“I told you, man, I’m just trying to feel closer to her. I can’t see her, can’t talk to her, can’t touch her. She doesn’t answer my texts. The other night I took a freaking Buzzfeed quiz to see which Jane Austen character I am.”
“And who are you?”
“I don’t know; some girl named Marianne Dashwood. I guess she’s a free spirit or some shit. That’s why I decided to read the books, man. I’m lost without her.”
“Wow. I, uh…a quiz, huh?”
“Don’t laugh at me, man. I know she’s in pain and I just wanna be there for her, but I know I can’t. She doesn’t want to see me, and frankly, I don’t blame her at all. I was a fucking dick. I even accused her of wanting to date that professor again.”
“Wait, Professor Pretentious? Why would you do that?”
“It’s a long story. The point is: I fucked up.”
“I know.”
“Gee, thanks,” I said, picking up one of the books and paging through it. “I just wanna be there for her, you know? I’ve never lost someone, especially someone as important to her as her abuela.”
Peter got a conflicted look on his face.
“What is it, man? You look constipated.”
“She’s home right now.”
“What?”
“Yeah, she’s back from L.A. And I happen to know she’s home this afternoon. Maren just spoke to her before I came down here.”
“Oh,” I said, my wheels spinning. I could feel Keith Urban playing in my head as I thought of things I could do to be there for her.
“You didn’t hear that from me, though. Maren would kill me.”
“Is Maren pissed at me, too?”
“Nah, she gets it. I told her about Trupti and Craig…and the desk.”
“You know, if I was ten years younger, I’d get in my car and drive to that resort and punch that motherfucker right in the face.”
“Yeah, I know. Sleeping with your girl is unacceptable.”
“No, not for that. For lying to Lyra. He told her I was a player and I cheated on Trupti. All. The. Time.”
“Well, that’s bullshit. Why would he lie like that?”
“Not sure, but I have some theories, and they all involve him trying to get into Lyra’s ski pants back in December.”
“I’m sure you’re right. He’s a sleaze, isn’t he?”
“Big time. But Trupti’s the real piece of work in that scenario. I mean, on my desk, dude.”
Peter shuttered. “I’m surprised you haven’t replaced it.”
“New one’s being delivered Monday. I’ve been working in the conference room lately. Everyone at the office thinks I’m nuts.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Hell no. Just saying I needed a change of scenery. No one’s pursued it further.”
“Good. So, why don’t you check out the books and we’ll get out of here?”
I nodded, putting the books in a stack before having an idea. “On second thought, hold on.”
I grabbed my phone, found a boxed set of brand-new Jane Austen books and bought them on Amazon. “They’ll be there tomorrow. Brand-new ones.”
“You want to own them?”
“Why not?”
“Wow, you’ve got it bad.”
“Dude, you have no idea.” I moved the books to the cart at the end of the aisle. “Thanks for coming down here. I appreciate it.”
“You heading to her place then?”
“Yeah, just have a couple stops to make first.”
An hour later, I was standing in front of Lyra’s building, my heart beating a mile a minute. I wasn’t trying to force my way back into her life, but I knew she was grieving and I just wanted to be there for her, to support her in any way she would allow. Just before I was about to press the doorbell, someone opened the door and left the building. I grabbed the heavy door and walked in.
Carrying my bags up the stairs, I took a deep breath before knocking on her door. I heard shuffling inside, but no one came to the door. I knocked again. Seconds later, the door opened. Lyra looked conflicted. I could tell she was slightly happy to see me, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to tell me so. She looked gorgeous. Her hair spilled down her shoulders in loose waves, and she wore a baggy pink sweatshirt that fell off one shoulder and yoga pants. She looked effortlessly sexy. But then again, she always did. My heart ached just looking at her, wishing I could pull her into my arms.
“What are you doing here?”
“Look, I heard you were back in town. I just wanted to check on you, see how you’re doing.”
“That’s nice.”
“And I brought you some stuff,” I said, lifting up the bags in my arms. “Can I come in? I’ll leave the second you want me to go.”
She hesitated for a moment, then stepped to the side. “Okay.”
Lyra’s apartment was surprisingly tidy. I had expected it to be messy since whenever someone is grieving in the movies, their house looks like hell. There were cups all over the tables and counters, but that was par for the course with Lyra.
“So, what’d you bring me?”
“Well, first, some Dots. I know you love these things.”
A weak smile crossed her beautiful lips. “I do.”
“And plenty of Twix. No pressure to share, though. Everything in here is for you.”
“Well, that’s nice.”
“I know you love gossip magazines, so I grabbed every one they had.”
She lit up a little bit as she took the shiny gossip rags from the bag. “I’m so behind on all of this. Thank you.”
“And I’m shit in the kitchen, but I stopped at this really cool Mexican restaurant down the block. I remembered you saying Abuela taught you how to make these. Obviously they won’t be as good as her secret recipe, but…” I reached for the last bag and handed it to Lyra. She opened the paper bag, inhaling the smell of cinnamon and sugar.
“Sopapillas?” she asked, her eyes welling with tears.
“Yeah.” I said, taken aback by her tears. “Geez, I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to do was make you cry.”
“No, no,” she said, waving me away as she closed her eyes tightly. “They’re good tears. Thank you for doing that.”
“Of course.”
“I can’t… I can’t believe you remembered.”
“I remember everything you say. You’re important to me.”
Lyra wiped her tears away and took a deep breath. “This is going to sound really weird, and it doesn’t mean I want to get back together, but…”
“What is it?”
“Would you just hold me? I feel so broken, so empty. I just…I really need you to hold me right now.”
Without another word, I walked to her, taking her in my arms. Her shoulders relaxed into me, and she sobbed in my arms. With soft movements, I rubbed her back and whispered, “Shhhh” into her ear. “It’s going to be okay.”
I held her in the middle of her living room, grateful for being able to smell her again. That familiar scent of strawberries and pears danced through my senses as I clung to her, feeling guilty that I was enjoying this moment too much, that I was taking pleasure in moment that was fueled by her pain, her grief and her anguish over losing one of the most important people in her life.