by Lauren Snow
“Well, what do you expect? It’s just us two, on Valentine’s Day, in a private dining room. Most people would assume that we’re a couple. I know I would.”
“I swear this wasn’t planned, though,” I tell her. “I forgot that today was even Valentine’s Day. This is just an incredible coincidence.”
Therese laughs and hums with suspicion. “I think you did plan this,” she teases. “Know why? Because you’re wearing a fuchsia tie right now. That’s a perfect Valentine’s Day color.”
I scoff at her theory and look down at my tie. I hadn’t realized what color it was at first. I just threw on the first thing I saw.
“Okay, this was by accident,” I say, holding up the tie. “I promise it was.”
“Mm-hmm, sure it was. I think you’re trying to be romantic on the sly,” she says.
I turn almost as pink as the tie around my neck.
“Let’s just order our food,” I say, switching gears to lighten my embarrassment. Therese giggles and punches in her selection. I submit mine, too, and we wait.
Twenty minutes later, Michaela emerges again with a platter of food. Gently, she sets down Therese’s meal (she ended up taking my word and got the chicken cacciatore) and then mine: garlic butter scallions with salmon and asparagus.
“So this must be where you take all your Valentine’s dates, huh?” Therese pokes. She spears a piece of chicken with her fork and pops it in her mouth.
“Ha ha. I see you’ve got jokes. And for your information, no, it’s not. I typically come here by myself.”
She hums with intrigue. “I’m sure you wine and dine your women like this often, though, right? Maybe not here at Broil-Haus per se. But just in general.”
“I haven’t wined and dined a woman in ages, Therese. It’s been so long, I forgot which way is up when it comes to all that.”
“Well, this right here is a good start,” she says, referring to our current situation. “I guess it’s like riding a bike again when you haven’t in a long time. You never really forget.”
I chuckle at the analogy. “While we’re on the subject of courting, are you seeing anyone, Therese?”
I notice her turn pink, too, if not pinker than my tie. That must mean she is.
“Yes,” she admits. “I am seeing somebody.”
As I thought. Suspicions confirmed.
“Okay,” I say, trying to appear unfazed by the revelation. “How long have you been seeing him . . . or her?”
She gasps and smacks me on the hand with her napkin.
“Hey, you’ve gotta ask these days!” I tell her. “People are into some of everything.”
“Well, FYI, that somebody is a he, just so we’re clear.”
I laugh. “Okay, gotcha.”
“But we’ve been together for about three years now.”
“That’s pretty good. Nowadays, three years is equivalent to three decades. Are you happy?”
She flinches at my question. Guess she didn’t think I’d get that personal. I didn’t think I’d get that personal. Needless to say, she makes an uncomfortable face and never gives me an answer. But that’s fine. I expected as much.
“What about you?” she asks. “Are you seeing anyone?”
“Was,” I tell her. “We split after she had a miscarriage.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Therese says.
“No, it’s fine. It was so long ago, I’ve kinda buried it, to be honest.”
“When you say long ago, how many years?”
Now she was getting personal with me.
“Actually, about three,” I reply. “Isn’t that funny?”
I say that, but it’s not. It’s not funny that we lost our baby girl. Neither is it funny that me and my girlfriend broke up because of it. We both agreed that if we stayed together, we wouldn’t be able to even look at each other. Because the other’s face would always be a constant reminder of what we lost. Nothing about that is worth laughing at. I just said that to keep the dialogue breezy.
“You dealing with it okay?” Therese asks. She must detect that I’m not all the way alright. And I’m wondering where on my face, or where in my body language, am I making that obvious.
“I manage,” I say. Copout answer, honestly. “Day by day, I manage. Definitely not easy. Far from it. I hope losing a child is something you never have to go through.”
I probably shouldn’t have said that. For all I know, she might have had a miscarriage herself. Therese goes stone silent. She’s ruminating over my tragedy and I don’t want her to do that. This dinner is supposed to be about us catching up.
“So tell me. What are your goals, Therese? What do you wanna get out of life, now that you’re . . . thirty-four, is it?”
“Yeah, I’m thirty-four,” she confirms. “I do wanna be married at some point. I wanna have at least two kids and live happily ever after with my family in quiet suburbia. I want that white picket fence dream, basically.”
I take a bite of food. “Maybe one day, we’ll both be able to have that,” I say hopefully. “I think we both deserve it.”
“I think we do, too,” Therese concurs.
I lift my glass of wine in the air. “To happy, family-filled futures.”
She smiles. “To happy, family-filled futures,” she echoes.
We clink glasses and take a drink.
CHAPTER SEVEN
I ended up sleeping until one in the afternoon. I was plum tired when I got home from being with Jenson last night. After dinner at Broil-Haus, we hung out for a bit. He took me to a jazzy little poetry club he likes on Philly’s west end called the Trip Fox. That man even got up on stage and did a bit of spoken word, something he’d written on his phone. I teased that it wasn’t nearly as good as my poem from high school that he cherished so much. Then we went for a slow cruise around downtown, just talking about where we’ve been and what we’ve done over the last twenty years since we’ve seen each other. It was a nice time. I enjoyed being in his company. He’s way easier to talk to than I thought. I can’t let my boyfriend know that, though.
He rolls over in the bed as I get out of it. Travis has had a long night himself. Doing what, I have no idea. He came home a little after I did. But he’s sleeping like a baby right now. I stare at him thinking how can he, when he knows full well how wrong he is.
I’d always had my suspicions that Travis was cheating on me. Last night wasn’t the first time he’s come home late. He does it periodically so he doesn’t raise red flags. Maybe three or four times a month. It was concerning to say the least. Never an explanation, never even an apology for leaving me home by myself in a big, empty bed. Two can play that game, though. He can have his sidepiece, and I can have mine. Jenson was going to be my “other guy”.
I go into the bathroom to freshen up and rub the crust out of my eyes. My twin in the mirror is a whole mess; disheveled mane, loopy red eyes and dried drool stains on the corner of her mouth. I turn on the tap. The water roars into the sink, louder than my own thoughts. But I can hear the chime of my phone through it. Who’s calling me?
I run back into the bedroom to see who it is. My heart plummets. It’s Jenson. What does he want?!
“Hello?” I answer, pretending like I don’t know who’s on the other end, just in case Travis is secretly listening in his “sleep”.
“Therese. How are you?” he asks.
I’m silent. I’m trying to process why in the world he’s calling me right now out of all times when my boyfriend is laying just feet away from me. It’s almost like Jenson knew when I would wake up and timed his call accordingly.
My first impulse is to say, “What do you want?”, but instead I say, “I’m good. I’m good. What’s up?”
Keeping it short and vague is the best policy.
“Well, I was just calling to tell you that I really enjoyed dinner last night,” he says. “I had a great time.”
I stir with discomfort and glance at Travis, who’s still totally KO’d. I walk out of the room so
I’m no longer in earshot. Even though he’s fast asleep, who knows? He might hear snippets of this phone conversation and dream about it, then wake up to confront me.
“I did, too,” I reply, standing in the hallway with my back to the bedroom door.
“I was wondering if I could take you out again,” he proposes. “If that’s okay with you.”
The statement robs my lungs of oxygen. Take me out again? But that wasn’t a date, right?
“Umm . . . technically, I thought last night was just a casual dinner between friends,” I say. “Correct?”
“That’s what it was supposed to be,” he replies. “Things don’t always pan out as planned out.”
I chuckle at his corny play on words. “Was that your attempt at being funny?”
“You laughed, didn’t you? Attempt successful.”
I laugh heartier this time. “Wow. Touché, I guess.”
“So when can we get together again?” he asks.
I turn around to see if Travis is listening or had woken up at all. Nope. Still dead as a doornail.
“You know what? Sure. We can go out again,” I say.
“Cool. Tomorrow sound good?”
“Tomorrow’s fine.”
“See you then.”
We disconnect and I can’t help but think that this is headed in a dangerous direction. I’m flirting with the risky world of secret dating. I feel naughty. I feel like a daredevil. I feel alive.
Jenson comes by to scoop me from my place the following morning. Travis has gone to work, so I’m in the clear. Jenson takes me to a coffee shop in midtown called Philly’s Beanery. We make ourselves comfortable at a table perched in the way, way back, away from everyone else. I order an espresso, three creams, three sugars, and Jenson orders a mocha latte.
“Random fun fact time,” Jenson announces, as he slurps his latte. “What’s your favorite TV show?”
“Hmm. That’s a tough one,” I reply. “I watch a lot of TV and I’ve got a lot of favorites.”
“Have you got a guilty pleasure?” he asks.
The first answer that springs to mind: “You!”
You’re my guilty pleasure, Jenson. And you have been since the ninth grade. But that’s off-topic.
“I do love a good trashy reality show,” I confess with minor shame.
Jenson’s face screws up with disappointment. “Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re one of those.”
“One of what?”
“One of those girls who live for drama.”
“Oh, I live for it, most definitely. Just not in real life. Only on screen.”
Jensen laughs and watches as I take a long, savoring sip of my espresso.
“What about you?” I ask. “What’s your favorite TV show?”
“Anything true crime related. Serial killer documentaries are my toxic trait.”
My eyes bug with surprise. Totally wasn’t expecting that answer.
“Wanna know another fun fact about me?” he asks.
“What?”
“I’m a major astrology buff.”
“Really?” Totally wasn’t expecting that either. He doesn’t exactly strike me as the esoteric type.
“Yep. A lot of people are shocked when I tell ‘em. But it’s true. I’ve been heavy into it for about six years now.”
“So give me my free astro consultation,” I joke. “I’m a Virgo. What can you tell me about me?”
“Well, the thing is, going off of just your Virgo energy isn’t enough. There’s way more to a person than just their sun sign. You’ve got a moon sign, a rising sign, a Mercury, Venus, Mars. There’s all these working components inside of you that make you, you.”
“Ah, I see. Well while we’re sharing fun facts, my mother’s side of the family is from France.”
Crickets. Jenson laughs.
“That’s big news,” he teases. “France, huh? What part?”
“Northern France or something.”
He laughs again. “Very interesting.”
“Really? You think so?”
He shakes his head. “Not really, Therese, no.”
I laugh, too, and take a sip of espresso. It went lukewarm quick. How long have we been talking?
“So you are a . . . Taurus, right?” I guess. “If I remember correctly, your birthday’s at the beginning of May.”
“Yep, you’re right. You remembered my birthday? That’s so sweet.”
“I mean, yeah. I was sort of obsessed with you back in high school, so.”
He blushes and looks down into his latte. “You know Tauruses and Virgos are actually highly compatible. They’re both earth signs, and both can be very sensual, especially Taurus. They love to please. Virgos like to serve and Taurus loves to excite the senses.”
“Interesting.”
“We’re darn near perfect for each other,” he says. “And I agree with what the stars have dictated. What about you? What do you think?”
A knot swells in my throat. I try to swallow it down, but it only bulges upward with no intention of dissolving.
“About what?” I play stupid. I know exactly what he’s getting at, but I’m not ready to answer the question.
He chuckles. “About us being right for each other,” he says. “You think there’s some truth to that? I know I’m springing this on you rather quickly, but I’m curious about your thoughts.”
I almost feel like I’m on a job interview and the employer (in this case, Jenson) is trying to hire me. I’m being swayed in the direction of, “Here, I’m offering you this position. Do you want it or not?” But I’m already “employed”. Do I leave my current job, one that I’ve been at for a while now, to jump into another which has its risks? There’s an elephant in the room. A mammoth is more like it. It’s got hot pink hide, a long, snaking trunk and huge tusks that can impale a building. I wanted to avoid it. But that’s impossible. It’s here, big and imposing and not going anywhere.
“I’m gonna be honest, Jenson,” I begin. I take a breath to brace myself. “I really do want you. I always have. Ever since I was fourteen. But I have a boyfriend. And I don’t want to hurt him.”
Hurt him? What if it turns out that Travis is, in fact, cheating on me? I’d have to eat my words. But a part of me feels like that was the right thing to say in this situation. Because I’m scared and I’m torn. I would hope that Jenson would understand.
Jenson sighs and looks at me seriously. “Are you sure he’s what you want?”
The question sends ice cold daggers shooting down my body. I feel queasy inside.
“I— ” I start to say, but he adds something else.
“Really think about it, Therese. Is he making you truly happy?”
I tense up. Every part of me. My legs, my thoughts, my vocal chords. I’m rendered speechless.
“I don’t mean to be so aggressive about this, but I just have to know. Please don’t think that I’m trying to swoop in and rearrange your life. ‘Cause that’s not my intention at all. But if you don’t see that white picket fence future with this guy, I’d challenge you to reevaluate if he’s right for you.”
I clear my throat and stare at the table, thinking long and hard about what he’s saying. He’s absolutely right. Can I actually see myself starting a family with Travis? Can I see myself growing old with him?
“I just think you deserve the best,” Jenson says. “All of us do.”
“It’s hard, though, Jenson. I’ve been with Travis for three years. That’s a long time. Even you said that. That’s hard to just throw away. Even though things could be better between him and I, that’s with any relationship. We have history.”
“While that may be true, history pales in comparison to real love, Therese,” he says. “If you feel in your heart of hearts that something better has come along, go with that. Don’t feel obligated to stay. It’s awkward, it’s uncomfortable, sure. But you have to do what’s best for you. Your happiness matters. That’s all I’m gonna say. I think I’ve already crossed too m
any boundaries as it is.”
Jenson is one hundred percent right. As much as I hate to admit it. My heart is pulling me toward him more and more. Even with this little time we’ve spent together after reuniting, I’ve drawn closer to him. He’s charming, he’s kind, he’s funny, he’s protective. He’s much more than what Travis has to offer, that’s for sure. I think I stayed in the relationship for so long because I needed validation. Validation that I was worthy. Travis was never the best guy for me, but he was better than nothing. So I took the bait and have been stuck ever since. The truth is, even after just a casual dinner and a harmless coffee date, it’s clear that there’s much more chemistry between Jenson and I than Travis and I.
CHAPTER EIGHT
This feeling that’s surging through me is strange. This electric, stomach-churning sensation that no one has ever made me feel before, not even my ex that I almost had a child with. Was it love? Was it lust? I can’t fully tell. Maybe it’s infatuation. Whatever it is, I have it in abundance. It’s all Therese’s fault.
I didn’t expect this feeling. But I also didn’t expect to run into her after all these years. A piece of her was always embedded in me, though. I carried that poem she wrote in Mrs. Harkle’s class with me for over two decades. It was almost like she’d written it on my heart instead of on paper. The ink never faded, it never got crumpled or dog-eared. But it stuck.
I take another sip of latte. The people around us become a faint, droning din in the background. None of them matter. Only Therese. I’ve grown to love her for who she is. Her personality, her beauty, her goals. We’re more aligned than I ever would have imagined. That dinner last night opened up my eyes to so much.
I hate that I never gave her a chance in high school. We probably could have been married with three kids by now and living happily ever after. But the reason for our delay wasn’t a complicated one. It was because of the social pecking order in school. People who looked like me, who had my money, or my campus clout were of the higher tier, and would never be caught dead with the likes of a Therese Forman. And unfortunately, I fell in line with the status quo. But even still, I always had a thing for Therese. I want her, but I want to respect her boyfriend, whoever this guy is.
