Page 9 of The Girl He Loves
My heart skipped a beat as I ventured a glance into his gorgeous green eyes, wondering if this was all a dream. He was too good to be true. “You don’t think I’m a weirdo?” I said playfully, but the words were in fact, a question I desperately wanted answered.
He laughed. “No. I think it’s kind of cute.”
Boy, you must have it bad for me,I remember thinking.
It’s okay, because I have it bad for you too.
4
I’m having lunch when Janet finally gets back to me. I’m over the moon when I hear her voice because I’m positive that she’ll set things straight.
“Wow, it was such a surprise to hear from you after all these years, Mischa,” she says, and the tone in her voice tells me she’s being genuine.
“Yes, it’s been a long time,” I agree, a little lost for breath. I’m very nervous for reasons I don’t quite understand.
“I always enjoy receiving your Christmas card every year,” she says. “You have such a beautiful family.”
“Thank you.”
“Sorry, I haven’t been sending Christmas cards these past few years,” she adds. “Just too busy. You know how it goes, I’m sure.”
“Oh, yes.”
“So….” she goes on, and the curiosity in her voice is palpable. “What’s new? Just curious why you called.”
My heartbeat makes itself known. “Oh, nothing much. It’s just… something silly,” I admit, feeling a little strange. “Remember the frame you and Rob gave us for our wedding?”
“Yes?”
“Well, anyway. I loved the photo you included in it. I’d never opened the frame until recently, and as it turns out, there was another photo at the back. I thought you might want it back.”
“Really?” she says, confused. “What was the picture?”
My heart is pounding against my ribcage now. “A young girl.”
“Well, it wasn’t my photo,” she tells me. “I bought the frame at an antique store, and there was no picture in it. Did you think I re-gifted an old frame of mine?” she asks in a teasing tone.
My laugh is forced when I reply, “Oh, no… well, maybe. I wasn’t sure. Sorry.” This might be one of the most awkward conversations I’ve ever had, and I’ve had plenty.
“No worries,” she says. “Anything else? What’s new with you guys?” she asks, attempting conversation.
But I’m just too shaken to properly respond. “We’re good… uh… okay, bye, Janet. Nice chatting.”
Why must I be so socially awkward?
“Uh… okay. It was so nice to hear from you, Mischa…” her words trail off, as if she’s suddenly questioning my sanity. She knew me well back in the day, and she’s probably wondering if I’m okay, but is too polite to ask.
“Yes, it was great. Well, I’ll let you go. I have a busy day ahead.” Yes, I’m very busy and normal. I am not going through another existential crisis. Not at all.
I abandon my lunch on the kitchen table, which is very unlike me: a half-eaten turkey sandwich, an apple, and a half-empty glass of water.
I leap off my chair and dash to our master bedroom. In search of what? I’m not quite sure. I rummage through Brian’s bedside table and sock drawer. Everything is in perfect order as it always is, because I’ve taken the liberty to organize every single one of his possessions. He says he likes his ‘little neat freak’. I do the same for the boys, and they’re not quite as appreciative. I plop down on our bed, and exhale a long breath. I know I won’t find anything in this condo. I know every square inch of this place. If he had so much as a new pair of socks, I’d know. And there hasn’t been anything out of the ordinary, absolutely nothing.
Save for that picture.
Why would he have put that picture there? How could he have been so careless? There has to be another explanation.
But on the other hand, he knows I adore that frame. And he also knows that wedding photo of us is my favorite, and I would never dream of replacing it, not the picture or the frame.
