Chapter 17: Tori

As the limo carried me to the party, I turned my attention from the letters to the actual entries in Alex’s diary. It contained page after page of lists with abbreviated words and incomplete sentences. He’d recorded the most insignificant details, kept a careful account of his mundane life – what he ate for breakfast, what errands he’d run, what time he got up and went to sleep. Part of me – the masochistic part – had hoped to find details about his life with Penelope, emotional outpourings, some explanation of their relationship and his feelings for her. But they just weren’t there. Apparently Alex didn’t keep a diary to dialogue with himself or sort out inner conflicts, which seemed to me to be the whole purpose of a diary. The entries were methodical, almost scientific, similar to the way G.M. recorded every experiment in case the information was needed again at a later date. One day Alex might want to remember that he “visited the doctor with Penelope,” “fixed the window screen,” or “bought a Christmas tree.”

In their own way, these lists of tasks and events hurt more than passionate odes to Penelope ever could. These were the details of everyday life that they shared, and that was what I missed most – picking up the groceries together, eating our favorite boring take-out that we had ate every Friday without fail, making the bed while he folded towels. And now it was approaching Christmas, like the Christmas when we’d met at the pub, except this year he had Penelope and a baby on the way, and I had an empty monastery to go home to when my glamorous work as CEO ended each day. I leaned my face against the cool window of the limo, breathed on the glass and wrote his name in the foggy circle with my finger – Alex. We used to write messages for each other on the car windows in the winter, but there would be no more of that.

The limo driver interrupted my thoughts with an announcement – we’d reached our next stop. Cassie had given me the address of the hotel downtown where my date was staying. Her old friend Charlie was in town on a business trip, and she’d promised me that he was successful, charismatic and incredibly attractive, the perfect man to bring along to a company event to impress everyone, especially Alex. It felt a little funny as a woman to get out of the limo and go up to the hotel doors to pick up my date; I flashed back to high school prom, when I’d picked up my cousin Jenny in a limo. Back then I was Phil, and I couldn’t ask a guy or girl to go to prom with me, but my parents didn’t understand. I’d finally told them I’d asked a girl, just to make them happy, and they went all out, renting the most expensive limo for us to arrive in style. Jenny covered for me. She knew who I really was, and she loved me anyway.

I hoped Charlie would like me. I hoped we would get along, or my night would be even worse than I imagined it might be. As I hurried through the cold night air to the front doors, I glanced up and had to catch my breath. The sky was brilliant. Somehow, although light pollution from the city should’ve blocked them from sight, it seemed every star in the sky was shining as brightly as it could, more brightly than I had ever seen before in my life. Just as I had on my drive home the other day, I wondered to myself, How can anything really be this beautiful? As luck would have it, I caught sight of a shooting star making its way across the sky, and without thinking twice, I closed my eyes and made a wish.

Once inside, I spotted Charlie right away. Cassie was right – he was attractive. Not merely attractive. Drop dead gorgeous. Model material. He was well-built with red hair and a perfect smile that I noticed immediately as he introduced himself. “I’m Charles Blount, but please call me Charlie,” he said, grinning, as he took my hand and kissed it. “Cassie’s told me all about you, and may I say, you’re even more beautiful than she said.” His cheesy line barely registered though; I was entirely focused on his voice. He’s English? He has a British accent? How to Cassie fail to mention this? Though I was thrown off by his incredibly sexy accent, I managed to keep my cool.

“I’m Stella,” I replied, “and if you’re ready to go, the limo’s right this way.” He held out his arm and I took it and followed him outside. I could get used to this…he’s a real gentleman. He even opened the limo door for me before sliding in behind me. As the driver pulled out for the last leg of our journey to the ball, though, I started to worry that things would get awkward quickly. I never was all that good with new people. I poured us some wine to work up my courage, but there was no need for worry, or the alcohol; Charlie was just as talkative as he was attractive. The conversation flowed as easily as the wine – Charlie told me about his job and seemed eager to hear all about the monastery remodeling progress. “Maybe I’ll get to see it sometime,” he winked. Normally such forward flirting might make me a bit uncomfortable on a first date, but by this time, I’d had several glasses of wine, and on an empty stomach…I was feeling it.

By the time we arrived at the magnificent hotel where the ball was held, I was most definitely tipsy, and Charlie was showing signs that he’d had a bit too much to drink as well. We tumbled out of the limo, laughing too loudly, and Charlie slipped his arm around my waist as we made our way through the front doors and down the hall. It was stupid for me, as CEO, to show up to my company’s party like this; the combination of fashionably late and decidedly tipsy was sure to turn heads, and not necessarily in a good way. But while I realized this in hindsight, in the moment, I could care less. For the length of that limo ride, I’d forgotten about Alex, and it felt good – bubbly and light-headed and damn good. If I needed alcohol and a British ginger with a six-pack somewhere under his tux in order to forget Alex, then so be it. In fact, all the better!

But I couldn’t forget about Alex for long; his journal was in my purse and he was at my party. I remembered these things immediately upon entering the ball, for one simple reason: as my entrance was announced and the entire room turned to look at me, my stiletto caught on a rug, and as I fell forward into the ballroom, the contents of my purse went flying across the floor. Alex’s journal landed right at his feet.