I clasp my hands together to form a clap before leaping out of the car, rushing into the store, feeling the imaginary countdown on me.
There are good people in this world. Good enough for me to rush into the bakery aisle, go into the freezer and grab a chocolate and vanilla ice-cream cake—Aidan’s favorite. I add a vanilla cupcake in my basket for the driver, because today is a day where I refuse to accept “no” from people.
Most of all, I deserve a cake that didn’t have my face on it.
I am a little over the five-minute mark with the line for checkout being oddly long for nine o’clock at night. The inside of my cheek is raw from gnawing at it. My foot incessantly taps against the tile. All I can think to do is leave a voicemail.
“Hey, babe, got your text. I tried to call you and it just keeps going straight to voicemail. Just want to let you know I’m going to head to your place right now. I just finished up work and wanted to talk. I… love you.”
By the time I finish the message, the granny in front of me bags her last grocery item. Speeding through the checkout to the parking lot, I step outside to see that the Toyota Corolla is still there.
Instead of heading to the back seat to sit, I walk over to his driver’s side window to show off the cupcake. He lets the window open halfway, grabs it, nods and gives a brief smile before rolling it back up.
In a thick Russian accent, he says, “Thank you?”
I skip to the back seat to buckle up for the rest of the drive.
Twenty minutes later and a few nails bitten to nubs, the driver says, “We are here. Where should I park?”
The white columns, colonial setup and bright green door are displayed in the distance as I look out the car window. We are stopped at the gates.
“Here is fine. Thank you for everything.”
My man, Iván, drives away as I press the call button on the gate box.
“Who’s there?”
“Ruth, it’s Charlotte.”
Just like that, the gates swing open. The ten-foot door just stares back at me as I make it down their long driveway.
Without mental preparation or warning, Miss Ruth swings the door open as I walk up the steps to the front porch.
“Hi, sweetheart. We missed you,” Ruth says, bringing me into a warm hug. When she lets go, I notice her apron is covered in flour.
“Would you like some water?”
“No, it’s okay. Where can I put this?” My fingertips hold on tightly to the cake box.
Without asking, Miss Ruth assures me that Aidan is home. Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore are out of town.
“Thank you, Ruth.”
She takes the box from my hands and walks away toward the kitchen. The winding staircase is just waiting for me. His room is the last bedroom on the right…
“Help a girl out, Ghosty.”
The necklace has returned to its lifeless, dull state. Nothing is intervening between me and the stairs.
“Do you need anything else?” Miss Ruth yells as she makes her way back to the foyer.
“No!” I scurry up the stairs, willing my feet toward his door.
One knock. Nothing.
Two knocks. Still silent.
And after the third knock, I let myself in, witnessing the back of his head. He got a haircut. It’s shorter and blonder, more refreshed than his usual wildness, which he wears so effortlessly. Has he gone outside and gotten a tan? I stand there waiting for him to notice me. He is lasered in on the screen.
