Recently we’d moved our focus to her idea of having a restaurant on the premises during the day hours. The last club I’d worked at, Eighty-Eighth Floor, had a similar model of day-to-night presence that we’d tweaked to bring to The Sky Launch. Presently, we were looking at chefs.
“Did you confirm with Fuschia MacDonahough for tomorrow?” I asked, looking at our To-Do List. For months, we’d met every Thursday for dinner at the penthouse she had with Hudson. It was our chance to hang out in a non-work setting, though for the last couple of weeks, we’d added a bit of the job to the routine by bringing in one of the chefs on our short list of potential hires to prepare the meal so we could audition their cooking.
The recurring date had strengthened our friendship. Norma, my sister, sometimes joined us, and every now and then Ben and Eric as well. We’d become a family of sorts, pieces of broken people coming together like a patchwork quilt. It was a night that I looked forward to with as much intensity as I dreaded the loneliness of the Wednesday night that preceded it.
“Yep. Then next week we’ve got Jordan Chase confirmed. After that we’re going to have to make a decision.”
Her brow wrinkled, and I prayed she didn’t go where I sensed she was going.
“Jordan Chase,” she said again. “That could be what JC stands for.”
And there she’d gone.
JC.
“JC wasn’t a cook.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure.” And the C likely stood for a middle name, definitely not his last. Of the few things he’d told me, one had been his last name—Bruzzo. I’d kept that information to myself like most of what he’d told me that final time I’d seen him.
“His name could still be Jordan.” Good old Laynie. Obsessing again. “I kind of like that. It has a nice ring.”
If I had the strength, I’d let her ramble on and not react.
But I had no strength when it came to JC, and Alayna knew it.
I twisted my seat toward her and glared.
She was staring out into space though and missed my evil eye. “Gwen and Jordan. Jordan and Gwen. I like that. Real catchy.” Finally, she looked at me. “What?”
“One minute you want to fix me up with someone, the next you’re bringing up JC. Do you want me with him or not?”
“I don’t want either. I mean, I want you happy. And from what you’ve said about this guy, I think he makes you happy. So I wish he would come the fuck back from wherever he disappeared to and do that.”
Me too.
I didn’t want to go down this road tonight. I nodded and hoped she’d take my cue when I swiveled back toward my screen.
She didn’t. “But if he’s not going to come back…”
“Then you think I should move on. I know, I know.” She’d told me enough times in enough ways for me to feel like I understood her position on the matter.
She surprised me, though, saying, “I’m torn, Gwen. He sounds amazing. Perfect for you. And after everything Hudson and I went through, I believe that love can overcome incredible obstacles.”
Nice sentiment. I wanted to believe it too. “But our only obstacle is that he isn’t here.” Well, that and he’d gotten married to someone else in Vegas while he was too drunk to know what he was doing. That was another thing I hadn’t told Alayna.
“Exactly. He has to be here. And he’s not. So you need to make a decision about how long you’re going to wait for him. How much of your life is worth letting pass by while you wait for him to show up? What if he never shows up?”
It was the question I asked myself every day.
The answer was, I’d be lost. I was lost. Because of him, I was open and looser and closer to happy than I’d been for most of my life. But the heart of me—the part that believed in love and ever after and sweet kisses and romance—that part of me was lost.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure that I’d ever completely found it. I’d glimpsed it, though. Seen pieces of myself that had hinted it was inside me. If it really was there, I knew without a doubt I wouldn’t find it for real without him. Without JC.
But Alayna had a point. How long could I wait before at least pretending to move on?
“I don’t know,” I said with raw sincerity.
Laynie was silent for a moment, and I could hear the wheels in her head turning. “I get you,” she said finally, “I do. I’ve wasted so much time on less promising relationships than yours, and the ways I coped were far less healthy than you simply taking yourself off the market. But Lauren, my favorite therapist, used to say that sometimes we aren’t even interested in the thing we’re after anymore. We’ve just gotten in the habit of focusing on it.”