"You Can't Stay a Saint in This City"

I sat down in front of the small bookshelf of cook books I kept in my kitchen. I didn’t really use them; mostly I just ate at restaurants with clients to kill two birds with one stone or made simple recipes from memory. I couldn’t even remember buying most of these books, I think some of them might have been from this eleven year old who needed money to sponsor a band trip to Disney World and was selling cookbooks door to door to do so. Why his class couldn’t have just taken a trip to Disneyland which was just half an hour away. I guess since it was only half an hour away that meant everyone had probably already been on the It’s a Small World Ride like fifteen times. Sadly I hadn’t found the time.

I pulled out a William Sonoma cook book and began to flip through it. I loved William Sonoma, in fact that’s where I got my mint green stand mixer. When I saw the never-been-used stand mixer I decided to break it in by baking something for Mike. The pages of the cookbook were filled with glossy pictures with the occasional recipe. I stuck my nose into the cookbook, it still had the new book smell. I wondered if anyone ever tried cooking a ‘Fig and Balsamic Vinegar Cake’ it sounded kind of… gross. Maybe William Sonoma wasn’t the right choice for Mike, I’m sure he’d appreciate something more like brownies or apple pie.

I opened up my fridge looking for some ingredients to inspire me or set me off. All I seemed to have in there was Jones Soda and celery sticks. I’ll go to Trader Joe’s in the morning or something.
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“Why are you Skyping in your closet?” Milan asks as I unpack. I loved this it felt like he was right behind me and not on the other side of the country.

“I want to need to unpack so I figured that we could have more impaired conversations.” I reply pulling out my gold reunion dress.

“It’s so weird, you live there and I don’t even know what your house looks like.” He says.

“I know what you mean,” I say trying to see what’s inside Milan’s room. He seems to be sitting on a bed that doesn’t have a headboard and there’s some sort of natural light coming through a window off into the distance.

“So do you want to open it now?” Milan asks as I pull out the wrapped package he got me back in August.

“Okay,” I reply moving closer to the camera. The package is soft so I’m assuming it’s clothing of some sort. I rip the bow off and hold up a Boston Bruins jersey which causes a small box of sorts to fall onto the ground. It’s a blue Tiffany box.

“I love it Milan, thank you” I say before even opening up the box.

“You’re welcome Amber,”

“I finally got your autograph” I say turning the jersey over to view the back. “When did you wear 62?” I ask looking at the numbers.

“Preseason, during my first year.” He replies.

“So they probably didn’t put it into production right?” I ask, if it’s true that means…

“Nope, it’s game worn” Milan replies confirming my suspicions.

My heart melts, “you got me a game worn jersey that’s so sweet. I promise I’ll get you something too.”

“You don’t have to,” Milan says.

“I know, I’m going to name a chair after you.” I say as I pull the jersey over my head, I feel like it would still fit even if I was nine months pregnant.

“A chair?” I don’t blame him for not showing the same enthusiasm that I have.

“Or maybe a dining table, I’m not sure.” Milan is a perfect name for a dining set.

“How about a bed?” he says suggestively.

“I don’t think so.”

“Why don’t you open what’s in the box,” He asks as I’ve drifted away to the full length mirror to examine my outfit.

“Okay,” I say as I crawl on my hands and knees to find it. I untie the white bow; pull off the top of the box. It’s a pendant, it’s not gaudy and ostentatious, I can attribute that to the fact that Tiffany’s doesn’t do that. It’s a little three dimensional house that resembles Milan’s home in Vancouver just a little bit and it’s kind of perfect.

“Milan I love you.” I say honestly, I don’t care whether or not he says it back but I just want him to know how special he is to me. He’s amazing.

“Thanks Amber, I love you too.” The two of us spend the next minute just looking at the digital image on the screen.

“I’ll text you,” I say wishing he was physically here. Then I could hold him and rest my head on his chest and most importantly kiss him.

“Bye Amber” he says before the screen goes blank. I pull the jersey off and pull on a black Alexander Wang hooded dress. It seemed to be my favorite thing to wear to the grocery store. It was great for looking incognito and had long sleeves for the freezer section. I pulled on a pair of red Louboutins with ruffle detail.

“Hi,” I say as I see Mike watering his hedges, might as well start being friendly now.

“Hi,”

“I’m going grocery shopping. Do you need me to pick anything up for you?” I ask crossing my ankles and wishing my dress wasn’t fallopian tube length as Michael Kors would say.

“You’re going grocery shopping?” Mike seems skeptical.

“Yup,” I reply, I can kind of feel my heels sinking into my lawn.

“Wearing that?” Mike gestures to my outfit but here you run into girls with their ass hanging out of their Daisy Dukes and wearing bikini tops at the local Walmart.

“Welcome to LA.” I say before putting my extra-large Prada sunglasses on and climbing into my Bentley not even realizing he didn't answer my original question.