“And we are so sorry this is happening, Lil. You don’t deserve a fate like this one. And of course, happy New Year,” Doreen offers with another smile before they leave me to reflect on the fact that I just saved Rod’s job. Saved the man who hasn’t bothered to shoot me a text to find out how I am. Not even a Merry Christmas.
My skin crawls with the idea that I would want a text from him. Fortunately, I need to focus on work.
There’s enough to catch up on that it’s easy to become distracted by it. Hours later, sighing with exhaustion, I get up and log off the computers. My eyes are burning, and my head is hurting again. I might have overdone it, but I made a good dent in catching up.
Deciding I don’t want to experience the same nonsense I did coming in, I sneak to the side door and leave the building without seeing anyone. The cold fresh air is exactly what I need. It washes over me, soothing some of the aches and pains.
The walk home is slow, and I almost make a wrong turn once. But the view of shops decorated for Christmas and lights strung out along the streetlights is nice. I haven’t noticed it as much before. Maybe because downtown Halifax hasn’t been my residential neighborhood for years.
People pass with smiles and shopping bags from taking advantage of the Boxing Week sales. Their cheeks and noses are reddened with the cool air and eyes are bright with the spirit of the holidays.
It’s refreshing to watch everyone else living their lives instead of focusing on how much mine sucks.
At a closed shop, I pause for a small break and stare in the dark window, still unable to recognize the woman staring back. I’ve never felt so strange in my own skin before. I decide not to dwell on it, I’m too exhausted. Maybe next month when the dust settles and reality hits and I have a small breakdown, I’ll try to sort myself out.
I continue on walking.
When I finally get home to the apartment building, I fumble with the keys in my cold hands.
“Hey, you,” a familiar voice says from behind me.
I turn, surprised to see Samuel Christianson in front of me. “Oh hi.” Why God why? He’s dressed like he just worked out, light-gray sweats and a dark hoodie. I try not to stare at his groin. Stupid gray sweatpants.
“James mentioned you were moving into the apartment.” He pulls his keys out and gets the door for me. “How are you?”
“Great,” I say sarcastically. “Do you live here too?”
“Yeah, James was showing me my place and ended up buying his because he liked it so much. Said one day when they’re empty nesters, he and Liz could live here, or the kids could live in it for college.” He walks next to me to the elevator, and I realize we’re going to be in there together. Alone. Just us. And my forehead. God hates me. It’s official.
“I think I recall that.” The story of the apartment rings a bell.
“How’s the head?”
“Sore.” I press the button to go up. “So no plans for New Year’s except a hot bath and a long sleep. The first day back at work has me exhausted.”
“Yeah, screen time is the enemy of the concussed brain. The less you can be on there, the better. I suppose that’s not helpful with accounting.” He flashes a smile and I practically sigh.
Seeing him, I remember exactly why I fell for him the first time I laid eyes on him. Gorgeous dark eyes filled with mischief and delight, framed by thick inky lashes. A dimple in the right cheek. Plump lips over a perfect set of teeth. And something about his nose makes me happy. It’s sort of big, a strong nose. If that’s even a thing.
His dark hair was longer when he was younger but it’s just as thick now. I swear he’s taller though. He has to be six foot four, towering over me. His height was how I ended up in his arms in the first place. And still, I feel small next to him, something that doesn’t happen a lot being five foot nine myself, and fond of heels.
“Have you called the physio place I recommended?” he asks, snapping me out of my trip down memory lane as we step into the elevator. He pushes the eight. Do we live on the same floor?
“Physio?” I manage to ask, concerned about his living so close by.
“I gave the card to James. It’s a gym we both go to but there’s a physiotherapist who works there that specializes in sports medicine. She’s a concussion wizard.”
“Oh yeah. James put it on the fridge. I’ll have a look.” I vaguely recall the conversation and am now sweating because we’re both going to the eighth floor.
“Do, she’s amazing. You should have called already. The earlier you start the exercises, the better.” He turns to face me and leans in, invading my space as he reaches for my forehead, gently touching to inspect. “The swelling has come down considerably. I take it you’ve been icing.”
“Liz,” I mutter, certain he understands but also unable to say anything else with him so close. He’s part of the air I’m breathing, and he smells exactly the same.
“She is something. I’ve never seen such organization or leadership. Must be hard to be her sister,” he jokes and moves back a bit.
“You mean because I’m such a mess?” I ask, so flustered by this that I don’t manage to hide the fact I’m taken aback by the comment. “I’ll have you know, I was very average a week ago. Responsible, nice house in Bedford, good job, a schedule.”
The doors open but he’s blocking the way.
“Wait.” His cheeks flush. “That’s not what I meant. She’s intense and you’re—” He pauses, visibly regretting saying it but also trying to find the right word for me. “Peaceful. You’re peaceful to be around. Calming.”
“Calming?” I question the word, not certain it’s who I am. In fact, I know it’s not. He means boring and is trying to be polite. Accountants are always seen as boring, so he isn’t the first person to think it about me.
“Well, for the most part. Although, if I recall the summer we met correctly, you were a handful on many occasions.” He winks and I am undone. Not only embarrassed but also wishing we weren’t in an elevator as he brings it up.
“I hardly recall the summer,” I lie.
“You don’t remember that night on the roof of my building—?”
“No. It’s pretty fuzzy like everything else from that year. We drank a lot.” I stare back at the door, hoping he realizes it’s open. When he turns to look at it, I brush past him, walking too quickly considering how my head’s throbbing.
“Man, obviously, I didn’t make much of an impression,” he jokes about this as if it’s totally normal to discuss your college summer fling with the fling.
“Obviously not,” I continue to bruise his ego with my vicious lies. I remember every second I spent with him. But I certainly can’t own up to it. Not now that he’s rubbing it in my face. Maybe he wants to torture me as revenge. I can’t blame him. But I can act like I do. “Are you following me?”
“Maybe.” He folds his arms over his chest and leans on the door across from mine. His answer flusters me further.
“Well—don’t! It’s rude.” My cheeks are so hot I can’t imagine how ridiculous I look. My face is on fire. And with all the swelling. God help me.