Jeremiah Colchester.
Rahul and I are taking a two-hour early morning run with a group of fellow runners.
It fits perfectly into our schedule; we have enough time before the café opens.
Though our individual reasons for taking on this routine a few years back, after moving into the house we'd furnished together, remain distinctly personal.
While I'm doing this on the recommendation of my psychotherapist, Rahul claims it's his way of supporting me and pushing me to my fullest potential. When really, he's had an undying crush on a blonde barista in the neighbourhood since we moved in, but he has been too cowardly to approach her. This, for him, is a chance to steal a glance at her every now and then.
He jogs up to me, beating Connor to lap beside me instead, his breaths uneven. we've been doing this for years now, yet he still sucks at maintaining his pace. "She's been gone for a week now." His voice rises barely over a whisper. The concern etched on his face is unshakeable.
"Who?" I pretend not to know.
He turns to face me, running his lapses backward. I slow my pace to prevent him from crashing into me.
"You know who" he replies, scrunching his nose in frustration. For obvious reasons, he's been grumpy and moody all week, which is sort of no good for anyone given he's usually the life of the event.
"I'm sure she's safe wherever she is. Everyone needs a break from their routine once in a while. Maybe she took to herself a well deserved vacation." I say, taking care with every of my word. Rahul is as sensitive as he is stubborn; my time with him has taught me that. I had begged him to sit this lap out, but he won't. He'd rather end up disappointed again than miss a chance to attune his hopes to seeing her.
"Maybe you're right." He sighs, crumbling his resolve.
"I am right." I say reassuringly.
He smiles timidly, combing his hand through his hair, "So... how's it going with Sean?"
I'd told Rahul about my past with Sean a couple of nights ago while we were tipsy, and numbing our worries with dry gin. I'm a puddle of spills and emotions when I'm drunk; that's why I rarely drink. But Rahul had needed a drinking partner, and I obliged.
He judged me after I shared it with him, he didn't say it out loud, but his subtle attitude changes over the next couple of days were pretty obvious— I didn't blame him; no one would hear that and not harbour some negative feelings about it. I'd made a terrible mistake, and I'm not proud of it. But Rahul is like a brother to me; he knows me inside and out. and has seen me at my worst. I'd been at my worst all those years ago, and he knew it, and he forgave me. I sensed that when he hugged me randomly on the third day and made me promise to make things right with Sean this time.
I sigh mid- breath. "I have a competition." I say.
Rahul cracks, laughing. "Of course you do, man! have you seen him?"
"I know. I don't deserve him, yes. But this isn't some random competition. This one means serious business. I know because i've seen the way he looks at Sean."
"Uh— oh!" Rahul says. "Need a wingman?"
I let myself consider it for a moment, because maybe I do.
"No," I sigh, "This is my problem. I'll deal with it."
He nods understandably.
"Whatever you do, don't lose your latest accomplishment. I have a feeling that's key to resolving everything." Rahul's intuitions has always been known to be spot on. So I take comfort in knowing he might just be right, and affirm myself internally.
No matter what, I will be his plus-one.
He jogs back up to my side, glancing down at his smartwatch, "The media will be at the café in less than an hour."
"I thought we moved that?" I say, not bothering to mask my surprise.
"Thought so too. But this text from Amery says otherwise." He replies, "What do we do, boss?"
A low grunt resounds in my throat. I don't say anything as I bring my wrist to my face and dial my father.
"Jeremy!" my father practically hollers, but I'm not in the mood.
"Father," I grit. "Did you move down the endorsement deal with GMNY?" Hush whispers fill the speaker momentarily before his voice comes through.
"Oh, yes. Thought I told you about that?" I stop in my tracks, feeling anger surge through me, and roiling my already laboured breaths. Rahul stops too, wincing at my father's reply. We never get along, my father and I, for reasons like this.
I take a deep breath through my nose and exhale through my mouth. "You didn't have any right to tamper with that."
"I know, I know, geez. But a colleague of mine has a daughter who's part of the media that I want you to meet. She's a decent girl who recently obtained her master's degree from Yale. She's beautiful too—"
"Father, I will say this only once. Stay away from my fucking business, and don't you ever make any decisions without first consulting me. Unless you want us to withdraw our shares from your fucking company." I seethe, ending the call before he can get another word in.
A few of the runners have stayed back to watch me boil with anger.
"You alright, Jeremy?" Sturdy Emily asks sympathetically, her fists clenched, ready to punch whoever has me feeling this way; I rarely get this upset.
I want to nod— I really do— but I'm not alright, I'm fucking pissed. And it's giving me a fucking migraine
I stay silent instead. The group walks up to me. Connor, Sturdy Emily, Pauline, and Francoise.
"Name, Adress, the organ you want, anything you need. We'll handle it." Francoise.
"Okay, nobody is committing murder, and no one is getting mutilated." Rahul interjects, stepping in to calm everyone down. His arms are spread apart in a peaceful gesture. "Just—" he turns to face me and adds, "I'll deal with the media for now, you just need to clear your head." He taps on my shoulders reassuringly. Just as he turns to go back around, I grab his arm.
"No, i'll come with. We are a team, we'll deal with this together."
"I can fill in if you need more hands." Connor offers, "I still have that leave from work I mentioned."
"That won't be necessary." I say, flashing him an appreciative smile, "We've got this. My team and I."
He nods, the rest of the group does too, waving Rahul and me off with luck.
—
No such thing as luck.
The media team is taking over the place, Leaving no room for originality.
When Rahul and I arrived, they'd already been halfway through set up. They came less than an hour earlier, and quite frankly, there's not much I can do about what has already been done. Fixing it would require them tearing everything down because nothing about their design reflects my café. I can only loathe my father the more— apparently, they'd ran this through him before the contract was signed.
The only thing still standing tall as it had always been, untouched, is the bookshelf. I had warned them that I would cancel the commercial as a whole if they so much as laid a hand on anything near it.
The director is the girl my father mentioned; she had the courtesy to warn her team against altering that area.
"Mr. Colchester." I turn to see her heels clicking against the marble floor as she approaches me where I'm standing on the patio, arms folded across my chest.
"Call me Jeremiah." I reply.
She smiles timidly. from what I've gathered so far, she's not as delusional as my father made her out to be.
If anything, Anna is strictly professional and career-driven. She reminds me of Sean in that way.
"Here is a script with some questions we will be asking during the interview." She toss a piece of paper toward me. I hesitate, I do not take it from her.
"I'm sure I know how to answer questions about my own café."
"Right. But—"
"Anna, you don't see me telling you how to do your job, do you?"
She sighs, tutting, then shakes her head. "Very well then," she retracts her hand. "The make up team will call for you very soon. I'm sure you are well informed of how today will go."
"More than informed. Yes."
She gives me a curt nod, and then walks back in through the café kitchen.
A couple of minutes later, I hear footsteps approaching, I don't bother turning around because I'm not in the mood for make up. I'm just going to tell them that.
"I'm fine just like—"
"Did you sell the Café for a tv show?" I don't think, I turn back before I can; I probably should have paced myself a little.
Sean's timber shampoo smell hits me before I'm physically awestricken. He's put less effort into looking presentable unlike our first two dates. This time, he's wearing a grey flannel button-up shirt over black shorts that barely meet his knee. Giving off old money vibe, and he looks incredibly handsome. The first few buttons of his shirt are loose, revealing a tattoo that I can't quite read yet. His hair, which is usually tamed and pulled back, is let loose, messy, but the most attractive it's ever been.
I'm flushed, completely gone for him, and I can't even hide it, even if I wanted to.
My throat suddenly goes dry, "What are you doing here, Sean." Last I remembered, we texted a couple of hours earlier about his packed day with Ivory, given the bridal shower is tomorrow.
"The moms stole Ivory for the shopping instead; called it a girls' day out." He grimaces, and I cant help but chuckle, "I was bored, I thought about Le pari, and next thing I know, I'm pulling up on the other side of the street."
His face takes an arc, and I know what that look signifies.
"But it was far from what I was hoping to meet." He adds.
I sigh retiredly, holding out a hand for him to join me on the bricks where I'm standing. He takes it, and he's more beautiful up close than I'd ever hoped.
And that's funny, because we were closer than this on the night of our kiss; every moment feels different in its own way, like a documentation of everything that matters in life.
I look at him once more, and in this moment, that spark is gone. I hate that, so I say the next thing lingering on my tongue.
"If you don't like this, then this isn't Le pari."
I cancel the commercial, for Sean.
I pull out my favourite aged wine from the cabinet for Sean.
Anna joins us in the celebration.
We toast to Sean.
Everyone loves Sean.
And I will love Sean better this time.