February 26th, 1991
At home, England
I feel like a character in a film, one who finds herself on the other side of the door from;
A. Someone she previously had a romantic relationship with and wants to again.
B. Someone she has no desire to rekindle anything with.
C. Someone she doesn’t fancy in the least and has no desire to ever share a romantic relationship with!
In this instance, the answer, strangely, is A, when typically, with Jon, it’s B! This is all, of course, based on one fantastic evening when in fact it should have been based on the three years prior, but as usual I’m getting ahead of myself.
“McGarr!” Jon yelled through the phone, enough to make me jump.
“Why are you shouting?”
“I’m just making sure you can hear me!”
“Why wouldn’t I be able to hear you?” I asked, feeling more than confused.
“Well, with this being the last day of your twenty-third year, I thought you might be starting to lose your hearing, so I-”
“Cheeky bugger,” I giggled.
“Kidding aside,” he continued. “I’d like to take you out for dinner.”
“Oh, that’d be nice,” I stuttered. “When were you thinking?”
“How about tonight?”
A few hours later, he appeared on the doorstep looking as dapper as always.
“For the birthday girl,” he grinned, handing me a bouquet of white lilies and a bottle of Moet & Chandon.
“Ooohhh, thank you so much.”
“You smell lovely,” he said, kissing my cheek.
Over dinner in Stony Stratford, the conversation ran the gamut from work to how much we love Indian food (!) and the more we talked, the more I was reminded why I’d initially gone out with him. Not that I’d forgotten how well we get on but for some reason, I’ve always sort of kept him at a distance, which, as the evening wore on, made no sense whatsoever!
By the time dessert arrived (“I wanted to tell the waiter it was your birthday and have them put a sparkler on your cake and sing Happy Birthday but I knew you’d kill me!”) I’d made up my mind that I’d suggest he spend the night and not with the intention of him sleeping in the guest room!
Back here, with my new laid plan in mind, I asked Jon if he wanted me to open the Champagne.
“Your birthday,” he said, looking at his watch, “is approximately seven minutes away, so yeah why not. And step aside, McGarr,” he said, playfully nudging me out of the way. “Allow me to take care of this.”
I quickly popped upstairs to my room, lit the candle on my bedside table, smoothed down the duvet, dabbed Obsession on my wrists and neck then dashed into the bathroom to brush my hair and teeth.
Back in the living room, I grabbed a bunch of cd’s, all of a romantic nature, and smiled demurely as Jon appeared, the bottle of Moet, placed perfectly in the middle of the ice bucket, complete with two flutes.
“How’s that for service?” he laughed, placing the antique tray on the coffee table. “Here’s to you, McGarr,” he said, clinking his glass to mine. “Happy Birthday to an amazing friend.”
“Thank you,” I smiled, feeling the flush rise in my cheeks, as I inched closer to him on the couch.
“Would it be strange if I asked what perfume you’re wearing?”
“Not at all,” I breathed. “It’s Obsession. By Calvin Klein. I always-”
“I’d like to get it for Stephanie.”
“Who’s the hell is Stephanie?” I blurted.
“My new girlfriend,” he gushed, looking happier and more attractive than ever. “I’ve been dying to tell you about her all night but we kept getting sidetracked.”
“Oh,” I uttered, seriously at a loss for words.
“Yeah,” he grinned widely. “She’s pretty fantastic. Do you want to hear how we met?”
“Of course,” I lied, my stomach feeling as though I’d just stepped off a cliff.
So far, the first two hours of twenty-four have been shit, which is how I hope Stephanie smells after she douses herself in my Obsession!