This is (as the title indicates) part two of "Could You Be Mine," but from RJ's perspective. The story picks up right before the end of part one. It took me a while to get here -- I wanted to share RJ's voice but she wasn't the easiest character to translate into words and I felt quite determined to get it as right as possible. Thank you all for your patience as I muddled through. I hope you enjoy it.
A big shout out to
Ripley
for taking the time to help whip this into shape.
Many thanks again for all your comments and feedback. It's always good to hear from you!
Chapter 1: If Not For You
"Last batch," Sonya Martin pointed to another stack of papers with 'Sign Here' post-its sticking out all over the place.
I sighed and started dutifully signing all the signature boxes closing the sale of my house in San Francisco. I'd flown in to SFO from Hong Kong the night before, my latest stop in a multi-leg business trip that took me all over East Asia. Sonya was my friend and my lawyer; this was the first time we'd met up in person since I relocated to New York earlier on in the year. We were mixing business with pleasure -- finish the paperwork for the sale and get caught up.
"I still can't believe you moved," she mused, "You said your dad ended up being okay, right?"
My only reason for moving home to New York was to be closer to my father again. I'd called him on New Year's Day and he sounded odd, like he was confused or something; it didn't take long for a lot of worst case scenarios to pop up in my head.
Dad had insisted he was fine, but my mind was made up. I left San Francisco not long afterwards and entrusted Sonya with the sale of my house, which she -- of course -- executed with excellence.
I nodded, "He was so irate about my decision that he went and got a comprehensive physical to prove me wrong. Which he did: the doctor told him he was fitter than most people half his age. I managed to save some face when Mona asked me to step in as the Finance Director at her firm."
Sonya laughed, "I am so bummed I missed witnessing this. It must have been legendary. Two non-verbal Kans, fuming at each other. LEH-GEN-DARY."
"He still waves his test results in front of me every chance he gets," I grumbled. I finished signing the stack of papers and dropped the pen onto the desk.
"Your dad could probably still kick your ass in a 5k-run," Sonya restacked the documents and slid them into a folder, "You got a good deal on the house, Rowan."
I handed her the pen back, "All thanks to you. You did all the work!"
"You should pay me more," she glared at me mockingly, "I don't usually do real estate."
"You're right," I admitted, "too bad you keep billing me at ridiculously low rates and not cashing checks I write that would put you back at market prices..."
I met Sonya when my father and I were working on our bio-tech start up years ago. She'd been working at a large law firm and was starting a solo practice when we hired her as our external counsel. She and I hit it off -- she's the closest I've ever had to a best friend.
Sonya looked at me seriously, "You guys gave me my start. I quit West and Mason to do my own thing and you guys took the risk of going with me instead of with the big guys. I won't ever forget that."
"Your billable rate was better for our bank account, and you were smarter than any of the so-called 'big guys' we spoke with. No brainer," I smiled as I watched her blush. Her aversion to compliments was well-known.
"I really miss you guys," Sonya said, "First your dad moved back to New York, then you..."
"Dad likes being in a city where he doesn't need to drive. And he did his post-doc at Hudson U, so he has a definite affinity for the Big Apple."
"It's where he met your mom, right?"
I nodded, "I think the campus reminds him of her. It's a little sad. But beautiful in a way. I kind of get it now." My mother died shortly after I was born. My dad's told me about her on and off, but we've never talked specifically about her death. I've never asked; I figured he would tell me if (and when) he wanted to. It didn't really bother me because I had no real memories of my mother; she was more a concept to me than a person whose death I experienced as a loss.
"Wait, what?" Sonya sat up, "What do you mean 'beautiful'? You 'get it'? Are you high?"
This was awkward. Sonya was one of the few people in my life who'd heard me talk about my parents. I'd always played the sarcastic narrator, adding in more than a healthy dollop of cynicism as part of my attempt to fill in the blanks without sliding into maudlin melodrama over my mother's death.
"No. I just see it differently now," I hadn't told Sonya about Ellie yet, but I sensed that her finely honed sense of deductive curiosity was kicking into high gear.
"Say more," the hard-core lawyer face was setting in.
I shrugged, "My perspective's shifted."
"Did something... or some
one
shift it?" The last word of the sentence came out in an unnaturally high soprano note.
My head started nodding before I even decided to spill the beans.
"Intriguing." She gazed at me. This was how Sonya and I got close as friends -- she never pushed, but somehow, with a mere look, she would make it easy for me to willingly share things with her.
"I know," I crossed my legs and leaned back into the chair.
Might as well get comfortable.
I'm trying to get my head around it myself. But yes. I've met someone."
"And not in the way you usually meet people and un-meet them after a couple of months?"
"Definitely not... Ellie... I mean, Lauren, is not like other women I've dated..."
Sonya tilted her head, "Because you can't keep her name straight?"
I laughed, "No -- I
know
her name. It's Lauren. But I call her Ellie."
She waved her hands, "Start from the beginning... "
"I met her on my first day at Mona's firm," I began.
"Winchester and Brown, the investment bank, I know," Sonya interjected, "Skip forward to the good bit."
There was no singular 'good bit' that I could pick out. Just like sliding out a favorite book from a crowded bookshelf, the memory of the first time I saw Ellie edged its way forward with a friendly weight and feel. I'd done a clumsy triple-take when I walked past her cubicle that morning. I was captivated immediately. She'd been completely focused on her work and unaware that I'd passed by. I couldn't tear my eyes away. I found a vantage spot a little outside of her peripheral vision and stared. She was, in a word, luminous. I was surprised there hadn't been others like me, lurking in corners to gawk at her. My attraction basically snowballed from there: She happened to be leading the first meeting on my calendar that morning, and it was all I could do to remain professional.
For the three months Ellie consulted at Win-B, my head and my heart ran circles around each other as my feelings for her grew. It was a strange phenomenon: The more time I spent with her, the more I wanted to be with her; the more uninterested she seemed, the more keenly I felt my need for her. Some capricious sprite had attached an invisible string between my heart and Ellie's and I was pining for her; I could have been Viola yearning for Orsino, or KD Lang crooning "Constant Craving." I finally -- painfully -- understood what Lang meant when she said the song was about 'divine dissatisfaction.' For three months, I'd been deliciously oppressed by my unrequited feelings.
