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As we head down the hallway, I wonder what Eloise is doing. If her day is going better than mine is about to. When I press the elevator button, I smile at him as he passes me to go in. A small one that doesn’t do much for my mood.
“Something on your mind, son?” my father asks as he presses the button to the top floor.
I used to think that was something special between me and him. That the term was something he could only use for me.
His only son.
His only child.
Then I started working for him, before I ventured into my own business.
He called every man of a certain age, “son.”
“No, sir,” I answer, unwilling to get personal with him.
If I have it my way, one day he’ll meet Eloise. Until then, there’s no reason to mention her to him.
My chest aches. As I lay on my back, staring up at the bedroom ceiling in my penthouse apartment, I rub my hand over where my heart beats.
My other hand is stretched out beside me in my California King bed. It isn’t lost on me that I’m reaching out. And I know exactly who I’m reaching out for.
Before I can think better of it, I grab my phone to call her. With each ring, each unanswered moment, it bangs at my insides.
I fucking miss her.
She doesn’t answer, and I wonder if she’s upset that I haven’t contacted her.
Does she even give a shit?
I decide to leave her a message, because of the two of us, I do.
“I miss you,” I speak into my phone, my voice deep with unchecked fatigue. “I’m in New York, handling some business. But I’ll be back in a few days.”
I’m about to hang up when I sigh and continue.
“I haven’t reached out because it’s fucking hard, not knowing where we stand, Eloise. And maybe I dropped the ball, and we’re back at square one. But as long as I get to see you when I get back, I don’t care.”
I’m not sure what else to say so I end the call and turn over, hoping to find some relief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
GLUTTON FOR PUNISHMENT
ELOISE
Is therea limit on how many times you can listen to a voicemail before it’s burned into your memory?
If there is, I’ve surpassed it many times over.
I can even time his sigh, as if he couldn’t quite find the words to say and opted for an unscripted and vulnerable version of the truth. There wasn’t as much confidence—or smooth edges—around his attempt at being honest with me about why I hadn’t heard from him.
But even with his vulnerability and likely earned response from me, I didn’t give him one. I opted to keep my silence—my power—close to my chest instead. And maybe my anger at his lack of contact with me prior made it easier.
If I’m going to be inconvenienced by the feelings he’s stirred inside of me, he’s going to be ignored.
I’ve closed the shop early for lunch, tucking my keys into my purse as I turn to head to the diner to pick up some food to-go. I yearn for a silence only the lake can offer. And when I feel like coming back to work, I will.
Relief at the sight of the near-empty restaurant tells me that I made it before the lunch rush, where people openly stared and whispered before aiming a fake smile in your direction.
