Triplets Make Five
“What?” I asked.
“His demeanor on the phone? Was he businesslike? Upset? Happy? What did he sound like?”
“I don’t know, really. He… sort of sounded annoyed. Frustrated. Maybe stressed? It’s a big project he’s taking on,” I said.
“So, it could be he doesn’t approve of the figures he was being given.”
“Does that matter?”
“It does when I ask you why you’re so upset,” he said.
“I’m upset because of these prices! Mr. Fienster, I wanted to come warn you. I won’t be able to afford those prices, and neither will you. We’ll need all the time we can get in order to make other arrangements.”
“Besides the fact that I have faith in Mr. Dobson, I want to address why you’re so upset.”
“The prices, Mr. F. The prices,” I said.
“See, I don’t believe you. I think you’re upset because you were living in this fantastical bubble with this handsome man who simply happened upon your doorstep, and now reality is beginning to set in. I think you’re worried because you do care for him. Maybe not love him, but you do care. You’ve opened yourself up to him and now you’re concerned about something. What is it, child?”
Mr. Fienster reached out for my hand, and the moment he curled his aged fingers around mine I broke down. I began to cry into my cup of tea, cooling it with my tears while he squeezed my hand in reassurance. He was right. I felt like I was being ripped between worlds. I felt like my life was a tease. One night, I was in bed with this phenomenal man without a care in the world and the next I was climbing the steps of a rundown apartment complex with a broken elevator and stepping through the doors of a home I probably wouldn’t be able to afford in the coming months.
“What am I going to do?” I asked, sobbing.
“How do you feel about him, Ella?”
“I like him. So much. He’s absolutely wonderful when he’s not trying to fucking take my home from me. Sorry.”
“No need to be sorry for harsh language in this home. You should hear me when I slip around on these floors,” he said, grinning.
“You really need to be careful, Mr. F. I’m not always here to check in on you.”
“I’m not your responsibility, Ella. But, your heart is. Would you like some friendly advice from a man who’s been there a few times in his life?” he asked.
“I’ll take anything at this point.”
“Call him. Tell him you want to talk, but make him do it in person. Sit that son of a bitch down and tell him exactly what you think. You only do a detriment to yourself by censoring your own voice. We live in a country where censoring is not something that’s allowed. Use your voice and tell him how you fucking feel, Ella.”
“Wow. Such language,” I said, grinning.
“The only words you’ll ever regret are the ones you don’t say. Call him. Entice him with those legs of yours. Tell him you want to talk, then say what you have to say. Get the answers you need to give yourself closure with whatever it is that’s bothering you, then come back around to me. We’ll figure out a plan of action together once the official numbers get back around to us.”
“I’ll help you find somewhere to stay, alright, Mr. F?”
“I’m counting on it,” he said, winking.
We finished our tea before I gave him a hug and left. I walked into my apartment and breathed in deep, allowing the reality to wash over me without overwhelming me. Mr. F was right. I had a right to say everything I wanted to say to him, and I wasn’t going to hold back. I wasn’t going to allow him to string me along. I wasn’t going to allow the likes of Foster Dobson to have my heart if I was nothing but a fun little game to him.
I knew I could do this. I deserved to do this.
But, before I could pick up the phone and call him, my phone lit up with his name.
Foster was calling me.
18
Foster
“Hello?”