I have them under my arm and am trying to see if I can smell even a hint of anything. Nope. I sigh. I can’t seem to give up hope of smelling something someday.
I nearly get sucked into the bookstore, but resist the urge. I already have about two dozen books that I want to take home. I’ve missed reading for pleasure. It’s so nice to put the textbooks aside for the summer.
Just as I near the corner by my apartment, the wind picks up and the air suddenly feels charged, electric. I turn, and there, on the stairs going up to my place, sits Ian. I want to run the other way, but he sees me and stands up.
He’s smiling and holding a huge white flag. He waves it like crazy as I walk toward him. His smile falters when I don’t say a word, but walk right past him, up the stairs and into my building. The door is closing behind me when he catches it.
“Sparrow,” his voice is a caress.