“Originally, but now I call Boston home.”
She nodded, trying not to look hurt. “Any restaurant recommendations, then?” she asked, obviously trying to save face.
“Anywhere in the North Shore has good food and drinks.” I was certain she did this route often, and I wasn’t sure why she needed me to tell her where to go.
“I’m staying in the Back Bay,” she said, “at the Copley.”
Our conversation was getting stranger by the minute, especially since that was where the Oak was. And now my thoughts were straight back to Margo.
“It’s not far,” I said just as the captain gave us the obligatory two dings and we were safe to stand, which I did immediately.
At almost a foot taller than the attendant, I barely had to reach up for my briefcase. When I got it down, I told her to have fun and got the hell out of there. With luggage in hand, I went straight to my SUV and headed home.
Opening the door to my place, I thought I could still smell Margo. All honeysuckle and innocence, trying to keep my hand from wandering over past bruises. I hoped she was safe.
After calling for takeout, I sat down at the kitchen bar to review a staffing report for my latest venture. I would have to lay off forty-five percent of the current staff, which always pained me.
Lost in thought over the families who would be without a job over the holidays, my phone buzzed. The door buzzer downstairs was connected with my phone, and I assumed it was because my food had arrived.
But when I said, “Hello,” into the phone without looking, it wasn’t the delivery person downstairs.
“Mick?” Her voice was soft and questioning.
Just at the sound of my name, I felt like an absolute dick. I hadn’t called or texted Margo since I left town, but with the way she ran out on me, I felt it was best left alone.
With all the worst-case scenarios running through my head, I asked, “Margo, you okay?”
“Yes ... yes, I’m fine. I didn’t mean to worry you or bother you.”
“Don’t be silly,” I said, pacing. If the food came, they could give it to someone else. I wasn’t hungry anymore.
“I didn’t know if you were in Chicago still, but I wanted to call and say I’m sorry for the way I ran out on you.”
I imagined Margo sitting huddled up somewhere to make this call, her hair falling around her face.
“That’s not necessary. I get it. You’re not mine to have. I will say, I liked our time together. All of it.” I wanted to let her off the hook, but I didn’t want her to think I took our time together lightly.
“Honestly, I do. I just didn’t feel good about myself after we ... but then again, I don’t feel great about myself ever. In our actual time together, I felt amazing. And so I didn’t want you to think I was mad at you or that I don’t think you’re amazing. You are.”
I could have sworn I heard her sniff back tears, and I was done for.
“Margo, what’s going on?” I asked, leaning back against the wall.
“Oh, nothing. I put the half-and-half on the top shelf of the fridge, and it froze,” she said distractedly.
“So? It will defrost if you leave it out, I’m sure.”
“We didn’t have time for that this morning,” she bleated out.
All of a sudden, I understood. “Let me guess. He takes half-and-half in his coffee?”
“Yes,” came the weak response across the line.
“Are you hurt?” I asked, but she didn’t say anything. “Can you talk?”
Still nothing.
“Margo?”
