Текст книги "She: Part 2"

Автор книги: Annabel Fanning

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“I just wanted to say hi,” she attempts to convince me.

I narrow my eyes.

“OK, fine,” her facade crumbles, “well, obviously I want to know every last detail about your weekend away,” she blurts out.

Ah-ha! The truth, or part thereof. My senses tell me there’s still more to it than that, though for now, I indulge her. Smiling broadly, I say, “Amber, it was incredible!”

“Where did he take you?” she demands to know. “No, wait, wait…tell me this first: did he propose?” she says very quickly.

I laugh again. “No,” I tell her, shaking my head.

Amber stares at me impatiently, wanting more information.

I shrug. “What? We’re not engaged,” I tell her again.

Now her eyes narrow. “Are you sure?”

“Quite sure,” I giggle. “I’d call you immediately, you know that.”

She smiles at last. “That’s true. You’re terrible at keeping things from me.”

“And you’re excellent at getting things out of me,” I counter. “We’re a perfect match.”

She laughs; her bubbly nature is infectious. One of many reasons why I love her, I think gratefully. But a brief moment later, her laughter stops and her tirade of unending questions for me begins.

“So, where’d you go? What did you do there? How was the food? I’m obsessed with food,” she tells me needlessly.

“Of course you are, you’re a chef,” I say.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” she jests, stepping forward and slapping the bell on the maître d’s desk. “Start talking, Gem,” she says impatiently. “Where’d he take you?”

I grin at her. “OK, well…he took me…to the Hotel Beaux Rêves,” I reveal slowly.

“Bonjour, une table pour combien?” the maître d’ asks us. Hello, a table for how many?

Totally ignoring her, Amber looks dumbstruck for a moment, before shouting at me, “Shut the front door!”

I laugh at her reaction. “I couldn’t believe it either,” I tell her.

“Beaux Rêves? The hotel where your favourite book was written?” she checks we’re talking about the same place.

“The very same,” I nod.

“Gem,” she says excitedly. “That’s so adorably nerdy!”

I look at her, feeling amused. Anything remotely book-related makes someone a nerd in Amber’s eyes. The most she ever reads is her monthly subscription to Vogue.

“Excusez-moi? Une table pour combien?” the maître d’ asks us again. Excuse me? A table for how many?

Amber looks at her incredulously. “Avril,” she says, reading her name badge, “I don’t think you comprehend how huge this is.”

I laugh again. Oh, I agree, Amber, I don’t think Avril knows, or cares where my boyfriend took me over the weekend.

“Désolée. Une table pour deux,” I say. Sorry. A table for two. “Table quarante-neuf, s’il vous plaît,” I add. Table forty-nine, please.

Avril nods courteously, hands two menus to a waiter, who then gestures that we should follow him to our table.

As we walk, I also divulge, “Logan also named his hotel in Tokyo in my honour.”

Amber’s mouth drops open in disbelief, and I’m thrilled. “Wh—” she tries. “Wh—” she tries again.

“Deep breaths,” I tell her, feeling giddy. I’m on cloud nine!

The waiter leads the short way to our table, and my giddiness grows. After Logan told me about naming his latest hotel Forty-Nine in honour of our first lunch date at this cafe, I recall saying, “I don’t remember seeing a table number,” to which he replied, “It was on my side of the table.” I hurry ahead of Amber, who is mumbling incoherently to herself, to ensure that I get to sit on the opposite side from where I sat last time, eager to see this number, our number, for myself.

“Merci,” I say to the waiter, who holds out my chair for me. Before I sit, I shuffle out of my jacket. I peer up at Amber. “Any words yet?” I ask.

“Give me a second,” she says, already in her seat.

I grin at her and then sit down, moving my napkin away from the corner of the table, and there it is – a small circular plaque with the number forty-nine on it. Joy becomes me as I smile broadly. He really did this for me!

I point out the table number to Amber. “See this?”

She nods.

“This is the table that Logan and I had lunch at that first day, before I called you and you googled him,” I say and she nods again, remembering. “This is table forty-nine,” I tell her. “And about ten minutes after our lunch ended Logan took a phone call from his PA and told her that his new hotel now had a name: Hotel Forty-Nine.”

“You’ve got to be shitting me?” she exclaims comically.

“Nope,” I shake my head, still amused.

We stare at each other for a moment before both bursting into a fit of giggles.

“I couldn’t even get Seamus to name his hamster after me when we started dating! Let alone a fucking hotel,” Amber snorts.

Our waiter reappears and stands quietly next to our table. I give him a polite smile and peer down at the menu. What to have? Amber is too engrossed in what I’ve just revealed to pay any attention to the menu or the waiter.

“You must have given Logan the good loving this weekend,” she says loudly and matter-of-factly.

I grin at her, and steal a quick glance at the waiter. His eyes are wide, and he looks supremely uncomfortable. I stifle a laugh. He opens his mouth, but words fail him; instead he bows slightly and indicates that he’ll give us a moment to decide, before hastily retreating.

“You scared him,” I laugh.

Amber looks baffled, completely unaware of her words and their impact. “Who?” she asks, looking around, confused.

I laugh again, and then get us back on topic. “Maybe our next trip will be to Tokyo,” I muse, touching the number plaque once more.

“Seriously, Gem, if I hadn’t already met Logan, I’d think you were making him up,” she giggles. “Was this phone call before or after he almost made you come just by looking at you?”

I think back. “This was before,” I grin again.

“Then I’ll repeat what I said to you a couple of weeks ago – marry him!”

I smile, coyly.

Amber squeals in excitement, and then says, “OK, OK, start at the beginning of the weekend and tell me everything!”

We order our lunch, and then I do as I’m bid, sharing with Amber the events of my weekend, starting with the first wager that Logan and I made on Friday evening.

“I lost it,” I tell her, “though there were really no losers that night, if you get my meaning.”

Then I tell her about Saturday – the waiter-nearly-seeing-me-naked incident, the hotel exploration, the drive along the coast, the I’ve got crabs comment, the video call debacle, and the dance routine revelation. “And that was Saturday,” I finish prematurely, purposefully leaving out our nighttime activity. That will forever be just for Logan and I to know. “There’s not a lot to report about yesterday,” I move along quickly. “It was quite possibly the laziest day of my life. But I loved it,” I smile. “Logan did take me, via a boat he skippered himself no less, to look around a beautiful landscaped garden in the afternoon.”

Amber nods, impressed. “Nice move, Logan,” she compliments, as our food arrives. “It’s cool that he’s already picked up on your love of green things,” she says, eyeing my spinach and brie sandwich with disdain.

“If by love of green things you mean landscape design,” I laugh, “then yes, it was a very nice move. We spent hours walking around the grounds…it was brilliant,” I sigh reminiscently.

Amber smiles at me. “It sounds like you’re smitten, chicken,” she says. I nod, and she continues, “It must be hard returning to work after a weekend like that.”

At her words, images begin racing through my mind of Logan and I in the elevator this morning. I feel heat rise in my body and quickly reach for my drink. Come back to the present, Gem, I tell myself.

“You just flushed,” Amber says, watching me closely, her fork halfway to her mouth.

“Did I?”

“Uh-huh,” she laughs.

“In summary: it was a good weekend,” I say, before digging into my lunch once more.

“The sex is still great, then?” she correctly assumes.

“The sex is,” sensually, hot, loving, mind-blowing, “unbelievable,” I sigh. “The things he’s able to do to me…” I trail off, my heart fluttering.

“Oh my!” Amber grins, comically fanning herself.

“What we evoke in each other, it’s…it’s…” I shake my head, unable to find the words. I’ve never been able to understand the magic, the chemistry, the intensity between Logan and I. I’ve tried, countless times, but I always give up my need to understand in favour of simply enjoying the moment.

“It’s love,” Amber finishes for me.

I nod, before smiling broadly, the sight of which makes Amber laugh.

“I’m so happy for you, Gem,” she says affectionately. “And I’d be really jealous if I didn’t have my Irishman,” she grins, referring to Seamus.

“Your Irishman adores you,” I note.

“Oh, I know,” she says confidently. “Married life is the best, you should, uh, really consider it,” she says slyly, that look of faux-innocence back on her face.

“I thought peer pressure died out after high school?” I tease.

She rolls her eyes. “As if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life lying under those mirrors staring up at your sexy construction king’s ass.”

Construction king? “I’ve a new nickname for him now,” I grin.

“You’re welcome to have it, but it does come at a price…”

Let the bartering begin, I think. “Which is?” I ask.

“Seeing as you’ve just agreed to marry him,” she says mischievously, and before I can correct her, she presses on, “I think it’s time to move on to baby talk.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” I blurt out. I don’t want children, not now, maybe not ever.

“Kidding,” she repeats, her eyes wide. “See, your subconscious is already thinking about it.”

“No,” I laugh, “it’s really not, Amber. I don’t want children,” I repeat out loud, shaking my head.

“But I want you to want children,” she smiles and we both laugh again. “I don’t want to do it alone,” she adds.

I avoid rolling my eyes at her words, knowing that having a child is too important to Amber to dismiss her words in that way. What’s the best way to end this conversation quickly, I wonder instead. Thinking of something, I say, “We’ll talk about it closer to the time, when you’re actually pregnant.”

Amber smiles once more, but suddenly it’s a different kind of smile: an excited, fired-up, over-the-moon kind of smile. Abruptly I see a light and a joy in her, more so than usual, the intensity of which I’ve only seen in her once before. My mind starts racing…could she be?

“Are you pregnant?” I whisper. “Like…like, right now?” I mutter. This whole time I assumed I was sitting across from one person, but is there actually two of them? Has Amber been blessed with the one thing that she wants most in this world? With the only thing that’s lacking from her life? A long awaited, wanted, and worked-for child?

“There was another reason why I wanted to have breakfast with you,” she says modestly.

I gasp. I knew there was something else going on! “You are, aren’t you?” I’m quite suddenly beside myself with excitement.

Slowly, confirming my assumptions, she nods.

“Oh my god!” I scream loudly, forgetting entirely about our public setting. In my peripheral vision I can see nearly every patron in the vicinity turn to stare at us, but my inappropriate noise level fails to register within me. I scream again, out of my mind with delight. I jump to my feet and hug her in her seat as she laughs, overjoyed. Then I crouch down next to her seat and instinctively put my hand on her lower belly. I can’t feel anything, I think, before chiding, duh, Gem, it’s probably the size of a pea!

“Uh, people think you’re touching my crotch,” Amber murmurs, eyeing the nearby tables.

But I simply don’t care what they think. I can’t believe it – my best friend is having a baby!

“Are you really?” I whisper, looking up at her, having to make sure.

“Yes,” she smiles. “Finally,” she adds, beaming down at me.

So this is what it looks like to see someone’s dream come true, I think. She couldn’t look any happier if she tried.

“You’re going to have big boobs. At last,” I tell her and she grins back, nodding happily. “And the shopping! Think of all the shopping we can do,” I shriek. Jeez, I need to calm down; but I don’t want to. I’m so, so happy, and my heart is beating overtime. “We can go to lamaze classes,” I say exuberantly, momentarily forgetting that she’ll be doing that with Seamus. “You’ll find out if sex is really better while you’re pregnant. And then…then you’ll have an actual baby…for the rest of your life.”

“For the rest of my life,” she nods.

I stand and return to my own seat, staring across at her, at them, with the dorkiest smile slapped across my face. I can’t believe it! It’s the last thing I expected to find out, especially now, after being with her for the best part of an hour. “Why didn’t you tell me the very second you saw me?”

“I wanted to hear about your weekend,” she says earnestly.

“What?” I exclaim. That’s inconceivable!

“Yeah, chicken, you have loads of things to tell me, I only have one thing to tell you: I’m pregnant,” she smiles. “I have no other information than that.”

But, you must, I think. “How? When? You’ve got to have some details?” I push for more.

“Well, a week last Friday my period was late,” she shrugs, “a day or two is usually no big deal, but then the wine tasted funny at dinner at yours…”

My eyes grow wide, remembering her telling me that in the moment.

“I didn’t want to get my hopes up, so Seamus and I agreed to wait a few more days. Except, of course, I couldn’t. I took the first test on Monday morning, it was positive, and I casually handed it to Shay. After that he was as excited as I was, so over the last week I’ve taken a few more,” she says nonchalantly.

“How many?” I grin.

“Uh, fifteen,” she says sheepishly. “I wanted to be absolutely sure,” she hastens to add.

“I’d say now you are,” I laugh, allowing her incredible news to sink in.

“According to most of them, I’m five weeks along,” she tells me. “So, if you stop taking the pill today,” she starts, and I shake my head, laughing again.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” I say.

“But I don’t want to do it alone! I want our kids to grow up together and get married!” she paints me a pretty picture. “Whether they want to or not,” she adds, shamelessly.

I reach across the table and take her hand in my own. “Amber, I’m very, very, very happy for you, but I don’t want to have children.” Not now, I think once more.

She looks a little put out, but then immediately tries another tactic. “What does Logan want?”

“I, um…I don’t know,” I say honestly. How does Logan feel about having children, I suddenly wonder. “We haven’t spoken about that,” I add.

“Don’t you think you should ask, seeing as you’re practically engaged?” she pushes.

“We’ve only been together a few weeks,” I remind her pointedly.

“Is he good with children?” Amber asks, her enthusiasm growing again.

Grinning, I admit, “I’ve no idea, Amber. I guess I’ll find out when his family arrives this week. I’ll get to meet his niece.”

“His family is visiting?” she shrieks suddenly.

“Uh, yes. Is that OK with you?” I ask sarcastically.

“For fuck’s sake, Gem, you tell me nothing! Must I resort to putting a wire on you? When are we meeting them?

Giggling, I tell her, “I’m meeting them on Wednesday evening. You will not be in attendance.”

“That displeases me,” she says formally, and then thinks things through, concluding, “Hmm, so if you don’t know Logan’s stance on children, then there might be a chance,” she decides. “Perhaps I could team up with his mother?” she plots. “They always want more grandchildren.”

I grin at her audacity, giving up the fight. There’s no use fighting Amber, she’s more persistent than anyone else I know. Except, maybe, Logan. He did persist with his feelings for me, something he confessed to me the last time I was sat at this table. I gaze around the cafe, suddenly suspicious that it may contain magical powers – the most amazing things are revealed here.

I take her hand again. “Amber,” I breathe, “I’m in shock, I can’t believe it!”

“Hopefully I’ll have the pictures to prove it on Wednesday afternoon,” she says.

“Pictures?” Of her and Seamus doing it?

“Yes, I’m booked for an ultrasound,” she tells me.

“Oh,” I nod. Head out of the gutter, Gem.

Abruptly, Amber looks a little worried by the prospect, and I know why – it was during her three month checkup last year that she and Seamus were told the horrid news that there was no longer a heartbeat and that she’d miscarried. That was the saddest I’ve ever seen her, and something I desperately hope to never see again.

“It’ll be—”

“I know, I know,” Amber says hurriedly, cutting me off, and picking herself up before I can finish my sentence. “It feels different this time,” she says hopefully. “I’m not as scared as I thought I’d be, and Seamus is being very positive, too…so,” she shrugs, “time will tell.”

I give her a small, excited smile and nod in response. Wednesday it is, I think. “I need to message Seamus,” I realise, diving my hand into my bag to retrieve my mobile phone. Spying the time on my home screen, it’s reluctantly that I say to Amber, “I have to get to work soon, baby momma.”

She smiles broadly at her new name, as I type hurriedly:

*Congratulations, baby daddy! Best news ever x*

I go to put my phone back into my bag, when I spot the piece of paper that Buddy wrote his note and drew his drawing on lying in there, and I immediately start giggling once more. I must’ve shoved it in my bag this morning. Pulling it out, I hand it to Amber, who curiously accepts it, her eyes and mouth opening wide when she sees what’s on there.

“I don’t know if I’ve told you, doll, but you and Logan’s best friend, Buddy, are in competition for who can deliver us the best sexual present. After your gift of mirrors, Buddy was determined to better you, and this morning we found his attempt,” I smile.

Humour overcomes Amber’s face as she reads Buddy explanation under his drawing. “Dammit, a sex swing is good,” she then laments.

“Is it?” I question her. I’m not so sure. “I don’t think you can do as many things in a swing as you can do with the mirrors,” I muse. My mind starts showing me gratifying images of Logan and I under the mirrors that rival the erotic drawing of Buddy’s. I shake my head, ridding it of these thoughts.

“You’d know,” Amber grins.

I grin back. “Oh, Amber, those mirrors are the best present you’ve ever given me!” I laugh. If only I could go and play under them right now, I sigh.

* * *

Amber and I part company outside of Pierson House after a long hug, during which I mumbled for quite possibly the fiftieth time how ecstatic I am that she’s pregnant. I then wave her away and linger outside of the office for a minute before I speed dial my mom’s salon. Although she’s away, I’m hopeful that one of her employees will know something about the dating profile and I need to book in Mary-Gene’s appointment. Lucie answers – just the gal I want to speak to.

“Salut Lucie, c’est Gemima,” I say. Ordinarily, I’d love to chat with her for awhile but my unexpected lunch date with Amber means that I’m already pushing the edges of my allotted time for lunch. Getting straight to the point, I ask, “Has my mom mentioned anything to you about creating an online dating profile for me?” I ask, crossing my fingers and hoping she knows something about it. “My boyfriend won’t be too best pleased,” I add.

“Ah, about that… Wait, you have a boyfriend? That’s fast work!”

I grin. “Uh,” what do I say to that? I settle for, “Thanks. His name is Logan. He’s the best thing since sliced bread,” I tell her.

“I am French, I do not like sliced bread,” she quips. “That’s exciting news, Gem. I am happy for you…so is Bianco; he’s here, eavesdropping.”

“Hi, B,” I smile, and I hear him shouting hello in the background. “Before I forget, can you please book in a couple of back-to-back appointments with my mom on Friday evening for me? Anytime after six would be great,” I request.

I hear her tapping on the computer. “Sure,” she says. “All done. Now, uh, about that profile…Bianco and I have a confession: it was not your mom’s work, it was ours. After hearing your woeful tale at the Lonely Hearts Party, Bianco and I thought you could do with a good man and a good time, so we set it up,” she confesses.

The culprits are caught, I sigh in relief, as behind me I hear the doors of Pierson House open. “I’ll have you know that I had a very good night after that party,” I smile into my phone. “I was with Logan,” I tell her, letting her imagination make of my words what it will.

Behind me someone coughs loudly, making me jump and turn around. It’s Amélie; she’s standing, watching me, listening to what I’ve been saying. Shit! I feel my face flush. That’s embarrassing!

“I’m just finishing my lunch break,” I say weakly, my eyes wide and mortified.

“I don’t care,” she shakes her head.

Uh…OK.

“I’ll be thirty seconds,” I tell her. “Lucie, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you on Friday.”

“Oui, très bien,” she says. “I’ll delete the profile,” she promises. “How did you find out about it anyway?”

“Logan’s best friend told me,” I say, trying to ignore Amélie’s eyes narrowing.

“Oh…is he single?” she wonders.

I laugh at the ludicrous thought of them together. “You don’t want to go out with Buddy,” I’m sure of it. “You’re too nice for him,” I say, without thinking through my present company. I blush again. Double shit! I did not think Amélie’s eyes could get any narrower, but they have. I remind myself how legendary her tantrums are, and how little I want to witness one first hand. Suddenly, I’m scared.

“Bye, Lucie,” I say mournfully. I tap the End Call button and slowly look up at Amélie. As innocently as I can, I say, “Did you need something?”

“I just wanted to say well done,” she says in her imperial tone.

“Well…well done?” Why can’t I help feeling suspicious?

“Yes, I’ve seen that you’ve completed three projects and signed on two new clients. That’s an excellent morning’s work, Gemima, so…well done.”

Phew! “Thanks,” I say, abruptly feeling safe from any tantrum.

She nods and we stand together in an awkward silence for a few moments, before she enquires, “Do you have everything ready for Wednesday? Implementing Mr. Leary’s garden?” she reminds me.

“Oh, yes, it’s all organised.”

“Very good. I’m looking forward to your full report on it, including photos, handed in promptly. No doubt Mr. Leary could use somewhere to rest his bruised hand after his fight last week…”

Ah, she knows too. “He’s fine,” I say, trying to steer the attention away from me, who told Amélie the morning after that nothing happened the night before. A slight bending of the truth.

“And the recipient of the attack?” she enquires. “He is your ex, no?”

Hmm…my earlier suspicions kick in, and I start to doubt that Amélie came out here to praise me. More like fish for details. However, it seems she already has them! How could she possibly know that Jerry was my ex? Does the entire construction and design industry have nothing better to do on the weekend than to gossip about Logan?

“It was not an attack. Logan did barely anything wrong,” I insist. “Jerry is my ex. Though, I neither know nor care how he’s doing,” I say.

She cracks a smile at my callous words. “Yes, it can be a little like that with ex’s, can’t it?” she says, knowingly.

I nod. “I, uh, really should get back to work.”

“Fine,” she permits. But before I can leave her company, she says, “Just one question, before you go: how long have you known?”

“Known what?” I wonder.

“About Mr. Jackson and myself?” she clarifies.

Mr. Jackson? Oh! That must be… “Buddy?” I check, and she nods. Fuck! What do I do now? Act ignorant, or confess? “I, uh…um…”

She surveys me shrewdly.

“Not long,” I finally own up.

“And your discretion—”

“Is assured,” I say definitely.

“Good.”

“How did you know I knew?” I ask.

“On the telephone, just now. Your face gave you away; it’s very expressive.”

Way to go, Gem, I chide. Where’s my damn poker face when I need it? “I’m sorry about what you overheard,” I blurt out. “I didn’t mean to be rude or indelicate.”

“I understand. Let us not talk about this again,” she says, an air of finality in her voice.

“Uh, right, yes, OK,” I mumble.

“That’ll be all, Miss. Samuels,” she says, and just like that, I’m dismissed.