Chasing Romeo Page 2

  “Having a nice time? Did you try the cake?” She glances at the half-eaten cake on the table next to me.

  I look at Erma. “Nah. I’m a little tied up,” I say.

  She laughs and pats my shoulder. “You’re a good sport.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to untie me now?”

  “Not at all.”

  I sigh. Miss Erma called me a few hours ago and asked me to visit. I swung by with flowers. Like I said, she used to feed me cookies. After a few minutes of small talk, she got to the point. She had a job that she wanted me to do. I refused. Then…I got tied up.

  “Have you reconsidered your rejection of my job offer?”

  “No.” If I could cross my arms, I would.

  “But you didn’t let me finish my proposal. I merely said you would be working closely with my grand-niece.”

  “Where’d you get the zip ties?” I ask.

  She smiles. Can you believe it? An eighty-something-year-old smiling over the fact that she knocked me down with a walker and tied me to a chair.

  “If you take this job, I promise you will never have to deal with Chloe again. Not unless you want to.”

  I shake my head. Not good enough. I could do that on my own. I could leave town tomorrow and never see her again. Granted, right at this moment, leaving town holds some appeal.

  “I will pay two thousand dollars, plus expenses,” she says.

  I raise my eyebrows. “That’s quite a birthday gift. Still…no.”

  I’m starting to feel bad refusing, but I don’t need the money enough for the pain of working closely with Chloe.

  Erma touches her finger to her nose, then, “I’ll sweeten the deal. If you accept this job, I’ll make sure you get what you’ve always wanted.”

  What I’ve always wanted?

  I glance across the community room at the birthday party. It’s in full swing. Everyone is laughing, talking, and enjoying themselves. I finally catch sight of Chloe. She’s like a beacon. People gravitate toward her because they want to be caught up in her warmth. I can feel her heat from here.

  I look back to Erma, unsettled by the knowledge in her sharp eyes.

  “I just want to be left alone,” I say.

  She tilts her head. “What you want most.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Why?”

  Her hawk eyes turn up as she smiles. She pulls a polaroid picture out of her kimono. Slowly she turns it around and holds it in front of my face.

  A sharp exhale leaves my lungs.

  I lean forward and the zip ties cut into my skin. The pain in my wrists doesn’t matter. I need to get closer to the image.

  I stare at the photo and my heart taps out a hard beat.

  It’s…

  I let out a long, slow exhale.

  What I’ve always wanted?

  This feels like a devil’s bargain. What does Erma know that I don’t? And why is she willing to give me all of this for a job? I take the advice of a tired cliché. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. One little job with her—Chloe—and I’ll have what I’ve always wanted. Really, there’s no debate.

  Finally, I tear my eyes away from the picture and up to Erma’s shrewd gaze.

  “Okay,” I say, “I’ll take the job.”

  3

  Chloe

  * * *

  I tap my foot to the upbeat fifties pop and smile like it’s my job. For the past fifteen minutes I’ve been handing out cards to all my guests. When I was little, I thought that my birthday meant I had to give everybody else cards and gifts. I spent the whole week leading up to my fourth birthday making cards and presents. My parents thought it was so hilarious that we made it a family tradition. Little did they know my birthday card frenzy was just a lead-up to my career as a card illustrator and designer.

  I’m at one of the round tables telling everybody about our new birthday puns line. The favorite so far is the one with an eighty-year-old pirate who’s saying “Aye matey!” Mrs. Lee in particular couldn’t stop laughing.

  I pause when I see my best friend Veronica walk up. “I wasn’t going to give you your present until later, but this is an emergency. Excuse us, please,” she says. Then she pulls me away from the table where a group of residents are eating cake and drinking punch.

  “Hey. I was handing out cards,” I say. I have a stack of at least fifty left in my hands. I always make sure to get cards to all the retirement home residents on my birthday. There’s two centers and about two hundred people. “Isn’t this a great party? Aunt Erma outdid herself. Also, everyone loves our birthday puns line, Mrs. Lee especially loves…”

  Veronica holds up her hand in a stop now gesture. “Chloe. As your best friend, business partner, and confidant since age three, I’m going to call your B.S.” She holds up a rectangular present wrapped in silver paper with a pink ribbon. “Open it.”

  Okaaay, so apparently she wasn’t fooled by my faked nonchalance.

  “You noticed him too, huh?”

  She snorts. “Who? You mean the big brooding sex god in the present pile? No, didn’t notice him at all.”

  I take a quick peek in Nick’s direction. He’s in a heated conversation with Aunt Erma. I wouldn’t go up against her, she gets her way, one hundred percent of the time. It’s easier to admit defeat immediately and then go with the flow. Otherwise, it’s a rough ride and you end up doing what she wanted anyway. Just ask the nineteen hundred gazillion couples that she’s matched.

  Wait. A. Second.

  Dread blooms in my stomach and the cake I’ve been eating in mass quantity settles like a brick. “I don’t feel so good,” I say. I put a hand to my stomach.

  “Figured it out, did ya?” asks Veronica. She rests a hand on my arm and squeezes.

  I shake my head and try to push off the sudden urge to bolt.

  “This can’t…I can’t. No. No, no, no.” I’m babbling. Eight months ago, I would’ve loved for Aunt Erma to prognosticate my soul mate. I could’ve avoided a very unpleasant left at the altar situation. But now?

  I point at Nick. “Why’s he here?” I say.

  Veronica tsks. “Poor Chloe. All that birthday cake has fried your brain. She’s gifting you your soul mate.”

  “Ack,” I say.

  Veronica winces with sympathy. “I mean, maybe it’s not Nick O’Shea, maybe he’s just tied up for entertainment? Pin the heart on the cynic? Bobbing for poisoned apples…or he’s the piñata? Hit him with a stick and sardonic candy falls out.”

  I cover my face with my hands. “How could I be so stupid?”

  “Your aunt’s wily. I live in terror of her.”

  I shrug. “I live in terror of doctors and puppets.”

  Veronica laughs. “Oh my gosh. Pupaphobia, totally forgot about that. Remember your eighth birthday when your parents hired that puppet show?”

  “Peed my pants I was so afraid.”

  She snickers and I punch her on the arm.

  Then, all joking aside, I lean into her. “Oh, Vee. What am I going to do?”

  Veronica puts on her business leader face that means she has a solution. “First, open my present. I gotcha covered. Second, hit number one independent greeting card company in the USA for the second year running. Third…um, there’s no third. Sorry.”

  “Alright then.” I pull the pink ribbon and slowly unwrap Veronica’s present. “It’s…?”

  She laughs. “It’s a survival kit. Wet fire, water purification tablets, cordage, a multitool, it’s got all the goods.”

  I stare down at the bizarre assortment of tools that I might need in an apocalypse kind of situation. Veronica’s such a prepper. She’s been on me for years to get a survival kit and start stockpiling canned goods. She fantasizes about doomsday like I fantasize about boy meets girl, boy and girl fall in love, boy and girl stay together forever.

  “Are these pliers? Rope? Is this duct tape?”

  “You gotta show ’em who’s boss, right away,” she says.

  I hol
d up the multitool. It has knife blades, wire cutters, a file and more all tucked together. “Ummm…”

  She winks. “You’ll figure it out.”

  I laugh. I can only imagine what she means by that. “Thanks, you weirdo.”

  She flips her ponytail and smirks. Veronica looks like the stereotypical blonde cheerleader, but she’s a genius internet marketer, business maven, and weekend hiker/survivalist.

  “I’m glad you’re my best friend,” I say.

  She nods then glances at Nick. “If you don’t want him, I’ll take care of it. I found this really secluded cave in the backwoods last weekend.” She wrinkles her nose. “Only the bears will find him.”

  I shake my head. “He’s not that bad.”

  She raises her eyebrows. The trouble with best friends is that they know everything about you, so they know when you’re lying.

  I glance over my shoulder. Looks like Aunt Erma untied Nick. He’s currently at the edge of the dance floor holding his hand out to Miss Myrtle. She lost her husband last year and hasn’t been the same since. I watch as Myrtle smiles up at him like he’s a knight in shining armor. He guides her onto the dance floor and spins her in a circle. He leans down to say something and Myrtle laughs. She laughs. My heart melts a bit. I haven’t seen her laugh in ages and within thirty seconds Nick gave her that gift.

  Veronica crosses her arms over her chest and shakes her head. She’s not buying the Sir Galahad routine.

  “Do you remember when Nick showed up on the day of your wedding as the substitute best man?” asks Veronica.

  “Yes?”

  “You said to me, Vee, I guarantee this day isn’t going to end well.”

  And I was right. At the altar my groom grabbed my bridesmaid’s hand and ran out of the church.

  “What did Nick say after Ron left with Candy?” Veronica asks.

  “He said”—I put on my deep growly Nick voice—“what are you all crying about, isn’t there still cake to eat?”

  Veronica snorts.

  I start to laugh, I can’t help it. It wells up in me and bursts out. He deserved my taunting with the devil’s food cake—he totally deserved it. His statement wasn’t funny eight months ago, but remembering him at the altar with that deadpan straight face going on about not wasting a good cake…jeez.

  Veronica sighs and tosses her blonde ponytail behind her shoulder. “I’m going to say one thing and one thing only. Just because everyone thinks your aunt can see soul mates doesn’t mean she can. You’re in charge of your own life.”

  “I know. Hence, Ron,” I say. Who turned out to be a big fat cheating failure. And hence Nick, who turned out to be my big fat broken-hearted failure.

  Veronica nods. “You’re an incurable romantic, which isn’t a bad thing in our line of work, but I gotta say, maybe you need to get out of the fantasy of love so you can find the real thing.”

  I frown. “I’m not in a fantasy.” I mean, sure I grew up on stories of love and soul mates. Look at the town I live in, and look at who my great-aunt is. My bedtime stories were tales of Aunt Erma’s love matches. It’s not a fantasy, it’s reality. I see it every day. Aunt Erma always told me, someday, I’d find my soul mate too. It’s not a fantasy when you have hundreds of couples that went before you to prove the truth.

  Aunt Erma’s gift doesn’t work on demand though. But she’d told me I’d find him, so I tried…and tried…and tried.

  I study Nick as he leads Myrtle back to her seat. Ninety-year-old Mrs. Woods flags him down and ushers him back out to the dance floor. He doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks…happy. There are dozens of couples dancing to the nineteen fifties pop hits. I’d like to be dancing.

  “Happy birthday, Chloe,” says Mr. Garcia. He pushes his walker closer.

  “Oh thank you, here, have a card. It’s from our pun line.” I hand him the card, illustrated with my signature ink and vibrant watercolor.

  Veronica waits until he leaves, then, “Before you go handing out more cards, do you believe in soul mates?”

  “Of course,” I say. What kind of stupid question is that?

  Veronica nods. “Exactly. Most people don’t. Maybe you should get out of that fantasy and find real love on your own.”

  I shake my head. “What? No. Tried it. Got the T-shirt. It sucked. If Aunt Erma tells me my soul mate then I’m all in, one hundred percent.” I ignore the rolling in my stomach.

  “Even if it’s Nick O’Shea?”

  I nibble on a fingernail. “Did you try the cake?” I ask.

  She snorts. “There’s duct tape in the kit. And the cave offer’s still open.”

  “Thanks for the gift, you’re a pal,” I say. “Anyway, you know Aunt Erma’s never wrong.” Which before, I loved. But now…

  “Yeah. I live in terror,” she says.

  Then I circulate the room, handing out cards and thanking everyone for coming. Except Nick. I avoid him.

  Finally, when my cards are gone, and I’ve danced a few times with some of the residents—Mr. Garcia’s a natural—I sit down next to Veronica at a circular table. Four of the residents are playing gin rummy. It’s a fierce competition. But, I learned young, never join a card game at a retirement home unless you can take the heat.

  “This party was a hit,” I say to Veronica. “Best birthday yet.”

  I sip the fizzy punch. Aunt Erma wished me happy birthday and didn’t mention Nick’s presence. My parents already left. They’re going on their thirty-year anniversary cruise tomorrow morning and have to get to NYC tonight. They gave me a generous gift card to the local art store, Art Haven, which I completely approve of. They know me so well. I’m going to be stocking up on new paper, pencils, ink, and watercolors.

  “Looks like you dodged a bullet,” says Veronica.

  I nod. I guess Nick was just a gag gift from Aunt Erma.

  The music stops. I look up at the stage as Aunt Erma taps the microphone. The talking in the room fades until the only noise is the hissing of a streamer caught in a ceiling fan.

  “Thank you all for coming,” says Aunt Erma. “To celebrate our Chloe’s birthday.”

  The remaining eighty or so people clap and whistle. I stand up and give a quick curtsy.

  Aunt Erma continues. “As you all know, eight months ago, Chloe had a fortunate escape on her wedding day.”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. There’s clapping and a few boos in the room. In a town of only a few thousand people, everyone knows your business. In fact, nearly everyone in this room was at the wedding.

  “She can do better,” says Mr. Garcia over the clapping.

  “Marry me, Chloe,” someone shouts. I’m not sure who, but it gets a laugh from everyone.

  Aunt Erma clears her throat. “Today, I have a very special birthday present for my very special niece.”

  My body tingles. Aunt Erma smiles at me. Then winks.

  “As you all know, my gift doesn’t manifest on demand. I would have liked very much to save my niece years of heartache.”

  “Hear, hear!” Mrs. Lee shouts.

  “But now I can give her a very special gift…” says Erma. “Her soul mate.”

  The words ring over the community room and the microphone screeches. There’s silence. Then, everyone starts to clap and cheer and pound their fists on the tables.

  “Oh no,” says Veronica.

  I stand. I can’t help myself. Finally, the room falls quiet again and everyone either looks at me or Aunt Erma. This is the stuff of Romeo legend. It’s not every day Erma announces a love match, but when she does, she’s never wrong.

  Suddenly, it feels like déjà vu. I’ve seen this moment in a dream, except, I’m the one standing on the stage, and when I look down, I’m completely naked and everyone stares, waiting for me to announce my true love’s name.

  I blink and the room comes back into focus. I’m not naked. I’m in my birthday dress. I take a step forward. My heart thunders in my ears. I take another step.

  My soul mate.r />
  This is the moment I’ve been dreaming of since I was a little girl.

  Then, a movement near the stage catches my attention. It’s Nick. He’s watching me, a peculiar look on his face. I stop walking and stare into his eyes. What would it be like to hold him again? To touch him?

  His eyes are hooded and there’s a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. My heart lurches.

  “So, after twenty-eight years of waiting, Chloe’s soul mate is…”

  Aunt Erma pauses.

  I smile at Nick. A hesitant, cautious unfurling of my lips. Is it him?

  Then, Nick narrows his eyes and sneers. At me. He sneers at me.

  Oh.

  He turns away.

  Oh.

  I push a hand against my stomach. I think I’m going to be sick. He hates me. And I hate him.

  Don’t be Nick. Don’t be Nick. Please, if there’s a God in this world, don’t be Nick.

  “Don’t be Nick,” I whisper.

  He turns back to me. His eyes sharp, like he heard my plea. But that’s impossible. We’re fifty feet apart. He stares and I’m sucked into his gaze.

  “…her soul mate is…” says Erma.

  My eyes are locked on Nick’s. I can tell we’re both remembering. His mouth over mine, the long, luxurious kisses that lasted hours at a time. The summer sun pouring over us as we cradled each other in the grass. His hands, running down my neck, across my ribs, over my breasts. His mouth. His kisses. Hot, wet kisses.

  “The boy she first kissed,” says Aunt Erma.

  The space between Nick and me crackles. The room erupts into exclamations.

  “Oh, thank god,” says Veronica.

  “Who is it?” someone asks.

  “Who’s the lucky man?” another shouts.

  I tear my eyes from Nick’s.

  The first boy I ever kissed?

  “Remember? Third grade summer camp,” says Veronica. She’s come up next to me, I presume for moral support. She grabs my hand and squeezes.

  Aunt Erma smiles at me from the stage. Behind her the band starts to play the 1960s hit, It’s in His Kiss.