“I’m not a suit man, but it’s not bad.” He winks at me, and my lips curl. His flirtatious nature is making things feel easier than they should. We have so much to talk about, yet I just want to look at him in that suit. More importantly, I want to get him out of that clothing and reconnect our bodies in a way I know only he can fill me. I’ve missed our nights in bed and our playful days of discovery. I’ve missed his dimples, his cooking, and his teasing. Most of all, I’ve just missed his presence in my life.
“What are you doing here?”
Slowly, the expression on his face lowers, shifting from playful to puzzling.
“I got your invitation.”
“I didn’t—” I abruptly stop, realizing my mistake the second I speak. Ethan’s brows pinch.
“You sent me an invitation through Jacob. He gave it to me along with the suit,” Ethan stammers through the explanation, and it all becomes clear.
Jacob.
“I…” I should tell him the truth. I didn’t send it. I wanted to send him an invitation, but I didn’t think he’d attend. After all we’d been through and then my leaving him, I couldn’t ask him to come to the show, but I’m so happy he’s here. I wanted to share this moment with him but didn’t think it would be fair to ask before we talked.
Ethan nods once, his lips pursing. “You didn’t send it, did you?” His hand slips into his pocket as if he’s modeling the suit—a man of despair and heartbreak. He looks how I feel.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I offer, but I can see I’m too late in my sentiment. I have so much to tell him, so much to share with him. I need to let him know I’ve decided where to start my new business, and I’m bursting with excitement about the next steps.
Ethan twists his lips and turns back to the photograph he was originally staring at. It’s large and a bit overbearing. Some moments, I still can’t believe I said yes to this project or agreed to recreate the pose. There is so much more emotion in my eyes in this version. The version that loves the man standing before me. The version hoping he’ll take me back somehow.
Ethan stares at me. Well, me in black and white. My head angles so I gaze over my shoulder. My eyes search for someone beyond the camera, someone standing a foot away from me. From the picture, I look out at whoever is looking back at me, but I know the woman in the photograph is seeking only one person to look back at me. My expression is hopeful, and in response to how I want him to look back at me with all I emotion I feel for him.
My scar is on display for the public’s critique and questions. I don’t need to explain them to the man most important to me. He accepts them as they are. He accepts me as fabulously flawed. Only, it might take some convincing on my part that he never lost me, and I’m ready for him now.
“This always was my favorite,” Ethan mutters, his voice rough and low. “When I look at it, I feel as though you're looking right at me, longing for something. Seeing me.”
He turns to face me a second, his smile weak.
“I’m really proud of you, Ella, but you don’t need me to be proud of you. You did what you set out to do. The clothing line. This photo shoot. You’re showing them all you survived. You were detoured but not derailed.” He looks back at the image. “I’d love to buy it, but you’re out of my price range.” He turns back with a sad chuckle. “And I always knew you were out of my league.”
Stepping up to me, he leans in and kisses my right cheek. The same way he kissed me the first time he told me I was still beautiful. And he tells me again now. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”
He steps away from me and walks toward the exit.
“Wait,” I call out. Stunned by his presence and his sadness, I haven’t said enough, but he continues forward, walking away from me. I follow him, but he keeps moving. His hand presses at the front door, and he rushes out into the cold January evening.
“Ethan, wait,” I cry out again, following him into the wintery air and the few steps down the sidewalk. He finally stops a few paces from the door and turns back to me, frustration hovering around him.
“I can’t do this, Ella.” He points at the gallery. “That’s not me, and it’s all you. I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Make a fuss, my mum said, and I was ready to do it. I came here ready to make the biggest fucking fuss for you. I thought that invitation was genuine and you wanted to see me. And this suit.” He flicks the lapel, but the motion is filled with disappointment. “I see the truth, now, Ella. I’m just being a fool.” He stares back at me, and I shiver from more than the cold air around us.
“Ethan, I can explain everything.” The words sound weak even to me, but Ethan isn’t listening. “If you just give me—"
“You know, I didn’t know you as a model. I have no idea who Isabella Vee was. I only know who I thought you were as Ella Vincentia. That’s the woman I love. Because I love you, Ella. I look at you with my heart, not my eyes.” He pats his chest, arm crossing his body as his voice turns sorrowful and deep.
“Maybe someday, you’ll see yourself the same way I see you.”
He turns away again, and even though I’m calling out to him, he keeps walking.
Card 31: Meatloaf
A load of ground beef
[Ethan]
As I stand in the main dining room of my future restaurant a few days after the New York City disaster, I assess all that will come to be. My target open date is April first, April Fool’s Day, and it seems appropriate. I’d been a fool to go to New York. The last-minute decision was part curiosity and part hopeless romantic. I thought the invitation was Ella’s way of telling me she was ready to talk, ready to see me. The suit itself felt like a grand gesture. She’d memorized my body with both her eyes and her hands. It was a near-perfect fit, and I wore it with honor because I thought the suit represented something special. Apparently, it hadn’t. It was just an article of clothing designed by a designer. Her things were beautiful, and the display of various items with a complementing photograph was brilliant. A rock star missing his hand. A woman with stretch marks. A cancer victim. And then her, beautiful and recreated, looking out at the world with her scarred side present. She was fucking beautiful, and it hurt to the core that she hadn’t sent me the invitation.
I’ve avoided all calls from Jacob and Ella. She is finally reaching out to me, but I have nothing left to say. I’d poured my heart out on a cold sidewalk in New York City.
“You okay?” Leon Ramirez asks me. He’s Tricia’s boyfriend-roommate, and we’ve become closer over the past months. He’s been helping me work on the restaurant with odd jobs, and I’ll owe him big time when I’m finally done.
“Women suck,” I mutter.
“You know, I can take that one of two ways. Based on your tone, I’m leaning toward the negative connotation, not the pleasuring kind.” Leon smirks, and I humorlessly chuckle.
“I’m just a fool,” I say, wiping my hand into my hair in frustration. Leon stares at me, but I’m looking at the blank space over the mantel of the fireplace in the corner. I envisioned her image hanging there, but the constant reminder of her would hurt. Her looking out at me but not seeing how much I love her, not wanting that love, would just rip my heart out.