Twenty-four
SORA
Ask yourself: Who do you want your soul mate to be? Then be that person. Because the soul mate you’re looking for all along is you.
—SOLO FEBRUARY CHALLENGE
Nami moving in actually works out nicely. She helps me clean, tackling the mold in my bathroom grout like she’s scrubbing off Mitch’s face. Turns out, spring cleaning helps both of us. I’m still sad about Jack. More than sad about Jack, but I also realize that I’d been hoping he’d save me when I have to save myself. That’s the true spirit of Solo February, I realize, learned a month late and a Jack short. But there it is. Live, learn, repeat. When cracks appear: apply liquid gold and move on.
Of course everything reminds me of Jack. That’s the problem. He just won’t go lightly into the “loved and lost” file. Every time I see a torte or any damned dessert, I think of Jack. Some guy with any facial hair: Jack. Valentine’s candy that’s 75 percent off: Jack. I stand in the aisle at Margo’s once dedicated to Valentine’s Day and mourn the loss. Now, it’s a single shelf, filled with the worst candy: white chocolate filled with nougat? Really? Then there’s the one or two stuffed animals left, and one is missing an eye. I take it, figuring Larry might enjoy having a stuffed animal handi-capable, just like him. The rest of the aisle is stocked with St. Paddy’s Day green. “Kiss me, I’m Chi-rish” and “Beer Makes Everything Better” shirts, and I feel a real pang of loss. I can’t believe it. I miss the freakin’ Valentine’s aisle. I remember Jack, bringing me chocolate and wine. Remember spending the best Valentine’s Day of my damn life eating heart-shaped pizza and babysitting Jack’s firecracker of a niece.
The loss hits me hard. I’m not just heartbroken, I’m grieving what could have been. I realize that neither Marley nor Dan ever touched this level of heartbreak, because deep down, I never really believed Marley or Dan had what it took to go the distance. But Jack … Jack was different. No matter how briefly we dated. Or didn’t date. Jack held promise.
I wheel my cart toward the bakery, but I know Jack isn’t there. He’s replaced by a purple-haired woman with shorn hair and lots of tattoos, and I know that she’s not going to give me any free tortes. Jack’s off to open his new bakery, I assume. We haven’t spoken. He last texted about a week ago. If and when you’re ready to talk, I’m here. But I also respect your decision not to. Know that I care about you. So much.
That was a hard one to ignore. But I just … I just can’t. Anytime I’m tempted to reach out to Jack, I remember Mal in her gold, clingy dress, hanging on his shoulder, and I feel the betrayal and the hurt all over again. How can I trust him? I wheel my cart to the checkout line. Now, I’ve actually got greens in my cart. Spinach. Cucumbers. Grapes. Oat cereal to lower cholesterol. And a smaller, mini pack of bacon instead of the family size, because I’m cutting back a bit. I’m taking better care of myself. Being the adult in my own life. It kind of … feels good, actually. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m not loading up with kale and kombucha, but … eating right isn’t all bad.
I buy my groceries and take my reusable bags, heavy now with mostly healthy food, down the sidewalk, free of ice for the first time in weeks. A couple walks by, holding hands and eating ice cream. I realize that for the first time in months, the weather is actually nice. The sun shines above me, and the temperature hovers near fifty-five. Green sprouts poke out of nearby tree limbs. Spring is about to spring. Not a cloud dots the bright blue sky above my head as another couple pushes a stroller down the sidewalks. The toddler inside meets my gaze and gives me a bright, joyful smile. I smile back at him, and he giggles.
I round the bend, seeing my old meatpacking baron’s castle standing tall, the “For Sale” sign a beacon in the small grassy patch of yard. I’m adulting. It feels fine. I trudge up to the small black wrought-iron gate that fences in the bit of green, and I’m swinging the door open when I hear a voice behind me.
“Sora? Sora Reid?” I turn to see a woman in a fur-trimmed coat and black, pointy stiletto boots emerging from the back seat of an expensive-looking Mercedes. Her driver clicks on the parking flashers.
“Mal?” The last person on earth I ever expected to see.
She gives me a disdainful once-over, judging my old parka, my sweatpants, and my old Uggs.
“Good. You do live here. I was about to fire the PI I used to find your address.”
“You hired a private investigator to find me?” What the hell is going on?
“Yeah, yeah.” She waves a leather-gloved hand dismissively. “It’s because I need to talk to you.”
“You do?” I put down my bags, suddenly worried. “Is Jack okay?”
She frowns. “Jack’s fine. I think. I don’t know, really. We haven’t spoken lately.” They haven’t? A tiny spark of hope lights in my chest. And then I snuff it out. “I take it you haven’t spoken to him either?”
I shake my head.
“Okay, good. Then I’m glad I’m here.” She taps her foot impatiently on the sidewalk as she clutches her oversized Louis Vuitton. “Anyway, Jack never invited me to the Golden Chef Awards. I surprised him there.”
I blink, uncertain.
“But what about the bakery?”
“I bought it without him knowing. He’d already signed the lease when I bought the building.” She reaches into her designer tote and pulls out a manila file. “But I don’t own the building anymore. Here’s a copy of the papers showing I just sold it this morning. I just came from the closing.”
I take the papers, still stunned. I look at them. Could this all be true?
“What about that picture on your social…”
“Me licking his face?” Mal rolls her eyes. “One hookup. After being broken up for a year. And I plied him with drinks. And kind of begged him. And it didn’t mean anything, and, anyway, I think it was before you and he … whatever. So don’t get hung up on that.” She flicks her wrist dismissively.
I’m stunned. I glance at the papers and then at Mal. “Why are you telling me all this?”
Mal lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m trying to do good things or whatever. Well, I’m trying to do the next good thing, anyway. God, it’s exhausting.” She fans her face with a gloved hand. “Way harder than I expected. Anyway, you were on my list. Next good thing to do. Whatever. So. Go on. Call Jack.” She shoos me off, even though this is my stoop.
I hesitate.
“Go on,” she shoos me some more. Then she shakes her head, pursing her lips in disdain. “Jack didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. All me. It was all my fault.” Mal makes a face like she’s eating something rotten. “Oh, geez. That left a terrible taste in my mouth.” She sticks out her tongue. “Ack. Gross.” She makes a gagging face. Then she looks at me again. “What are you waiting for?” She shakes her head in disgust. “Talk to Jack.”
I stare at her. “Did Jack send you?”
“Ugh? Seriously with that? No. He didn’t.” Mal sighs, exasperated, flicking her fingers at me. “Just go talk to him. Don’t make this a wasted trip for me.”
“Uh, okay.”
“Seriously. Go on. Shoo.”
“But this is my building.” I nod backward to my home.
“Ugh. Fine. I’ll go then.” Mal looks to the sky as if asking the universe for patience. She turns in a huff, heading back to her chauffeured Mercedes. “No good deed goes unpunished,” she moans, ducking into the back seat of her shiny black car.
I trudge up my stairs, open my door, head reeling. I turn her words over in my mind. Jack never lied to me. I’d been blaming him all this time for something he never did. He never invited Mal to be his date. Never agreed to have her buy the bakery. Never was seeing her behind my back.
Oh, God. If that’s true, then I’ve completely and totally been an ass to Jack. I never let him explain. I just cut him out, like a cancerous tumor. I never let him even try to tell me his side.
Maybe I’m the asshole.
I open my condo door and find Nami vacuuming. She’s getting the place ready for its first open house tomorrow. It’s pristine, and smells like lemon-tinged cleaner. She shuts off the vacuum.
“Did you get more glass cleaner? We’re out.”
I sink into my couch. “Nami, I was wrong about Jack.”
Nami snorts, loudly. She’s still in man-hating mode. “You weren’t wrong about Jack.”
“I was,” I insist. I hand her the manila folder. “Mal gave me these just now. She bought the bakery behind Jack’s back. But she’s sold it. At least, I think she did. That’s what she said.”
Nami grabs the papers and gives them a once-over. As a corporate attorney, she’s all about the fine print.
“Uh-huh.” Nami nods. “Yep, that’s what this is. She sold it this morning.” Nami scans the document. “And she sold it at a loss, so she really wanted to be done with it.” Nami bites her lip. “Also, she originally purchased the bakery by a blind proxy, anyway,” Nami says, tapping the papers.
“What does that mean?”
“It means that not even the management company knew the Starr family was buying the property,” Nami continues, as she thumbs through the documents. “So, you’re right. Jack didn’t know she bought the building. He was only the tenant the whole time. And his paperwork never had the Starr name on it, according to this.”
“Who’s the new owner?”
“Some guy named Pierre Benoit.” She hands the papers back to me.
“Wait. That’s his old boss.” The wheels in my head turn. Jack said Pierre Benoit was helping him. “So he didn’t lie to me.”
Nami sighs. “Well, I hate to admit that there might be a man who’s not terrible out there … given I think all of them are terrible right now, but…” Nami glances at me. “You might want to go talk to Jack. I think he really, seriously didn’t know about Mal’s plans. Not the way this is written.”
“You really think so?” I feel hope flare in my chest.
“I really think so. Go find him. He might even be at the bakery. The address is in those papers.”
A quick ride to Logan Square brings me to a quaint street crowded with local flavor: the musicians, artists, and other twenty- and thirtysomethings that largely make up the neighborhood out enjoying the March sunshine. I see Jack’s bakery straightaway, adorable modern signage hanging above the big glass windows: MANN BAKES.
“That’s cute,” I say. The place couldn’t be better positioned: homey, cozy, and a prime location for passersby headed for the L and their blue-line train commute to downtown. Jack and his sexy beardstache will be all the rage. He’ll be fighting off suitors every day. I feel my stomach lurch a bit at the prospect.
The bakery isn’t quite open to the public yet. The sign is up, but brown paper covers the big paned windows. I jump out of my rideshare and head to the glass door, knocking on it, tentatively at first. Then harder.
Crap. Why didn’t I text first? Because I’ve got too much to say to fit into a text, that’s why. And because I’m half afraid he’d ignore me, or tell me it’s too late.
Then I hear a voice call from inside, “Just a minute!”
Jack’s?
Then, I hear a bolt slide open and the door swings wide, as an adorable little bell attached to the top of the door dings. Jack stands before me, wiping his hands on a tea towel. He’s so tall. So broad. I forgot. His beard is perfectly trimmed, his brown eyes surprised to see me.
“Sora?”
“Jack. I owe you an apology.” The words tumble out. “Mal came by…” A worried look crosses his face. “No, it was good. She told me the truth. She told me everything. About the bakery.”
I hold up the manila folder I brought with me. “And I just want to say how sorry I am, how…” For the first time, I get a glimpse behind Jack. Of the bakery itself. Jack moves aside, letting me in.
Empty glass cases line one wall, and there are a few small wooden tables and chairs. A huge chalkboard covering one wall lists the specials. Raspberry tortes. Lemon tortes. Cakes. Pies. Cookies. It’s an impressive menu. And then … a big heart in the middle. Around it is written: “Bacon Is My Valentine.” Inside are special bacon desserts: bacon scones, bacon-maple cupcakes, bacon macarons.
“What is all this?” I say, shocked.
“It’s for you,” he says, coming up close behind me, so close I can feel his body heat. “I thought you’d like it.” He takes a deep breath. And I turn to face him. Those damn puppy-dog eyes are so warm. So soft. So gorgeous. How could I ever believe he’s anything but amazing?
“You did this for me?” I can’t quite believe it.
“Sora, you’re beautiful. You’re smart. You’re amazing. You’re funny as hell.”
I have no idea how to respond to this many compliments, which contain zero sarcasm. He’s the beautiful one, in truth. He’s kind and generous. I remember him saving me that day from Marley and Lululemon, and then how patient he was with me all through the Solo February debacle.
“You’re kind, and generous, and so, so thoughtful. You’re the beautiful one,” I say. “I am so, so sorry about thinking the worst of you. For not giving you the benefit of the doubt.” Then I’m stuck in his gaze, soaking up the warmth in it, the heat. I don’t know if he’s moving closer to me, or I’m moving closer to him, but it feels natural, as if it were meant to be.
“No, I should’ve been more honest with you,” Jack says. “I should’ve told you that I’d hooked up with Mal. That she thought it was an invitation back into my life. If I’d just been honest with you, then there wouldn’t have been the misunderstanding at the Golden Chef Awards. But I was afraid of what you might think of me.”
“And I should’ve been honest with you, too. About how big Solo February was getting. About how I had my doubts about Mal. And I should’ve given you a chance to explain.”
“Yeah. You should’ve. But we’d both been burned. I guess we were both a little gun-shy.”
“Maybe a little.”
Jack grins at me. I grin back at him.
“I should’ve trusted what we had earlier,” I admit.
Jack shakes his head. “No. You took the time you needed to be sure. I can’t blame you for that.”
“You were always so sure, though!”
“That’s because I’ve been a little in love with you since kindergarten.” He laughs and rubs his neck sheepishly.
“Yes, but…” I take a step closer to him. “I love you right now, Jack Mann.”
He looks shocked. “You do?”
I nod fast because my throat feels thick with tears. Of relief, and love, and all the feels. Love pours through my heart, like a tsunami, and tears rush to my eyes. I cannot speak. But I will.
“Yes, I love you.”
“Well, it’s about time, Sora Reid.” He flashes a grin. “I love you, too.”
Then I throw my arms around him and kiss him.