“No,” Grant cut in, “don’t listen to him. Try to make her something. And send her cute pictures of yourself.”
“I’m not sending her anything,” I said.
“You can’t just give up,” Carter protested. “You have a dog! Pimp that puppy out. Shirtless photos! Fancy imported cheese. A surprise rooftop brunch. Go all out! If she’s worth it, you have to fight for her.”
“And we promise we’ll stay away,” Wes said.
I looked out the window. “I have work to do,” I told them.
* * *
After my cousinsand brother filed out, I sat in front of my computer. The strings of code and charts of stock prices rolled in front of me. It was a good distraction from Brea. I looked around my empty study. I didn’t have any knickknacks or personal touches, even though it had been a couple years since I had moved here after the fire. I had been stunned, heartbroken, and betrayed. My mother had wanted me close to family, and I hadn’t had the energy to protest. Now the condo didn’t feel like mine. Besides, I didn’t know if Brea would even want to live here. She hadn’t seemed impressed the last time she was here.
Once I finished rebalancing my various portfolios, I started looking for a new condo. I pulled Beowulf up into my lap. The puppy’s head nodded, and he slumped against me as he fell asleep.
Even though it was late, I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. I kept replaying the last words Brea had said to me.
It had to be my crazy family, I decided. Then a horrible thought sent a chill through me. What if she had found out about Rhonda? Maybe Brea didn’t want to have a relationship with someone who had been too stupid to anticipate my ex-girlfriend’s deadly plot. Or maybe she just didn’t like me as a person.
There were too many unknowns.
What I did know was that I couldn’t live here anymore. The condo was constraining. My whole family was in my business. I found a number of penthouses available for purchase. Several were close to my office headquarters in Frost Tower.
In fact…I peered at the address of one luxury condo. There was one on the market in that building. The space was bright and airy. Brea would probably like all that natural daylight. Not to mention, the Gray Dove Bistro was located at the base of the tower. It was also closer to Brea’s office than her current apartment.
I leaned back in my chair and stared up at the ceiling in my dark study.
“What am I doing?” I said aloud. “You blew it. Stop looking for a place Brea would want. She doesn’t want you. You have to move on.”
But I didn’t want to.
* * *
The next morning,after I had exercised Beowulf and fed him his breakfast, the doorbell rang, and I jumped up.
“If that’s my family….” I swore.
But it was the concierge of the building.
“Package came for you, Mr. Holbrook,” he said, handing me the box.
I opened it with a knife from the drawer, unsure of what I had ordered. When I saw the blue-and-white fabric, I remembered and grinned. Maybe I could use this as a last-ditch ploy to hopefully win Brea back.
I set the fabric, the fabric scissors, the pattern printed on tissue paper, the thread, and the needles out on my dining room table. Then I watched the stuffed dinosaur tutorial video again.
“This will be a piece of cake,” I told Beowulf, pouring myself a scotch.
Five hours and half a bottle of scotch later, I was seriously wondering why I couldn’t handle it. First I had cut out the pattern wrong because for some reason there were like five different-sized dinosaur patterns printed on extremely delicate tissue paper. I was supposed to follow the microscopic text to know which pattern to cut out. I accidentally ripped two of the pieces then cut along the wrong line on others and had to tape everything back together.
The amount of hard liquor I had been drinking hadn’t helped things any. The actual fabric piece I was cutting out kept slipping when I tried to cut it out following the pattern.
Piecing the thing together was a whole other torture, and when the creature was finally done, somehow it looked like it had three tails, one foot, and a tentacle sprouting out of its head. I tried to arrange it as nicely as possible and snapped a picture to send to Brea. Then I waited for a response, paced around the apartment, and drank some more.
“Fuck, what was I thinking?” I asked myself.
I swept all the sewing supplies back into the box and threw the stuffed dinosaur down for Beowulf to rip up.
“It’s fine,” I said dejectedly to my reflection in the dark window. “It’s late at night. She just hasn’t responded.” But I knew she wasn’t going to respond.
