Heartbreak for Dinner: It's Kind of a Long Story (20 page)

Several months oozed by since I’d last spoken to Jonah
that nauseating night I called him and someone else picked up. Hours later, he sent
me a text apologizing, explaining his fiancé sometimes answered his cell if he was
showering or walking the dog. He expressed his desire to talk and said he’d call
me over the weekend. I had a million questions bubbling over, yet I refused to open
the Pandora’s box that was my heart when it came to him so like a child, I ignored
his message and blocked his number. The next day, I called in sick from work and
spent it crying on my bed while listening to Coldplay on repeat.

One balmy afternoon, I sat outside a café in South Beach having lunch
with my best friend. I was trying to keep my face from melting off into my cleavage
while Britt played with her food and sighed repeatedly in the most dramatic of manners.
I knew her too well to even inquire what was up, so I let her be and pretended to
be engrossed in my rib eye.

“Have you ever been to Texas?” she asked finally in a nonchalant manner
that raised 20 red flags at once.

I downed the steak I was chewing and quirked up an eyebrow at her.
“Have I ever . . .” my mind wandered off, mentally there already.
“Yeah, I know Texas. Don’t you remember that neurosurgeon I used to date in Dallas?”

“I’d rather forget,” she rolled her eyes.

“Why do you ask?”

She looked at me sheepishly and bit her lip. “Well, do you remember
that guy I was telling you about that I met online but lives in Houston?”

“Forget about it,” I replied vehemently, reading her intentions.

“Oh, come on, Annie,” she whined. “You didn’t even let me finish.
We can just go for a weekend and it’ll be so much fun.”

I shook my head and wagged a finger at her. “Absolutely not, buttercup.
I refuse to go to a city I’ve never even visited so you can meet some crazy who’s
likely a serial killer or even worse, weighs 400 pounds and looks nothing like his
pictures. Then, I’ll have to play wingwoman to his friend who looks exactly the
same, and be totally miserable for a weekend when I could be watching TV in the
comfort of my own home.”

“One, you don’t watch TV. Two, we’ve Skyped, you judgmental bitch.
I know
exactly
what he looks like from head to toe,” she purred lasciviously
and I gagged. “Besides, you don’t have to hang out with us the entire time if you
don’t want to. Don’t you know people in Houston, anyway? I kind of feel like you
mentioned something about a friend of yours that lived there.”

Jonah.

“I don’t know anyone there,” I swallowed my dishonesty, “but I’ll
go for you. Because I’m a firm believer in modern romance, also known as, ‘you’re
buying me a lot of drinks.’”

Two nights before our flight took off and at my best friend’s urging,
I sent Jonah a message informing him of my approaching foray into the wild west.
After pouring out the full Jonah chronicles on Britt – whose favorite book is Twilight
and believes all things are founded in romanticism – I somehow felt exorcised of
my past demons. It was the first time I’d ever spoken to anyone about all that had
transpired. I wasn’t quite expecting a reply after my infantile antics, but just
the act of reaching out felt utterly purifying. I was standing barefoot in the customs
line when the phone alerted me to his call two days later. I answered, breathless,
explaining I couldn’t exactly chat at the moment.

“Okay, so just tell me what the grand occasion is,” he drawled, not
skipping a beat as he pretended nothing had changed in the course of 48 months.

I inhaled dramatically and snickered, “I think it’s a long story that
merits cocktails and a face-to-face interview of sorts.”

“I guess you’re in luck then,” he offered quickly. “I happen to be
in possession of a lot of liquor, a masterful bartender, and a serious craving to
see you.”

Jonah made arrangements to have his driver pick me up the following
day for lunch and drinks at his new place. I wasn’t sure what that meant, per se,
but didn’t want to ask in fear of overstepping my boundaries. Texas was his turf,
after all, and I was merely a tourist trying to avoid getting axed by a 400-pound
guy who trolled the Internet for gullible girls in need of companionship. I sat
on my hotel bed wearing a form fitting dress that flared at the waist in full-skirted
glory, channeling Marilyn Monroe. Britt stood half naked in front of a mirror, trying
on outfit after outfit, without finding any to her pleasure. Her online lover was
coming for her in half an hour, and her long dark hair was still set in rollers.
She didn’t seem the least bit worried about any of this as she hurled yet another
rejected article of clothing to a growing pile on the floor.

“Is someone a little nervous?” I inquired teasingly.

“It is him who should be nervous, doll face,” she outlined her hourglass
figure and winked at me. “But even if I were, it wouldn’t match up to that sick
look on your face right this moment. Just relax, baby girl.”

I made my way to the bottle of wine we’d purchased at the airport
and poured myself a glass. I hadn’t seen or really spoken to Jonah since our trip
to Vegas, the nerves successfully eating away at my insides. Often I’d longed to
reconnect without ever pulling the trigger, usually when my heart cooked the rational
side of my brain and pushed me to pick up the phone on a night I’d been drinking.
There was a knock on the door just as Britt zipped up a pair of jeans and gave me
a thumbs-up.

“That’s me,” she winked and headed for the door.

The person on the other side embraced her immediately, no awkwardness
whatsoever as they kissed urgently under the wooden frame. It was as if they’d been
missing each other even though they’d never met. I wondered if my best friend intended
to go out in her rollers, feeling deeply jealous of her unabashed confidence and
ability to not give a fuck. Her guy – who surprisingly did not resemble the Hunchback
of Notre Dame – came over to me and shook my hand.

“Evan,” teeth so bright they required shades gleamed my way as he
smiled. “You’re friend here’s beautiful,” he motioned to Britt. “Thank God for Facebook.”

I shrugged my shoulders and failed to stop feeling cynical. “Good
ol’ God and Mark Zuckerberg,” I chirped, “making the world a better place one hook-up
at a time.”

Evan released a confused look and Britt glared at me as she took off
a roller and flung it my way. I pretended to be injured and let out a yelp. Shortly
after that we made our way to the lobby to go our separate ways. Saying our goodbyes,
I made Evan promise he wouldn’t kill my friend and sell her organs on the Mexican
black market. He seemed convinced I had mental disabilities but promised anyway
as they waved me off. A while later, I was in the back of a black sedan being driven
through a neighborhood called Royal Oaks by Jonah’s driver, Benny. I felt sick as
we glided closer to our destination, surprised my complexion wasn’t green as I checked
my reflection in a compact mirror. We made a left and Benny decreased speed as we
pulled up to what could only be described as the country version of the Balmoral
Castle.

“What is this?” I stood in front of a sprawling mansion bigger than
any of the others lining the block, black iron gates menacingly creaking open.

“This here is Mr. Hunter’s home,” he looked at me through the rearview
mirror. “Y’all are set to have lunch, right?”

I nodded and processed the immensity of the moment, recalling Jonah
had never mentioned anything about what he did, except work in the family business.
I could deduce said business was drilling oil out of Mt. Everest or inventing Scientology
from the size of his house. I questioned the fairness of life as I realized Jonah
was only 28 and living like Hugh Heffner minus the bleach-haired sluts. When the
car stopped, I caught sight of him in the distance, practically skipping toward
us with a huge smile plastered on his handsome face. In beige linen pants and a
crisp white shirt, he’d never looked better. He opened the door of the car and I
adjusted my pleated dress, taking in a deep breath before swinging my feet over
to the concrete ground.

“Oh my goodness,” he pounced on my weightless body, scooping me up
in a bear hug as he twirled me. “Are you for real?”

“I think I am,” I blushed, a thousand revolutions morphing inside
me. “Is this Texas Disneyland? Or did you rob a bank since I last saw you?”

He shot me a funny look and hugged me again. “Don’t be ridiculous,
Annah. This is the house I told you I bought.”

“Your fiancé must be thrilled,” I blurted out. “You can raise 20 kids
in here.”

Jonah scratched his head awkwardly and led me up the stairs. “This
certainly wasn’t her first choice, but it’s the one father and I liked.”

He seemed uncomfortable talking about her, so I decided not to pursue
the subject any further and allowed him to guide the way, expecting a butler to
pop out of a corner at any moment and take my trench coat. “After you,” he motioned
as he opened the enormous entrance door and I placed my right foot – superstitiously
– inside.

I took in the grandness of the space and almost fainted, completely
over my head as I tried to retain my composure. “This is quite the abode you got
yourself here, Mr. Hunter,” I exclaimed proudly. “I’m impressed.”

“I’ve been eyeing it for years. It belonged to someone else and I
would drive by here every month and say to myself, ‘
One day I’m going to own
that house.’
I couldn’t believe my luck when my realtor called and told me the
owner was moving to New York and looking to sell,” his eyes shone with a pride I’d
never seen before. “It’s just the simple French style I like.”

“Oh, yes, yes,” I mocked him. “A very simple French home.”

Tugging my hand, he gave me a sideward glance. “Come. I want to introduce
you to someone very special,” he breathed, my heart dropping a thousand miles, “my
amazing housekeeper, Eleonore. She’s French, too, you know.”

I let out my breath slowly and relaxed. “You bought a French house
with a French maid?”

“The maid didn’t come with the house, cupcake. My aunt recommended
her. Trust me, she’s not what you’d expect,” his eyes twinkled in mischief. “Besides,
I like to think of her as a stand-in mom who watches over my home when I’m not here
and makes great hot chocolate, too. Megan isn’t as impressed, but I don’t care,”
he continued and showed the way through a long narrow hallway. We sat to lunch in
what Eleonore called “the breakfast room,” which also happened to be Jonah’s favorite
place in the house. As opposed to the rest of the quarters, it had floor-to-ceiling
windows, the light entering each morning as he read the paper and drank his coffee.

“I tell him he needs to stop smoking and drinking so much coffee,”
Eleonore scolded him as she poured me some tea after lunch, “but these men never
listen to old ladies like me. Do you know that he hides his cigarettes from Miss
Megan? Lucky for him she travels a lot.”

I took a sip of tea shyly and smiled, wondering if the lady of the
house would soon be showing face and stab me for cavorting with her fiancé and the
help.

“Enough of that,” Jonah waved a hand in the air dismissively as if
to shush her. “Let’s not burden Annah with the details of my bad habits. I assure
you she knows them all,” he squeezed my hand affectionately and Eleonore eyed me
over suspiciously with a look of warm curiosity. “Tell me, El. What’s for dessert?”

I left the mansion hours later full of quail and potatoes with
a side of misery served scorching hot. Jonah and Megan had been engaged for over
a year, no date set yet for the nuptials all of high society waited for with bated
breath. I learned that she was out of town for a funeral, as her aunt had died suddenly
of a heart attack while playing tennis. Sympathizing with her, I was on the verge
of having my own soon if I came in close contact with Jonah again over the weekend.
He told me he was disappointed he couldn’t make it to the funeral, but his college
roommate was getting married that weekend and he was a groomsman.

“You should come,” he’d said to me casually as our meal drew to a
close and I ran out of things to talk about.

“What? You’re insane,” I shook my head, “I wouldn’t know anyone.”

“You’d know me,” his eyes peered into my soul and peeled off every
hard layer I’d built around the love I’d once felt for him.

“I don’t have anything to wear,” I quickly countered.

“Benny will take you shopping,” he retaliated, looking smug.

I opened my mouth to speak but he didn’t allow me. “It’s settled,”
he popped a raspberry that had been garnishing his untouched crème brûlée in his
mouth. “You can go now after lunch and I’ll give him my card. He’ll scoop you up
tomorrow at three and take you to the church. Just text me when you get there, and
I’ll join you after the whole aisle walking thing. Sound good?”

I got the eerie premonition I’d bit off more than I could chew with
our lunch, but I nodded anyway in defeated agreement and let Benny take me away.

A whole day had come and gone as I stood in the lobby of my
hotel, pacing slowly back and forth in a floor length gown that trailed the floor
behind me in waves of fiery red. Britt had spent the night at Evan’s place surely
getting little sleep, while I watched back-to-back episodes of
CSI
and attempted to
murder the insomnia plaguing me before the day of the wedding. After Benny
dropped me off at the church, I sat in a pew feeling uncomfortable as the seats
filled up with couples and people who smelled of money greeting each other warmly.
The wedding party began to proceed down the aisle shortly after the violins started
playing. When Jonah’s turn came, he held my eyes with his own with every step until
he passed me. It was a beautiful ceremony, and I found myself smiling at times and
suppressing back tears in others.