The Emi Lost & Found Series

  “I will see you later tonight, unless you’re asleep.”

  “Wake me up,” she says.

  “We’ll see,” I respond.

  After the ride down the elevator, I pace around the lobby until Jack comes in. He’s dressed in grey slacks and a long-sleeved white button-down shirt, the top two buttons left open. He’s got a white t-shirt on underneath.

  “Hi,” I say, smiling and walking toward him.

  “Good evening, Emi,” he says, hugging me. “You look amazing.”

  “Thank you. So do you,” I tell him, blushing.

  “Are you ready?” he asks.

  “I am.” I am. I am. I am.

  “Let’s go, then.” He links my elbow into his and leads me to his car, opening the door for me like a perfect gentleman. Two simple white daisies lay in the passenger seat. He picks them up and hands them to me.

  “Wow...” I tell him. “Thank you so much.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  When he gets in the car, I decide to ask a few questions that I’ve prepared, wanting to avoid awkward silence.

  “So, you graduated from college in, what... 1998?”

  “Uh...” he hesitates. “No. I graduated from NYU in 2000. I took a few years off to focus on a company I started in college.” He shrugs shyly. “Then I went to grad school and got my MBA in 2004.”

  “Impressive... what do you do now?” I ask him.

  “I am a technology consultant,” he says.

  “And that means...”

  “Well, let’s see... the company I formed in college was an Internet start-up that I sold a few years later. So, um, the sale of that company afforded me a pretty decent living. And after I got my Masters, I was able to take on consulting jobs from time to time for other new technology ventures.”

  “That’s pretty nice,” I comment. “It sounds like you have a lot of freedom.”

  “I do,” he says, “but I don’t really like down time. I like to stay busy, so when I’m not working, I’m helping my sister out with her kids, or I like to volunteer around the city.”

  “Really?” I’m impressed, but he’s sounding too good to be true... if my brother hadn’t known him for over ten years, I’d be worried... but I know the friends my brother keeps are good people, so he must be true.

  “Yes, really,” he smiles. “What are you working on these days?”

  “I’m illustrating a book,” I tell him. “A children’s book... well, obviously.”

  “Do you enjoy doing that?”

  “I really do,” I smile. “I like the work and I like the freedom. I tend to be more creative at night, so I like that I can work my own hours.”

  “Do you always do children’s books and articles?”

  “No,” I tell him. “It’s a variety of things. But I like doing children’s books the best. My niece really likes to give me suggestions.”

  “Do you spend a lot of time with Clara?”

  “After she gets out of school, most afternoons,” I tell him. “She loves to go to Central Park.”

  “Well, you’re right next door,” he comments. “That’s convenient.”

  “Yes, but I hope she doesn’t get too spoiled. I don’t expect she’ll be living there forever.”

  “Is your sister planning to move out anytime soon?”

  “No, we haven’t talked about that. I don’t think I’m ready for her to go yet.”

  “So, is she serious about this Garrett guy?”

  “Who knows,” I mumble. “This is Jen. She just can’t stand to be alone.”

  “I take it you’re not the same way.”

  “Polar opposite,” I tell him.

  “You can’t stand to be with someone?” he laughs.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” I say. “I just don’t have that need to be with anyone. I don’t mind being alone.”

  “Have you always been that way, or is that... recent?”

  “Always,” I say. “But I have to admit, I never really knew what I was missing until I started dating... um... Nate.” I hope I don’t make him uncomfortable, bringing him up. “And the last couple of months, I think I can honestly say that I’ve felt a little lonely. I never used to feel that way at all... I was always pretty self-sufficient.” I swallow hard, surprised at my own honesty and openness, my trust in Jack, so soon.

  “Now, you and Nate hadn’t been dating for very long, had you?”

  “No, just a few months,” I tell him.

  “But you had known him since high school?” His voice is soft, cautious.

  “Yes, we were best friends for years.”

  “And why didn’t you date, all that time?”

  “Um... timing? Stubbornness? I don’t know. And we made a silly pact in high school that we wouldn’t... because love ruined people.” I laughed. “That’s what we thought when we met, anyway.”

  “Wow. That was probably a pretty good foundation for a relationship,” he smiles gently. “If it upsets you to talk about this–”

  “No, surprisingly, not at all,” I say. “It actually feels good to talk about him... with you...”

  “Why with me?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, I’ve been avoiding the subject for months. My family’s too scared to bring it up... and most people who didn’t know him just don’t seem genuinely interested. But you...”

  I struggle to figure it out. Yes, why with him?

  “You seem interested, I guess. And I just feel more comfortable around you than most people. And I’ve been having a hard time coming to terms with this whole date-thing.”

  “This ‘whole date-thing,’” he mocks.

  “Yeah. You know, a part of me thinks it’s too soon, and then another part of me just wants to experience life again.”

  We arrive at his town home in the Upper West Side, a gorgeous, newly-renovated three-story building with red brick and taupe shutters. He has a small garden in the front, and it’s immediately obvious where the flowers came from.

  “This is so cute,” I tell him. “And all the daisies, they’re beautiful!”

  “My sister loves to garden,” he remarks. “When she brings the kids over on the weekends, she’ll typically spend a few hours planting or pruning or doing something. There’s a small yard in the back, too.”

  “Daisies are my favorite flowers.”

  “I know,” he admits. “I asked your brother. I hope you don’t mind, but I did talk to Chris about going out with you.”

  “Seriously?” I ask, panicked, wondering why Chris didn’t mention it when I talked to him earlier today. Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted him after all... I really didn’t want my family to know anything.

  “I’m sorry,” he says. “I did ask him to keep it between us, though.”

  “Does Anna know?”

  “Probably. I’m sure neither of them will say anything to you. I just felt it was important to let him know that I had asked you out.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Honestly?”

  “Yes, of course, honestly.”

  “Well, he first threatened my life... said that he didn’t want to see you hurt again... and then wished me luck.”

  “That sounds like Chris.”

  “He has been so worried about you. He just wants you to be happy.”

  “I want that, too,” I tell him.

  “So are you mad that I told him?”

  “Not mad, no. I really can’t keep much from him anyway. Now if he goes and tells everyone...”

  “I don’t think he will,” he assures me. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”

  “You sure you want to do that?” I joke.

  “It might help with this ‘whole date-thing,’” he returns.

  “Then yes, please.” We go inside his split level town home. It’s tastefully decorated, very simple, with very little clutter.

  “Have a seat, if you like,” he says from the kitchen. I decide to take a look around. He has a bookshelf that seems to be dedica
ted to his nieces and nephews. There are framed photos, all black and white, of each of them individually, and then various poses of them all together, some with their parents, others just with Jack, and some with what I assume is his whole family. The bottom shelf is organized with children’s books.

  “That’s the family,” he says from behind me.

  “You really do love those kids, don’t you?” I comment.

  “Yes,” he says. “I hope to have my own someday.” I nod and try to smile, but can’t, feeling my forehead crumple with defeat. I feel overwhelmed with sadness, immediately recognizing that yes, it’s too soon since I just want to burst into tears. I take a deep breath before taking a long sip of wine.

  “This place is amazing,” I tell him, focusing on something else, anything else.

  “Let me give you a tour, come on.” He guides me downstairs first to the basement, which is a decked-out media center. The lack of windows makes it perfect for a decent-sized personal theatre. The room has plenty of comfortable seating, from cushioned leather chairs to large bean bags on the floor. He has a wall full of DVDs, with just about anything anyone could ever want to watch.

  “Amazing,” I say. I’ve never seen anything like this in someone’s home.

  “Yeah, Kelly’s kids spend a lot of time down here,” he says. In another room, there is a pool table and dart board, as well as children’s toys. There are two more rooms downstairs, both small bedrooms, one decorated in pink and brown polka dots, the other with a baseball theme. There are two daybeds in each room. I didn’t think I’d be confronted with so many images of children in this bachelor’s home... had I known, I would have suggested going out.

  “Spoil them much?” I ask, trying to act as normal as I possibly can under the circumstances.

  “Hey now,” he laughs. “I had this whole extra floor, I had to use it for something.”

  “Of course,” I say. He takes me back up the stairs to the main floor and shows me the kitchen, dining room and his office. I breathe a sigh of relief, happy to leave the kid’s area behind. The dining room and kitchen overlook the backyard, which is perfectly landscaped with flowers and small bushes. A few benches sit in the far corner. The office is on the side of the building, facing a busy street with a grocery store on the opposite corner.

  “That window’s great for people watching,” he says.

  “This is such an awesome home,” I tell him.

  “Let me show you the upstairs.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’s the bedroom,” he says cautiously. “Is that alright?”

  “Should I be worried?” I laugh.

  “No,” he smiles. “I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

  With four rooms on each of the previous floors, I expect much of the same on the third floor. Instead, it is a huge open space for his bedroom; attached to it, a large balcony with a table and two chairs that have a view of the backyard and the street. I wander around the room as he watches me. A few skylights are installed on the ceiling. The bathroom has a huge walk-in shower and a large tub, as well, with two sinks in the marble countertops. This leads into a separate closet, obviously too large for Jack to fill on his own. Half is filled with suits, pants, shirts, shoes. The other side is bare.

  This town home is fit for a family, plain and simple. Most living spaces in Manhattan are small, made-for-one (but which typically housed more-than-one for budgetary reasons). This is quite the exception. Jack knows what he wants in life, and is ready for it. That is obvious.

  “I’m a little jealous,” I admit. “And I love the loft I live in... but it doesn’t compare to this.”

  “It’s nice,” he says, “but a little too big sometimes.”

  “How long have you lived here?” I ask.

  “About two and a half years,” he tells me.

  “And what made you decide to get such a big place?”

  “Hmmm,” he laughs. “That’s another story for another time.” He smiles. I let it go.

  He leads me back downstairs into the kitchen. He pulls out a barstool for me to sit in and goes to wash his hands. “So, I’m going to make you my signature dish,” he says.

  “You have one of those?”

  “Yes,” he states. “It started as a family recipe, but I perfected it over the years. It’s chicken, is that okay?”

  “Sure... can I help?”

  “Absolutely not,” he says. “I will be doing the work tonight. I just want you to relax and enjoy yourself.” He tops off my wine and sets the bottle next to me. “Can I get you anything right now?”

  “Water?” I request, vowing to myself to drink water between every glass of wine. I don’t want him to think I’m a lush.

  He sets down a glass of ice water and says, “I hope you don’t think it’s weird that I invited you over. I just wanted somewhere quiet, where we could actually carry on a conversation. It seems like every time we spend time together, we’re yelling over crowds.”

  “Not weird at all,” I tell him. Just wish you had warned me about the playroom downstairs... and your love for children...

  “So, Emi, do you cook?”

  “Not well,” I tell him, forcing myself to try to enjoy the evening. “I can follow instructions most of the time, but I’m not very imaginative in the kitchen.”

  “So no cooking...”

  “Well, wait, I make breakfast really well.”

  “Cereal and toast?”

  “Not just cereal and toast,” I laugh. “I can make an assortment of eggs... and breakfast casseroles... do you like eggs?”

  “Sure,” he smiles, glancing up briefly from stirring something in a bowl. “Now I’m curious about this breakfast casserole...”

  I nod my head and smile back. “It’s pretty good, I have to admit... I’ll have to make it for you sometime.” He raises his eyebrows at me before I even realize what I said, what I seem to have implied. I laugh nervously and blush. “So, uh, yeah... um, so I wrote down a list of questions to ask you to avoid awkward silence,” I blurt out to him.

  He laughs. “Now would be a good time for one, then... shoot,” he says, winking at me.

  “So, um...” Still nervous... “What was one of the questions? Oh, yeah. So, Jack, what do you believe in?”

  “Is that how you wrote it on the paper?” He smiles, his eyes kind, clearly playing with me. His smile makes me smile.

  “Shut up!” I laugh back at him, picking up a wooden spoon from a container on the island. “So, Jack,” I repeat, talking into the spoon like a microphone. “What do you believe in?”

  “What do I believe in?” he repeats back to me, taking the spoon and talking into it. “Interesting question.”

  “Yes. Ghosts? Love at first sight? Aliens? I just need to understand what I’m dealing with.”

  He laughs, using the spoon to stir the dinner he’s preparing. “I’ve never been asked that before... here goes. I don’t believe in ghosts. I think it’s entirely possible that aliens exist, although I doubt they’ve visited our planet. I do believe in love at first sight– Chris and Anna are proof, remember? I believe in soul mates. I don’t believe in a JFK conspiracy. I believe in God, in Heaven and Hell... and I believe in karma...”

  “Karma?” I interrupt.

  “Yeah, sort of a what goes around, comes around belief.”

  “I know what karma is,” I smile. “I just find it interesting that you make a point to mention that.”

  “Well,” he says, “I make it a point to live that way. It’s kind of important to me.”

  I’ve thought a lot about karma recently, having been a believer in it before the accident. Nate was a good man, though, and didn’t deserve to die. His mother had survived tragedy before, and never hurt a soul. In fact, she was well known for her philanthropic endeavors. Why did she have to see the two men she loved the most pass away such sudden deaths? And then there’s me... I think I’ve lived a pretty decent, honest life– even a good life. Why was Nate taken from me? Wh
at did I do to deserve that?

  “So what are your thoughts about karma and bad things happening to good people?” I ask.

  “I don’t know the answer to that,” he smiles gently, seeing exactly where this line of conversation is coming from. “I believe all things happen for a reason, though... and sometimes it takes a while to figure out that reason.”

  “A lifetime, maybe...” I’m temporarily lost in my own thoughts. I ask Why? daily, hourly... but answers never come.

  “Maybe,” he agrees after a few seconds of silence. “Hey, would you mind handing me the salt?” he asks, bringing me out of my daze.

  “Sure,” I answer, handing him the spice. “Please, what else can I do to help? I hate that you’re doing all the work. I need a task,” I laugh.

  “Can you make a salad?” he asks with a smile.

  “I can manage that.”

  As we sit down to eat, Jack glances up at me, his hands in his lap. “Do you, uh, pray before meals?”

  “Uh...” I blush, dropping my fork. “I haven’t since I lived at home. But you can–”

  “No, I don’t, much to my parents chagrin. I just wanted to ask.” He picks up his wine glass. “A toast then?”

  I smile and nod, picking up my drink. “It’s all you, I know you excel at these things.”

  He clears his throat. “I haven’t really prepared for this one. Here goes. Umm... to the most entrancing green eyes I have ever had the pleasure of gazing into... may they never be blue again.”

  My eyes immediately begin to water at his sweet toast, a smile growing on my lips.

  “That was the exact opposite reaction I had been hoping for,” he sighs, setting the glass down and rubbing his forehead. “I’m sorry–”

  “No, it was... it was perfect, thank you. I’m just really emotional sometimes.” He looks up at me apologetically. “Really. I’ll drink to that.” My heart racing, I lean over the table, extending my glass to meet the rim of his. “Come on. Cheers,” I encourage him.

  “Cheers,” he says as he picks up his glass and clinks it to mine. His smile is remorseful, but it’s still a smile. Our eyes lock as we take a drink. He hopes my eyes are never blue again, and at the same moment, I get lost in the deep, almost turquoise color of his.