The man for whom I’ve been leaving messages over the past ten days. Finally, he's calling me back. A mixture of relief then anger fills me.He finally found some time for me, huh?
I snatch it up and answer the phone. “Keith, where have you been? Why haven’t you answered my messages and my voice mails?”
“Hi Lark, how’s it going?” His cheerful voice comes down the line.
Ugh, how can he sound so relaxed when I’m juggling so many balls in the air—trying to get everything done at workandorganizingourwedding. I swallow my frustration and make sure to keep my voice even.
“I’m good. A little tired but good. Where are you?”
“In Texas. I’m here for a conference. But I expect to be home soon.”
“How soon? I need you to give me your opinion on the menu choices for the reception and the names of everyone who’s coming to attend the wedding from your side.”
“Is that all?” he asks breezily.
Anger simmers up my spine. “I’ve been working my tail off trying to get everything in order for the wedding, along withmanaging my new job. And you? You disappear in the lead up to the wedding.”
He hesitates. “I’ve been busy.”
“Seriously, Keith? So have I!” I grit my teeth. “You leave all the wedding arrangements to me. And don’t even bother to reply to my messages.”
“I’m sorry if I’ve been busy meeting deadlines so I can spend Christmas and New Year's withyouin London without having to travel.”
“Oh.” My anger cools, a little.
“I want to make salesman of the year, so I can put the bonus toward our dream home.” He sniffs.
Ugh, now I feel like a bridezilla who’s been haranguing her fiancé while he’s been working hard to get work out of the way so he can focus on me.
Just then, a man in a courier’s uniform walks into my office with a bouquet of holiday-themed flowers: a mix of amaryllis, white roses, and eucalyptus, accentuated with holly sprigs. “Lark Monroe?”
“One second, Keith.” I look up. “That’s me.”
He places the vase carefully on one side of my desk, then slides his device under my nose. “Sign here, please.”
I oblige.
He leaves.
“What is it?” Keith asks impatiently.
“It’s a delivery of flowers.”
“Did you see who the card is from?” His voice carries suppressed excitement.
I open the card and see his name signed on it. I frown. “They’re from you?"
“Do you like them?”
I flatten my lips. I should be flattered that he thought of me. But after ignoring me for weeks, it feels like he’s trying to buy my forgiveness.
Why does it seem like he’s manipulating me?
“I wanted to apologize for being away so much,” he adds.
There’s something in his tone that implies he’s waiting for me to thank him.
Because he sent me flowers. Because he’s never done so before. Because after not talking to me for days and days, now he’s trying to show me that he’s thinking of me?
