Autumn and Summer (3 page)

Letting my eyes move over him, I sighed.
But I also need someone who is going to communicate with me and be adventurous and have fun and is interesting and… yes, I did the right thing.
Holding his gaze, I felt the confirmation I needed. He was undeniably handsome and kind but he wasn’t the one
.
He was just a nice guy who I didn’t feel a spark with and didn’t have romantic feelings for.

I don’t want to waste time on guys that don’t matter. I want to f
all in love.  I want butterfly-inducing, heart racing, true love. I want to not be able to sleep because he’s on my mind. I want to dream about him when I finally do fall asleep. I want it all. And I’ll know it when I when I feel it. And unfortunately, I knew we didn’t have a future after the first date… but I kept dating him. That’s not fair. It’s not fair to him and it’s not fair to me,
I thought as we stared at each other in silence.

“Robert…” I started and then trailed off when he shook his head.

“It’s okay, Autumn,” he interrupted nonchalantly as he hailed a taxi. Once he was sure he’d secured the ride, he looked at me and smiled. The warm smile didn’t meet his sad eyes.

“I hope we can be friends,” I sai
d truthfully before shifting my gaze to the yellow taxi pulling up to the curb.

Robert opened the back door and gestured
for me to get in. I slid in, holding my skirt down as I made room for him to climb in next to me. When I looked back over at him, he was still standing in the opened door.

I gave him a questioning look before I asked, “
Are you coming?”

             
“I’m just going to walk. I just wanted to make sure you got home safely. I’ll see you around, Autumn. Take care.”

             
Before I could say anything in response, Robert shut the door and walked away.
What was that?
I thought as I gave the driver my address. I’d never had a breakup go that smoothly before.

             
I paid the driver and then stepped out in front of my home.  Every time I pulled up, I marveled at it. The row house was given to me by my favorite aunt, Denise, when she passed away three years ago. It took six months before I decided I wasn’t going to sell it… and six more months to decide to move in it.

The structure
wasn’t opulent; however, it was in Wellington, Maryland, a nice neighborhood right on the border of Washington DC and Maryland. All of the row houses were either dark blue or brown. But my aunt’s home—now my home—was a rich brick red that stood out between the blue and brown that surrounded it.

             
Taking the steps two at a time, I quickly entered the house. Although the neighborhood was a safe area, coming home to an empty house on a quiet Sunday night seemed like the beginning scene of a horror movie. When the door was shut and locked behind me, I dropped my keys in the bowl on the table by the door.

             
Per usual, I did a quick scan of the rooms downstairs before heading up to my bedroom.
Living room…empty. Formal room…empty. Kitchen…empty. Downstairs guest bedroom…empty,
I thought as I concluded my walk-thru. As soon as I walked back to the stairs to go to my bedroom, the ticking of the gold clock that took up a sizeable chunk of the back wall in the formal room went off. I jumped and then ran as fast as I could up the steps. 

Cutting on the hall light, I peeked into the
slightly smaller bedroom just off the stairs. It was fully furnished with my aunt’s bedroom furniture.  I didn’t want to get rid of it, but I couldn’t sleep with it in the master bedroom.  The Victorian style bedroom furniture was luxurious—the king sized bed had a high, decorative cherry wood backboard and matched perfectly with the high, decorative dresser and wardrobe. Her furniture was much more lavish than the furniture I purchased, but I needed a fresh start.

             
Taking my shoes off before entering my bedroom, I let my toes sink into the plush cream carpet.  Tossing my handbag onto the gold and cream chaise lounge, I proceeded to strip.  My earring tangled in my hair and I was so focused on getting it out that I stubbed my toe on the wooden platform of my California King bed.

Shoot,
I grumbled.

Once I got my earring out, I paused for just a moment and exhaled.  My bedroom was my sanctuary.  And although every other room still felt like Aunt Denise’s, my bedroom felt like my space
.

             
Twenty minutes later, I was freshly showered and standing at the threshold of my closet. My wardrobe was colorful and vibrant. I owned jeans, but my preference was dresses. My hand ran across my color coded closet until the tips of my fingers hit the delicate fabric of the cream silk dress I kept in the back. Fondling the fabric, memories flooded my brain.

             
When he told me he had something important he wanted to talk to me about at the auction, I told my family and friends that I thought that night would be the night he proposed. I got my hair and nails done and purchased this dress,
I reminisced running my fingers over the material.
We had a great time. We danced all night. And when he took me to the roof to break up with me, I didn’t see it coming. How could I be in love with someone who was not in love with me?

I let the dress slip through my f
ingers as I shook the memory out of my head. Even though it had been four years ago, I hadn’t been able to wear the beautiful dress since the night of the disaster relief charity auction…the same night Derrick broke my heart.

             
Even after all these years, why can’t I shake it?
I wondered as I pulled a burgundy shift dress and a pink short sleeved blazer out of my closet.
I’m not still in love with him. I’m over him. Completely. I just don’t understand why I can’t seem to find anyone who makes me feel as alive as he made me feel.

The beeping of my phone dragged me back into the present. Climbing into my bed, I
cut off the light and grabbed my phone off of the end table. Clicking the email icon on my phone, I saw I had several work emails and one personal email from Olivia. I was about to delete it because she typically only sent chain letters, but something in the subject line gave me pause.

             
“Freelance photographers needed,” I whispered aloud in the darkened room. Clicking to open the email, I scrolled down past the chain letter to the initial email—a companywide email with a job description.

             
With a smile, I hit forward, closed out of my email, and opened my text messages.

Autumn Jones: You know how we’ve been talking about you moving to Wellington since I moved here last year? Well now is the time. Check your email. Everything happens for a reason.

**********

I sent my virtual photography portfolio to Style Magazine as soon as I woke up and saw Autumn’s email Monday morning. Within four hours, I received a call requesting a Friday afternoon interview.  Knowing that the fast pace in which things seemed to be moving was a good sign, I decided to start fresh.

I cut
a few inches off of my long, blonde hair and decided to play up my natural wavy texture. I had the beautician highlight the color to give it depth and definition. I donated a bunch of clothing to Goodwill and searched thrift shops, department stores, and boutiques to revamp my monochromatic wardrobe with different colored jackets, sweaters, and shoes.
I’d always been the kind of girl who would wear all-black.  Everything—dresses, skirts, pants, everything!—in my closet was black.  I wasn’t opposed to colorful clothing, it’s just that black worked for every occasion and it was so low maintenance. And since I rolled straight from grad school to working adult at Josh Jones Photography, I never took a moment to buy anything that wasn’t low maintenance.

Or at least that’
s how I’m justifying spending $500 on new clothes, shoes, and accessories without a guaranteed job in sight
, I thought ruefully.

I never wore makeup except for special occasions,
but I decided to accentuate my blue eyes and pouty lips by visiting the MAC counter. After purchasing a few small items, I felt excited about the changes I was making in my life.  By Wednesday, I sold most of my furniture.  With the extra cash, I purchased two new lenses and put the rest of my money in the bank. By Thursday, I was packed and ready to drive my red Chevy Camaro 2LS coupe to Wellington, Maryland. Unfortunately, I couldn’t leave until Friday because I needed to formally break my lease and pay the last month’s rent. 

Waking up bright and early
Friday morning, I was showered and meeting with the landlord at 6am. Within ten minutes, I was finally on the road to my interview with Style Magazine.

And on the road to my new life,
I thought as I glanced in the rearview mirror at the apartment complex I’d called home since grad school.  Turning on the radio, I smiled as I heard one of my favorite songs playing.

It’s meant to be,
I thought as I sung “Dream On” and sped away.

The
six-hour drive from Charlotte, NC to Wellington, MD seemed different this time. I visited Autumn at least once a month and each time the drive seemed to take forever.  However, this time, it seemed as though I arrived shortly after I pulled out of my former apartment complex. Picking up my cell phone, I called Autumn at her office.

“
Autumn Jones speaking.”

“Hey, it’s Summer. How’s work?”

“Hmm…I’ll tell you about it over drinks tonight. Are you ready for the interview?”

“I’m ready! I’m here a little early and I’m about to go in. But I wanted to let you know that I made it,” I informed her while I ran m
y hand over the steering wheel of my parked car.

“Well, you’re going to be great.  You are talented and educated and your work speaks for itself. You are going to wow them.”

I took a deep breath and looked up at the Infinity building.  “You are absolutely right. I think I’m just getting worked up because this is my first time striking out on my own. Aside from wedding photography, I’ve always worked under someone else’s wing.  My undergrad job with Photo Bomb turned into my grad school internship with Leslie B which led me to working with Josh. This is my first time being freelance and definitely my first time really interviewing to shoot my own stuff. I’m ready but—”

“Listen,” Autumn interrupted in a clipped tone. “You are nervous. And it’s okay to be nervous. You have packed up your entire life and moved on a leap of faith. That is enough to make
anyone nervous. But you said you were ready for a change. You said you wanted to strike out on your own. You and I both know you are ready for this…so don’t talk yourself out of opportunities that rise.”

I listened quietly and closed my eyes.
“You’re right,” I admitted, biting my thumb nail. I took another deep breath and then let it out slowly. “This is meant to be. I even found a spot right in front of the building.”

Laughing, she pointed out, “Parking over there sucks
if you’re not in the parking deck so now we know this is meant to be! Oh, hold on for one second.”

Classical music filled my ears as I was put on hold.
Pulling down the visor, I looked at myself in the mirror. Fluffing my hair, I smiled at my reflection.
I love this hairstyle. I should’ve done this a long time ago,
I thought as I looked at how my eyes seemed to pop and my cheekbones were accentuated.
I’m ready for this.
Looking back over at the building, I thought,
I definitely underestimated the size of the building. But I guess I should’ve realized it was huge when the receptionist told me Style Magazine was on the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth floors. But this building will not intimidate me. 
Looking back at my reflection, I whispered, “I got this. This job is mine.”

“
Hey, I have to go into a meeting,” Autumn said when she returned back on the line. “But you have a key so once you are done with the interview, get yourself officially moved in, roomie. We will meet at Terra Nova at 5pm. Knock ‘em dead!”

“
Thank you! See you after work!”

             
After ending the call, I climbed out of my car and put change in the meter. The sun shone brightly and created a glare off of the steel and glass high rise. Looking up, I felt nerves churning in my stomach.  As I moved closer to the building, my reflection came into focus. I smirked at what I saw.

D
onning a pair of black slacks and my new white blazer, my size six frame looked sexy and professional. My one and only pair of comfortable heels catapulted me from 5’8” to 6’. With my full lips covered in a matte red lipstick, I looked as confident as I felt before actually making eye contact with the Infinity building. I rolled my shoulders back and slid the sunglasses off of my face, dropping them into my oversized tote. Inhaling deeply, I reached out to pull the front door open and entered the cool air-conditioned lobby.

“Hello,” I said as I walked to the receptionist desk. “My name is Summer Wilson and I am here for an interview with Style
Magazine.”

“
Hi, I’m Mark. Let me call up and verify,” the young man behind the desk replied with a smile. As I looked around the lobby, I saw many people milling around. Some were quickly moving toward the elevators, some were moving out of the front doors, and some were talking in groups and heading into a room with double doors. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Mark checking me out.
Not my type at all,
I thought as I cleared my throat and his eyes snapped back up to my face.

His face
turned bright red before he sputtered nervously, “Here’s your badge. You will take the elevator to Style Magazine on the eighteenth floor. The receptionist, Meghan, is expecting you.”

After
clipping the Style Magazine visitor’s badge to my blazer, I walked to the elevator. A cluster of professionals stood by the elevator bank. Wearing dark suits, eight men and women huddled in a circle listening to one of the men talk in a hushed tone. Although I was standing near the group, I couldn’t hear what they were saying. They all had the same grim expression as the man who was speaking gestured emphatically.
Damn, I would really hate to work where ever they work,
I thought as I side-stepped toward the other bank of elevators, away from the group.
I don’t need their negativity rubbing off on me.
 

When an elevator door
opened, the professional group barely let the people exiting move out of the way before they rushed in.  There was room for one more person in the elevator and a delivery man gestured for me to go ahead.

Too many bad vibes in there so
no thank you,
I observed silently as I smiled as politely as I could. “I’ll wait for the next one, but thank you,” I verbalized, my smile not meeting my eyes as it swept over the angry-looking professionals impatiently waiting to get back to work.

Shrugging in response, he wordlessly entered the elevator.

With the hustle and bustle of a busy Friday afternoon in a huge building, I felt a sense of relief that no one was waiting for the elevator but me.  Going over the mental checklist in my head, I zoned out.
Portfolio...check. Résumé…check. Phone on silent…check. Fresh br—holy shit,
I interrupted my own thoughts as the doors to the elevator slid open to showcase the sexiest man I’d ever seen in my life. 

My lips parted slightly a
nd I let a sharp breath escape. He was standing in the back of the elevator typing on his phone. He didn’t look up, but he didn’t have to. With his head slightly bowed, I took a moment to appreciate the way his tailored, navy blue suit fit his tall, muscular frame. His hair, a mix of dark and light brown, was cut short, highlighting his olive skin tone.  His face was shockingly beautiful from the slope of his nose to his square jaw with the five o’clock shadow that haunted his jawline.
His phone looked small in his large hands as his fingers deftly flew over the screen.
I would love to photograph him,
I thought as my tongue quickly darted over my lips.
And then fuck him. Or maybe I could do both… at the same time.

Unintentionally,
I found myself staring at him, grinning cunningly.  Before I had a chance to look away, he looked up and his clear, blue eyes caught me. My heart automatically started hammering in my chest.
Look away. Look away now,
I coaxed myself even though I couldn’t move or avert my eyes.  And as suddenly as he appeared, the elevator doors slowly slid closed without either of us doing anything to stop it. We just held each other’s gaze until the last possible second and then he was gone. I looked above the elevator doors and saw that it was heading to the B level.
B level…is that bottom floor? Or basement? Or—why do I care? I have an interview I need to get to. I have to nail this! I don’t want to be unemployed,
I thought, refocusing my attention and feeling my confidence return.

Another elevator car dinged and once it emptied, I entered, putting all thoughts of that sexy man and that moment we shared behind me.

The elevator ride seemed to take no time at all. With only one person on the elevator who got on at the eleventh floor, the ride was smooth and allowed me no time to think about those crystal clear eyes or the probability of my impending unemployment status.
I can do this. I will do this. I am a talented photographer. The work speaks for itself. And whatever the work isn’t saying, I can say for myself,
I coached myself confidently as I walked out of the elevator and into the well-lit, main foyer of Style Magazine.
This job is mine.

“
Hello, I’m Meghan! How can we help you?” an upbeat voice called out from behind dual computer screens as I walked to the large receptionist desk.  Meghan was an adorably trendy woman in a blue, sailor-inspired dress and chunky black glasses.  Her short, brown hair with blonde tips was curled perfectly away from her face and secured with a matching blue headband. She looked effortlessly cool and simultaneously badass with her left arm covered in a sleeve of tattoos.  Adjusting her glasses on her face, Meghan extended her hand and flashed a contagious smile.

“Hi
, Meghan! I’m Summer Wilson. I’m here for an interview with John Orlando.” I smiled widely, reaching across the counter to shake her hand. 

Glancing at her computer screen, s
he replied, “You are a little early but Mr. Orlando shouldn’t be too much longer. Have a seat.” Meghan pointed to an area of oversized couches and chairs with a flat-screen TV showing the news.

As I opened my mouth to respond, the clicking of high heels
and an angry voice interrupted, “Meghan! I have a meeting with Mr. Ford so see that I am notified as soon as he gets off of the elevator. I don’t want him to have to wait and I want to be able to personally walk him back. Do you understand?”

When the woman appeared
from around the corner, she was elegantly dressed for a seemingly casual work place. With her waves of thick, dark hair and fascinating accent, she would have easily been considered strikingly beautiful. But the way she spoke to Meghan and the way her face contorted in anger, it was apparent to me that she was ugly everywhere it counted.

W
ho is this and what the hell is her problem?
I thought, looking from Meghan to the woman in the fitted black suit and then back to Meghan.

Glancing at me before
looking back at the woman, Meghan responded like a scolded child, “Of course, Ms. Torres.”

My
eyebrows drew together, perplexed at how the vibrant, bubbly Meghan had almost visibly coward in the presence of Ms. Torres. Shaking my head slightly, I saw the way she eyed my outfit with disdain. One of her perfectly arched eyebrows rose judgmentally before looking me square in the eyes, sneering and then turning on her heel to walk away.