I can even tell her to stop, he gets on.
“I would like to offer you the position. You were one of the best candidates we've ever had apply. And I wanted to give you the call myself, what do you think?”
“Oh, wow,” I say, stunned. "Yes, of course. That would be wonderful.”
“Great. I'll send over the employment package with all the details about the salary, benefits, that kind of thing. And if you have any questions whatsoever, just let me know.”
The conversation is quick and straight to the point. It puts me a little bit off guard.
As soon as he hangs up, I have a pang of regret. Should I still take this position? What am I even doing here if Dante and I aren't together?
I have to call him. I have to talk to him. I dial his number and my hand shakes.
He doesn't respond. He lets it go to voice mail.
“Dante, it's me," I say, clearing my throat right after saying his name and immediately regretting it. “I just wanted to call you to tell you that I got the job with Vasko. I'm going to take it, okay? I still want to help. I still want to get to the bottom of what's going on regardless of what happened between us, but I need to talk to you. I want to apologize.”
I wait for him to answer, but he doesn't.
“I love you," I add, and then hang up.
This whole situation makes me feel like such a fool. There was nothing going on between Noah and me, except for a few bittersweet memories. Yet I can't help but sympathize with Dante.
I know what he saw or at least what he thinks he saw. That wasn’t right. It wasn't right of me to do that. It was a mistake, a mistake that I wish more than anything that I could take back, but I'm not sure that I can.
I spend the day walking around Seattle. I visit the first Starbucks. I walk along the marina. I look out at the dark waters, the day's full of drizzle and rain, even though it's summertime. I realize that this is probably what it's like here all winter.
I keep waiting for Dante to call me back. But he doesn't.
I guess there's still so much that I don't know about him. That's the thing that scares me the most.
The person who does call is Noah. But I don’t call him back. I also don't reply to his messages.
I listen to his voice mail while I grab lunch at the airport that afternoon.
“I'm really sorry about everything that happened,” Noah says in his voice mail. “I didn't mean to push you. I'm sorry that your boyfriend saw that. I hope that everything works out and I'll never contact you again…if that's what you want.”
I stare at the phone and I wonder what it is that I do want. It seemed so clear before I got here; I wanted to be with Dante. I still do.
But what happens if he doesn't want me?
The truth is that we don't really know each other that well. We’ve met each other’s families and talked about some previous relationships.
I can tell that there are secrets that he's keeping, or maybe just stuff that he isn't sharing. I wonder what all of those secrets are and how long he's been keeping them.
But for now, I just want to make amends.
I want him back in my life and maybe staying here and working in Seattle will go a long way to helping me make things right.
28
Dante
I don't want to be here. I don't know how I found myself in this space, in this bar in Midtown Manhattan waiting for the arrival of my brother and my long-lost father, but here we are.
I order a scotch to ease my worries. It's not so much worries as agitation and disappointment and anger all mixed up into one thing.
It's a fancy enough place, tall ceilings, nice wooden bar top, clients dressed in suits and ties, white tablecloths in the dining area. The bartender is a friendly woman with a no-nonsense attitude in her late thirties. Her hair is pulled up and her shirt is buttoned up, and you can tell that the owners encourage a more professional look to get tips from the wealthy patrons. A drink here costs over $18, and that's for a simple cocktail. If you want something more fancy like an aged scotch, it's going to run you a hefty