Prompt: summer
This is actually Thursday's prompt. One more after this and then EPOV.
This building is stifling. Tiny beads of sweat have formed on the back of my neck, but I ignore them, discreetly wiping them away with my hand as Alice and I follow the hall manager into the room where the party will be held. He promises the air conditioning will be repaired by tomorrow, but Alice continuously shoots worried glances my way, desperately fanning herself with her clutch trying to find some sort of relief.
"Don't worry," I say to her. "They'll have it fixed in time."
"I certainly hope so. My God it's like the worst days of summer have decided to take up residence in here. I need something cold to drink," she says.
"Can I get you some water?" the manager asks. He's stout, balding, and nervous under Alice's air of authority.
"Margarita. No salt." The manager hesitates, and Alice steps toward him. "Tequila, triple sec, and lime juice?" she says then looks to me as if to say What's wrong with this man? Why does he not understand what a margarita is?
He stutters uncomfortably then excuses himself to fetch her cocktail.
"I just don't see it, Bella. How are we going to transform this place into something wondrous?"
"Come with me." I lead her to the center of the vast room with its floor to ceiling windows on one wall, the other three plain and white save for white lighting fixtures. Beneath us, faux wood floors—industrial and blah, and above us the absurdly high ceiling is geometrically peaked. The only decorative things in here are the exposed beams that, thank goodness, are structurally sound and can bear a lot of weight. They'll serve a purpose they never knew they could.
I remind her of the plans I sent to her last week and ask her to try to envision them coming to life. I point to each wall, explaining how we're going to drape twinkle lights from the ceiling to the floor. In front of the lights will be strips of translucent plastic sheets, several feet wide that will have abstract images printed on them. I point up, after slipping off my cardigan because it feels like it's only getting hotter in here, and remind her that silks will hang in the center of the room for some of the performers. Outside the window is a massive stone patio where scaffolding will be set up for even more performers. And I pray, pray, pray the weather holds—it's supposed to rain. I have a tent on standby, but it won't be nearly the same.
Alice's eyebrows are drawn together as she takes slow turns around, nodding. "Yes, I think I can see it now," she says. "When should I arrive, Bella dear? Oh, finally!" she says, taking her drink from the manager, sipping then gulping. "A little on the light side, but it will do."
I laugh. "You've already worked really hard on this, so—"
"We," she corrects.
"Okay, we. How about a half hour before it starts. 5:30?" Any sooner and Alice will, and I hate to say it, but she'll be in the way.
"Mr. Whitlock and I will be here at that time." Alice finishes off her drink.
The manager, Walt, and I discuss delivery times, accessibility, traffic flow, et cetera et cetera while Alice listens on, throwing in hmms and ah hahs and yes, yes, yeses here and there.
For now, everything is on schedule.
When I get back to work I call the linen company, check the arrival time of the performers (they're flying in tonight from San Francisco—the only troop available to come in on such short notice). I call the hotel where they're staying, confirming their rooms are ready to go. I discuss last minute logistics with Angie and Intern Eric (my team for the event) and then a final call to the caterer. Angie has taken charge of the artwork (it's ready and fantastic!) and Intern Eric, now that Edward has released him from his hold, is going to have his first taste of a big party. His role won't be much more than a gopher, but he'll gain some experience, nonetheless.
It's 3:00 and I head toward the Keurig wondering how Garrett's day has gone. If Kate appreciated how much Garrett put into his appearance this morning. She's a sweet girl; I hope they don't weird each other if she feels the same way. I hope she feels the same way!
Standing at the coffee machine is Edward, waiting for his cup to fill, hands in pockets, shoulders slumped.
"Hey," I say, and he turns.
"Hey. All ready for Saturday?" He smiles a little, and it's sincere, but he looks really tired.
"You okay?"
Edward shrugs, moving aside so I can get to the machine. Our office kitchen is small, not meant for more than two or three people to be used at one time, so when he moves aside, he's still very close. It's warm. Not like the uncomfortable temperature from the venue warm, but warm because Edward is standing next to me, peering down with his lips barely parted. He leans forward a little and I can smell the detergent he uses for his clothes. It's fresh, calming almost, like the kind of smell you want on your pillow. I don't lean back.
"I've wanted to ask if you were okay but didn't think I should."
"I'm okay," he says. He takes in a small breath. "I've wanted to talk to you, too." We stay quiet for a moment. "Can you come sit outside for a minute?"
"Yeah, sure."
We don't say anything as we walk down the open stairs leading to the lobby. Our offices are on the second floor whereas the first is used to greet potential clients, the set-up contemporarily formal. Edward tells Bree we'll both be back in a second.
I follow him to a bench that sits a few yards down along the sidewalk. He sits then pats the space next to him. My heart begins to pound.
"A lot's happened," he starts. "For one, Leah and I are officially separated." I open my mouth to apologize, but he stops me, half-smiling. "You…how do I say this…if you had never told me you loved me we would've still split up. Maybe not as quickly, but the end result would have been the same."
"I'm sorry," I say before he can stop me again, because I truly am. Breaking up with someone is hard no matter what the circumstances. Edward rests his elbows on his knees and I just now look at his left hand. No wedding band. My heart pounds harder, like there's this pressure that we're suddenly going to be together. I should…I don't know what I should feel, or what I'm supposed to feel because I do love Edward. He loves me too, but where's Leah in all this? Fuck. "What happened? If I'm allowed to ask."
"Bella, you're allowed to ask whatever you want. Okay, so when I saw you, what? A couple of weeks ago at Target? That's when she told me she was offered the job. My first reaction was that I didn't want to go because of what I'd miss here. Not that I was happy for her—I was, don't get me wrong, but that came later, not first like it should have. So over the weekend we did a lot of talking. We argued, mostly about taking the dogs because the condo she was looking at didn't allow pets." He shakes his head. "Like I'd consider giving them up.
"Anyway, it was strange. Like we weren't fighting for us or anything, it was all very... cold, I guess. Later I asked her when she began her search for a place to live, and at first she wouldn't admit it, but finally she said a couple weeks prior."
"So, she'd already applied for the job?"
"Yeah. I had no idea. Found out that Monday night… the day before I came to talk to you?" Edward sits back, turns toward me and lays his arm on the back of the bench. "That's not reason to divorce someone, but then we talked more. She has her whole life mapped out, and I knew this already. Look, she didn't take advantage of me or anything like that. I walked in willingly and we were both wrong, rushing into something that, at the time, was fun or in her case, the right time. I don't blame her. I blame myself because I should have known better."
"Edward…Sam and I didn't stay together. I should have known he wasn't the one. I mean, I sort of did, I guess I did but we still got married… Garrett came out of it, though." I smile.
"Garrett's a great kid."
"I know." I glance back to our office building then look back at Edward. "Are you okay? I mean really okay?"
"Yeah. I mean…yeah. I'm all right."
I don't feel so badly for Leah anymore. I don't think she's evil, either. "So…what are you going to do now?"
Edward licks his bottom lip, scratches the back of his neck, hesitating for a second. "Part two," he says.
"Part two of what?"
"What I wanted to talk to you about."
Evil cliffie is evil. Next one coming up in a few hours. Thanks for reading and reviewing! You guys are pretty awesome.