A Guy Like Him

by Amanda Gambill

  I stared at her, wanting to scream but trying to keep my composure, as she beckoned Michael over. This is why she wanted me to come so badly, asking me four times in the past two days if I was going to show up. This is why she made me feel guilty for not wanting to get my hair and makeup done until I finally gave in.

  “Hey, Skylar, long time, no see,” he said, smiling. He still looked as good as when I’d dumped him, in a perfect suit, perfect blonde hair, perfect smile.

  “God,” I said, rolling my eyes before I could stop myself.

  Mom looked at me, horrified. “Hon, you have better manners than that.” She reached out to hug him as if no time had passed. “Michael, it’s so great to see you. How are your pre-law classes treating you?”

  “They’re great. Definitely keeping me busy. So busy that I never see your daughter on campus,” he said, flashing another smile at me. “You look great, Skylar.”

  “Excuse me. I need more champagne,” I said, stepping back.

  “I’ll help,” he said, stepping forward. “Mrs. Taylor, would you like a glass?”

  “That would be wonderful,” she said, beaming, always loving that he had such good manners.

  I headed to the bar, downing my drink, not waiting on him.

  “Skylar, come on, we can be civil, right?” he said, reaching out to grab my wrist.

  “Michael, this is so weird. My mother is trying to set us up as if we didn’t break up almost a year ago,” I said, pulling my arm away.

  “Well, you know that break up wasn’t mutual.”

  I closed my eyes, wishing I didn’t have on so much makeup so I could press my fingers against my eyes to block this all out. “I can’t do this right now.”

  “Does that mean you’re seeing someone?”

  I opened my eyes, not sure what to say, thinking of the last time I saw Dean a week ago.

  “Hey, we’ve been doing for this for four months,” I’d said, noticing the date as I sat on his bed after round one, plotting out my upcoming week in my planner.

  He’d nodded from where he was lying next to me. “Yeah, I know.”

  “I thought you weren’t counting,” I’d said with a laugh.

  He’d shrugged. “Yeah, I wasn’t. But then you got in my head. So I guess that means we should have our first date.”

  I’d stared at him, confused, my heart beating fast. “What?”

  “You know, wasn’t that part of Rule 2?” he’d said with a laugh. “You said if this thing lasts longer than three months, we get tested. Unless you aren’t—”

  “Oh,” I’d interrupted, suddenly feeling thrown off guard. “Right. Because we’re sleeping with other people.”

  He’d looked at me, and I couldn’t read his expression. “That’s what you said. Four months ago. I’m not—“

  “Yeah, no, I know what I said. I don’t need you to remind me. Yeah, we should get tested,” I’d said, snapping my planner shut and standing, hating how this somehow made my chest feel tight. “In fact, we probably shouldn’t even be doing this right now, right? So I should probably go.”

  He’d sat up on his elbows, looking slightly confused. “No, you don’t have to go.”

  “No, I’m going to go,” I’d said, hastily pulling on my shoes. “I have an early class tomorrow anyway. Just, I guess, text me when you’re all set, and we can meet up or something.”

  “Skylar, are you seeing someone?” Michael repeated.

  “Uh, no,” I said, clearing my throat. “I’m single. Clearly. I’m at a Valentine’s Day gala with my ex.”

  He laughed, signaling to the bartender for our champagnes. “I’m not seeing anyone either,” he said, passing me a glass, trying to brush his fingers against mine.

  We walked to the auction area, pausing to drop off Mom’s drink.

  “Oh, let me get a photo of you two,” she said, grabbing her phone from her clutch.

  “No, Mom, you don’t have to—”

  “Don’t you just love photography now, honey?” she said in that light way of hers that made me fall silent.

  Two Sunday dinners ago, Dad had asked why he’d only received four out of the five syllabi from me, assuming the other got caught in his spam. As everyone stared at me, I’d admitted to signing up for a photography class, hurriedly explaining I needed the elective, and I could take Intro to Federal Income Tax in the fall. Dad had been shocked, frustration bubbling up in his tone as he asked why I did something that we’d already talked about and decided against, recalling the exact conversation we’d had two years ago.

  “Krista, back me up,” I’d said, looking at her across the table. “Didn’t you ever take a class that you wanted to take just because?”

  She’d glanced to where Dad sat at the head of the table. “Um, I don’t know. I wanted to take my accounting classes. I think my elective was a lecture series on leadership.”

  “I thought it was a good idea at the time,” I’d said quietly, staring at the pot roast in front of me instead of facing Dad’s disappointment.

  “Is it too late to drop it and take something practical?”

  “I think I missed the deadline.”

  “Your GPA better not slip because of something so silly. And since I’m paying for this, I want to know about every assignment, every exam, everything. If this gets too absurd, we’ll talk to the Dean of Students and explain you made a mistake because of the school’s online scheduling system. You should have been able to get into the class Krista took when she was in school, Skylar,” he’d said, his tone signaling the conversation over.

  I’d nodded, letting the topic shift to what songs Krista and Kyle should definitely play at their wedding.

  “Say cheese,” Mom said as Michael slid his arm around my shoulders. I smiled the perfected pageant smile I knew she wanted, dropping it immediately as she walked away.

  One minute later, my phone buzzed, signaling she’d circulated the photo in the family group text.

  “We do look great together, you have to admit,” Michael said.

  “There is no ‘we’ because we broke up,” I said through gritted teeth, stepping away from him and locking my phone. “Can we just focus on the auction so we can get through this night?”

  He smiled, a soft smile that used to make me melt.

  “Come on, let’s check out the items,” he said, offering his arm.

  I sighed, glancing to where Mom was watching us. My heels were already killing me, so I reluctantly linked my arm with his.

  We walked up and down tables, browsing expensive jewelry and vacation packages, as “At Last” played over the speakers. He talked about how school was going, our favorite subject. He still had a stellar GPA, just like he had when we’d been together, and was already studying for his LSATs, always so prepared. I downed my second glass of champagne as he asked what my favorite class was this semester.

  “Photography,” I said without thinking.

  “Are you not an accounting major anymore? Why would you take a photography class?”

  Somewhere between the vacation packages and art pieces, he’d put his arm around me. It was a familiar feeling, almost three years of history and memories coming back like they were yesterday. I sighed, lightly pushing him away and ignoring his question.

  “Do you like art?” I asked, slowing down to look at the pieces.

  “I’ll like it if that means I could take you to a gallery or museum. We could catch up,” he said, his voice dripping with charm.

  My phone buzzed with Krista’s response to the photo, four heart-eye emojis. I locked the screen and rolled my eyes.

  “At least agree to coffee,” Michael said, taking my hand. I looked down at his perfect, barren hand, wondering what it would have felt like if he had rings and tattoos.

  “Why are you pushing this so much?” I asked, pulling my hand away. “Is my mom bribing you or something?”

  He laughed and shook his head, growing serious. “Skylar, don’t you miss being one half of a perfect couple?
Because I really do.”

  I avoided his gaze, feeling my phone buzz again. Dad suggested inviting Michael over for family dinner. I hastily locked my phone, crossed my arms, and stepped away from him, feeling that familiar panic, the feeling of being on stage, all eyes on me, everyone wanting more from me than I could give, being part of some game, some competition, that I’d never asked to be a part of in the first place.

  And then I saw the painting.

  I blinked twice, confused, wondering if I was mistaken. I stepped away from Michael, drawn to the painting. Even though I’d only seen it once, two months ago, I recognized it immediately. The exact replica of where I’d stood outside with Dean, looking at the farmhouse and carriage house. Seeing it again, the stars looked even brighter, outshining the moon, a cold light washing over the whole scene, and I felt like I was right there all over again, a blanket bringing us closer, laughing and kissing.

  “Can you get me another champagne?” I asked Michael quickly, handing him my empty glass. As he walked away, I stepped even closer, glancing at the bidding list. The night was young, and it was already up to $3,500.

  “Isn’t this lovely?” Mom said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, probably watching us the whole time.

  “How did you get this painting?”

  She looked at it closer, trying to remember. “I’m not sure, sweetie. Another member is over the artwork. It is quite stunning, isn’t it?” She lightly tapped the bidding list with a smile. “And that’s why we only allow pieces by the best local artists.”

  “The best local artists?” I repeated. “What do you mean?”

  She added her own bid, upping the price to $4,000. “We don’t just accept any random person with a paintbrush. They have to have a reputation for excellence,” she said, wondering why I was suddenly so interested. “Do you think this would look nice in our guest bedroom?”

  “I have to go,” I said, stepping away from her as I spotted Michael turning from the bar. “Excuse me, sorry,” I added, knowing she was miffed at my rudeness.

  I walked out of the hotel ballroom and found a bathroom, checking it was empty before pulling out my phone.

  “Hey, Skye, what’s up?” he answered in that easy tone of his.

  “Why am I at the Heart Gala and your painting is here?”

  “Which painting is it?” he asked, completely unfazed by my question and hurried tone.

  “The stars one, your backyard, the two houses,” I said, wondering how many paintings he had as I looked at myself in the mirror, realizing my face was flushed.

  “Oh, yeah, some woman from Junior League asked if I would be willing to donate one of my pieces for that auction, and I said sure. Why? Also, why are you there?”

  “My mom is the event co-chair,” I said, hesitating as a woman I didn’t know walked into the bathroom. “I thought painting was just a silly hobby of yours, Dean,” I said, my voice hushed.

  “Why are you whispering?” he asked in a mock whisper, and I knew he was grinning. “I never said painting was a hobby of mine, by the way. But what are you doing at the gala? More importantly, what are you wearing?”

  I rolled my eyes, holding back a laugh. “I have to go.”

  “Okay, I’ll see you later. Happy Valentine’s Day, princess,” he said with a smile, hanging up before I had a chance to react. I took a deep breath, avoiding my own smile in the mirror, and walked back to the ballroom.

  ★☽★★☽

  I sat at my usual table, glancing at the counter for the fifth time tonight. The barista kind of smiled, probably wondering why I kept looking at him. I smiled slightly, shifting in my seat, trying to focus.

  “So, yeah, I guess that’s when I knew I wanted to become a competitive fly fisher,” Jake said as I looked back at him.

  “I’m sorry, what?” I asked, having missed most of the story. “You want to be a fisherman?”

  “Fly fishing, competitively.”

  I looked at my watch.

  “I think we should stop this date. I’m sorry. I just … don’t want to do this anymore,” I said, almost feeling bad, but not bad enough to keep this going.

  After he left, understandably shocked and angry, I glanced at my watch again. He clocked in at 23 minutes.

  I walked over to the counter. The barista looked at me, waiting on my order. I took a deep breath. “Hi, could I get a decaf refill and, um, do you know if Dean is working tonight?”

  “Yeah, he usually does, but I’m covering for him tonight.”

  I nodded, quickly thanking him and paying for my refill. I opened my date notebook, flipping through the pages, scanning the past 10 lackluster dates I’d had since the beginning of this year, already bored by the memories. They all felt the same, each guy just like the one before, none of them even lasting longer than 31 minutes.

  I checked my watch again and pulled out my phone.

  “I’m sitting here, looking at a barista who is not nearly as attractive as you,” I said once he’d answered. “And I was wondering if I should see if he wanted to make out in my car.”

  Dean laughed. “From my experience, there are much better things you could do in a car. But yeah, I’d vote no. I think he’s taken.”

  “Dang. Well, do you know any single, attractive baristas who like to do things in cars? Because I haven’t seen the one I know in two weeks.”

  He laughed again, and I wondered where he was, what he was doing, why exactly he wasn’t here tonight when I knew he worked Monday nights.

  “What are you up to? Actually, don’t tell me because I bet I can guess,” he said quickly. “You’re sitting there, a half-empty coffee cup next to your little secret notebook, and you have this little frown on your face, annoyed at whatever stupid thing your bad date said. And I bet you’re tapping your pen like a million miles a minute, completely unaware just how distracting it is to the other people in there, how every single tap is something, I dunno, a barista trying not to pay attention to you on those dates keeps hearing.”

  I looked down at my hand, dropping my pen. “So is that why you aren’t working tonight? The clicking of my pen? Or my dates?”

  He laughed. “Rule 1 or Rule 2, I’m not sure,” he said with a smile.

  I stood, sliding my notebook in my backpack, and tossed my half-empty coffee cup in the trash before heading to my car. “So what are you doing? Are you busy?”

  He groaned. “I’m actually sick, so I can’t see you.”

  “You’re sick? What does that mean?”

  “I have a cold,” he said, and as I listened closer, I realized his voice did sound slightly scratchy. “And possibly delirious from cough medicine I found that might have been expired. So yeah, super hot stuff over here.”

  “You sound irresistible,” I said with a laugh.

  He laughed again and then coughed. “Okay, I have to go. You keep making me laugh, and it’s making me cough. Goodnight, Skye.”

  “You’re home early,” Krista said, surprised as I walked in before 10. “How was your date?”

  I rolled my eyes and tossed her my date notebook. “Awful.”

  “Then why do you have that smile on your face?” she asked, taking the lemonade I handed her as she read my pro and con list.

  “I don’t,” I said, glancing at the poster boards paneled on our living room wall. “Did you figure out the deejay yet?”

  She rolled her eyes, launching into some elaborate story about how the deejay wanted their love song suggestions and that they just hadn’t had time to decide on their favorites. I halfway listened to her as I ate, nodding at the right intervals, until she segued.

  “Speaking of love songs,” she said slowly with a grin, “Mom said you and Michael hit it off last week on Valentine’s Day. She said you two had a moment as ‘At Last’ played.”

  “She said what?” I asked, shocked.

  “He had his arm around you, you two held hands,” she said, a silly grin on her face. “Does this mean you’re getting back together?”
>
  I shook my head, suddenly not wanting to eat anymore, the chicken nugget feeling stuck in my throat.

  “Why not? Don’t you want to be happy with a guy who gets you?”

  “I am happy. Alone,” I added quickly.

  “You keep looking for the perfect guy in this notebook when he’s right in front of you, Skylar,” she said with a sigh. “It’s Michael. I tried to tell you that before you broke up with him.”

  I stood, picking up my backpack from the floor. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. And you know, Krista, despite what you think, you don’t always know best.”

  She looked at me like I’d slapped her. I’d never been this direct with her, and I immediately felt guilty.

  I sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m just tired.”

  “Tired from your demanding courses?” she said, standing with her hands on her hips. “That photography class must be so hard.”

  I stepped back, my turn to feel the sting of her words. I turned and walked into my bedroom, resisting the urge to slam my door, knowing that was just as childish as sitting on my bed and fighting back tears.

  ★☽★★☽

  I knocked on the door, feeling completely and totally stupid, the same adrenaline I’d felt months ago when I’d smashed a pumpkin coursing through my veins now.

  “Hey,” Dean said, confused when he opened the door. “Did I drunk-on-cough-syrup text you?”

  “Well, you said it was expired,” I said, my words coming out too fast, but I couldn’t stop them. “And I was thinking, you know, if you died or something from it, the police would see that I was the last person you talked to on the phone and then they would search your place and see we had some weird contract, and I don’t have time for a whole interrogation, trial thing.”

  I held up the grocery bag with cough syrup inside, squinting, feeling embarrassed. He laughed and shook his head, a teasing smirk appearing on his face.

  “I also looked up if cough syrup is vegan, and honestly, there’s a lot of information out there about veganism that I didn’t have time to digest in the store.”

  He laughed lightly, sitting the bag on the island as I stepped inside. “What time is it?”