Page 66 of Rebound
If I hadn’t shut down his continued attempts to flirt and ask me out, we’d already be familiar with each other’s bodies. I’d know every piece of art gracing his skin and if he’s still ticklish along his thigh. While I’m sorry for depriving us of all these explorations, I’m very aware of why I made the decision. Self-preservation has never been my strong suit. I drop everything when certain clients call, I push myself to the point of almost breaking apart. In my personal life, I did that for Kabir all the time. He would say jump and I wouldn’t even ask ‘how high?’, I would leap until he told me to stop.
This was the one time I had some control over the situation. Where I held all the cards and I wasn’t going to sacrifice my happiness to make someone else comfortable. Except, I haven’t been happy or comfortable. I miss Patrick. I miss our banter and silly conversation. I miss his flirting, his long list of nicknames and terms of endearments. I even miss the smell of him clinging to my skin. My clothes horse doesn’t have a single one of his T-shirts, except for the one I was wearing last night, and the scent of his coffee doesn’t linger in the flat anymore.
I finally told Dr. Sunita about my behaviour and while she didn’t give me hell, I did see disappointment flash through her eyes. I’m disappointed in myself. We talked about how to move forward, what I need to do and why it’s so important Patrick and I are on the same page. Our history is one thing, the baby is another. If we’re committed to coparenting, the least we can do is do it together starting now.
He’s taken care of me and I’ve been an asshole.
So I extended an olive branch. While mending the bridges I set fire to.
I’m not sure what’ll happen today, but taking this step is important for us to move forward. Together.
“Okay, so walk me through what’s happening today,” Patrick says as we walk from the parking garage to the bakery.
When he walked out in his all black ensemble, I almost threw myself at him. Between his clothes and his well-groomed beard, it took everything not to say something inappropriate. If that wasn’t enough he’s done this thing with his hair where a portion is pulled back in a knot, while the rest falls to his shoulders.
“Ms. Julia Christopher is the owner and she thinks we’re here for a cake consultation.”
“But we’re not, right?”
I nod, hand pressed to my stomach. “I’ve been trying to set up an appointment with her for days and it’s been impossible. So I figured this might be a good way to get her attention. I know it’s deceptive and I’m technically lying to her, but if it gets me the job that would be so amazing.”
He smiles and opens the door for me. We step inside and the air-conditioning soothes my hot skin instantly.
“All right. What else do I need to know?”
“This is the only place she has in Chennai right now and it’s exclusively a wedding cake boutique. Opening a full bakery in the city would be really cool for all of us, and additionally awesome for me to design it.”
“The ultimate notch in your career, right?”
My heart soars. Of course he remembers what I said last night. Clearing my throat, I say, “Plus we get to eat some really good cake.”
He laughs and squeezes my side. “Let’s get you this notch.”
“I know things have been really bad, but thank you for doing this with me, Trick.”
Patrick nods, a gentle bob of his head, and before he can reply, Julia Christopher appears and my breath catches at the sight of her. She’s far more beautiful in person than I expected. Her dark hair is lush and falls in stylish waves, her face has a hint of makeup and her eyes sparkle. Even though she’s very open about her use of botox, she doesn’t look fake and I love that. Like me, she’s a plus size woman and carries herself like a fucking queen. Her dress must cost more than anything I own, but she wears it like it was made for her. Knowing Julia Christopher, it probably is.
“Hi! You must be Tamara and Patrick. Welcome to Frosting.”
“Thanks for having us, Ms. Christopher,” Patrick says and her eyes widen.
“Oh my goodness, you’re Patrick Joseph. Congratulations on your win!”
He smiles and tips his head forward slightly then turns to me. I must look as starstruck as I feel, because his expression is one of concern. “Lo, you with me?”
I nod and we follow Ms. Christopher through the bakery where she gestures to a four seater table. There’s a tray of beverages in the centre and once we’re seated, she smiles and I might have a crush.
“I’m so excited to help you find the perfect wedding cake. You said there were no allergies or special requirements, but I’d like for us to go over a few more things together before we do the tasting. How does that sound?”
“Sounds great.”
As Ms. Christopher asks me a series of questions I’m pretty sure Pallavi and I filled out yesterday, Patrick slides a cup of tea in front of me. Even though I’m here under false pretences, I answer everything—theme (vintage and classic), colours (creams and pastels), venue (backyard of the family home), number of guests (two hundred maximum), tiers (two), additional dessert (cupcakes, if possible).
“Do you have any special requests, Mr. Joseph?”
I understand her being fascinated by my baby daddy, because he’s distracting on any given day. But when he’s one of the few medal winners for India, he’s an even bigger draw.
“Whatever my girl wants is fine with me.”
