My entry for the 1st round of the NYCMidnight Short Story Competition (placed 1st in my category)
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I do not know this man.
I do not know his profession.
I do not know his age.
I do not even know his name.
All I do know is that he is my client.
It has been a few months since I suddenly upped and moved from
my cozy townhouse in Oxford to the more rural areas of
Colchester to start my new freelance career. It has been a
strange adjustment, the people around here are incredibly
private, very much keep themselves to themselves sort of
people, and this man was not any different.
I was eating my breakfast in the café located on the grounds
of the apartment complex. I decided to go for something a bit
different today, so I boldly chose a meal of poached eggs on
toast with some hot black coffee. Between sips and munches, I
leisurely flicked through a copy of the latest Cosmopolitan,
keeping an eye out for the latest trends and hot items is all
part of the job description, after all. A beautiful macrame
wall hanging caught my eye, its detailed patterns of browns,
beiges, and creams made it a perfect statement piece for any
room. Noted.
“Excuse me, Ms. Palmer?”
I was torn away from my current fascination by a pleasant man
in a distinctive black woolen coat.
“Can I help you?”
“I hope I am not interrupting?”
“No, No! Not at all I was just...” Now, what was I doing?
“I am here for an appointment.”
“That is strange, I was not aware of any appointments today.”
My brows furrowed as I began looking about my person, patting
down the chair, lifting cushions, now where did I put my
planner?
“Actually...if it is not too much hassle, will you be able to
fit me in today? I must insist that I am in a bit of a hurry.”
I gave a little huff as I roughly gestured for him to take the
seat across from me. “I do not appreciate such late notice
but...since you’re here.”
The man gave me a warm smile as he tucked his coat beneath him
to take a seat. “Thank you, I swear if I was not in such a
hurry, I would never have dreamed of dropping in on you at
such late notice.”
“Mm-hm. I must make you aware that I do charge extra for
sudden appointments such as this.”
“Thank you, I’ll pay any price.”
“All right, all right,” I sigh in defeat, eager to move this
conversation along “How can I help you?”
“I’m looking for a gift.”
How...vague.
“Okay, can I ask who the gift is for?”
“Someone very dear to me.”
Uh-huh.
“Can I ask for the occasion of the gift?”
The man started to shuffle in his seat, his hands fiddled with
the lapels of his coat, and he could not look me in the eye.
What did I tell you? People around here are secretive, the lot
of them.
I struggle to contain my frustration at the standstill we have
come to “Sir, If I am to help you at all with buying a gift
then I need to know some details. I am a personal shopper, not
a mind reader.” Likely, this was a gift for some hidden
mistress which would explain his evident discomfort and
taciturn nature.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” the man mutters an apology, still
fiddling with his coat. “The person, whom the gift is for, has
recently moved into a new home and has been upset about the
lack of décor for a while now.”
“I see, so you’re after a housewarming gift,” now we are
getting somewhere. I go to grab my planner to jot down some
notes, only to not find it anywhere about me, strange, where
did I put my planner?
Giving up the search before it had even begun, I decided to
jot down notes on the Cosmopolitan that was laid open nearby.
As I reach for it, I notice a beautiful macramé wall hanging
on the open page. Now that would make a perfect home décor
piece.
“The person receiving this gift, are they by any chance into
macramé? Like, wall hangings?” I grab the magazine and spin it
around to face the unforthcoming gentleman.
The man suddenly lit up, a beaming smile plastered on his
face, revealing a chipped front tooth. “Oh, they would adore
that! It is perfect!”
The man and I spent a while discussing the affordability of
the gift, as well as pricing, delivery, and wrapping—tying
together all the loose ends and final arrangements.
Satisfied, the man stood up to leave, “Thank you, Ms. Palmer.
You have been beyond helpful. I know this gift is going to be
incredibly loved.”
“It is no problem at all, my pleasure. But please, call me
Natalie.”
The man left with a puppy-dog smile and a little wave. But as
I sipped my now ice-cold coffee, I still cannot help but
wonder how he found me in the first place.
***
I do not know this man.
I do not know his profession.
I do not know his age.
I do not even know his name.
All I do know is that he is my client.
It has been a few months since I suddenly upped and moved from
my cozy townhouse in Oxford to the more rural areas of
Colchester to start my new freelancing career. It has been a
strange adjustment, the people around here are incredibly
private, very much keep themselves to themselves sort of
people, but this man was different.
I was eating my breakfast in the café located on the grounds
of the apartment complex. I decided to be more adventurous
today, so I settled on a meal of poached eggs on toast with
some hot black coffee. Once I had cleared my plate, I decided
to scope out a copy of the latest Cosmopolitan, keeping an eye
out for the latest trends and hot items is all part of the job
description, after all. A beautiful macramé wall hanging
caught my eye—it would be a perfect statement piece for any
room. Noted.
“Excuse me, Natalie?”
I was torn away from my absorption by the sudden call of my
name. I looked up to see a cheerful man with deep laugh lines
and a cheery disposition. I scanned his face, looking for any
sign of familiarity but found none. How did he know my name?
Thump. Thump.
“Yes, I am Natalie, how may I help you?”
“I am here for an appointment.”
“Oh, I am sorry!” I fluttered around trying to clear away my
plates and papers “I was not aware I had any appointments
today?” Caught off guard, I begin searching the tables and
chairs, looking under them, behind them, now where did I put
my planner?
“Your planner should be in the pocket of your bag.”
I stare at the man, how did he know what I was looking for? Lo
and behold, there it was, my black, leather planner neatly
tucked away in my bag pocket.
The confusion must have been evident on my face, as the man
quickly interjected “It’s a common place where most people
keep their diaries and planners after all, a good guess on my
part it seems!”
The man chuckles to himself as he takes a seat to my left “Oh,
that reminds me,” the man proceeds to remove a beautifully
wrapped gift from his satchel.
“I have brought you a gift, to thank you for your assistance
yesterday.”
My confusion deepens. Did I have any appointments yesterday? I
try to shrug it off, it is impossible to remember every client
that comes through my doors. But surely, I should be able to
remember yesterday, what was I do yesterday?
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The thumping grows louder, and my confusion intensifies.
Come on, Natalie. Let's be professional.
I muster up a semblance of a smile “Oh, a gift? That is so
lovely of you, you did not have to do that! How kind!”
The man is radiating with pride and joy as he hands the gift
to me to open, as I unwrap it, a beautiful macramé wall
hanging is slowly revealed. Its soft, woolen pattern and
blended tones of browns, beiges, and creams make it a truly
astounding piece of décor.
“Oh my, it is beautiful! What a coincidence- I just—” Where
did I see it?
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
I push onwards. “I think this sort of thing would go down a
treat with some of my clients” though no matter how hard I
try, I cannot remember which ones.
“I was thinking you could use it to decorate your apartment
since I’ve heard the rooms here can be pretty bland.”
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
Lost in my thoughts, I struggle to hear anything but my own
beating heart. I am unsure what happened next, the last thing
I can remember is some of my neighbours leading me out of the
café. But as I turn down the corridor that leads to my
apartment, I hear the faint sounds of a tender voice.
“Sorry sir, but it is best that you leave. It does not seem
like one of her best days today.”
But all I can think about is my heart going thump, thump,
thump.
***
It has been a few months since I suddenly upped and moved from
my cozy townhouse in Oxford to the more rural areas of
Colchester to start my new freelancing career. It has been a
strange adjustment, the people around here are incredibly
private, very much keep themselves to themselves sort of
people, except today.
After leaving my apartment, I ran into one of my neighbours
who decided to stop and chat with me. I learned he works as a
doctor at a facility nearby, so it is not often I run into
him. He is a very gentle man with a lilting voice that makes
him easy to talk to.
“Good morning, Natalie! Any appointments today?”
“Not that I am currently aware of, but people have the habit
of springing out at me from nowhere.”
The doctor let out a hearty laugh “Isn’t that always the
case?”
We decided to grab breakfast in the café located on the
grounds of the apartment complex. The doctor settled on
poached eggs on toast with some hot black coffee. It sounded
delightful, and having never tried it before, I decided to
take the leap and order the same. Once we had cleared our
plates and our stomachs were full, we continued our
conversation as we sauntered along together, drinking our hot
coffees as we walked. I accompanied the doctor as far as the
door leaving the complex before deciding to turn back and work
on some of my work assignments.
But before he left, he recommended that I start keeping notes
of things in my diary, he said it may help with my lapse in
memory.
So, note to self, my neighbour is called Dr. Barrowman, and he
is a very dear friend.
***
It’s been a few months since I suddenly upped and moved from
my cozy townhouse in Oxford to the more rural areas of
Colchester to start my new freelancing career. It has been a
strange adjustment, the people around here are incredibly
private, very much keep themselves to themselves sort of
people, but they are friendly enough.
But there was someone I was looking for the most, a man who is
different than the rest.
I remember his profession, I remember his age, I even remember
his name. I round the hallway into the canteen and my eyes
were immediately drawn to a man in a black, woolen coat, and a
cheerful disposition.
And for the first time, I look at him, truly look at him. I no
longer see just a man.
I remember the smile lines etched into his face; ruddy and
rosy from the years we spent out in the ocean, sailing the
world. I remember the laugh lines that highlight his eyes, I
remember he was always self-conscious about them, but I told
him they are proof of all the inside jokes and laughter we
have shared; he loved them ever since. I remember the chipped
front tooth from teaching our son to play cricket-he took a
cricket ball straight to the face and still laughed it off to
keep our son smiling.
I remembered my husband, and I truly saw him for the first
time in 5 years.
“Hello, Nally. Fancy joining me for some breakfast?”
“Sure, let’s have our usual.”
I smiled at him, and he smiled back.
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