My heart warms a little at that thought. He’s right. The threads of our lives are forever entwined, even if only in a small way. And who’s to say that couldn’t be a stepping stone to something more. After all, I remind myself, he does live in Chicago, and I’ll be heading back there in a few days. Maybe we can meet up there and have a second date.
I turn back to the note.
Next, I want to apologize for my absence this morning. I’m hoping to try to get on an earlier flight back to Chicago, or perhaps to rent a car if that isn’t possible. As much fun as I’ve had here in Applewood, it’s time for me to return to real life. But if you and I are ever in Iowa at the same time again, I certainly hope we’re lucky enough to run into each other. Maybe we can go see another movie.
Best wishes,
Chase
For a moment I can only stare at the paper, stunned. I flip it over, certain there must be more, but there’s nothing. That’s it. If we’re ever in Iowa at the same time, we should see a movie again—but we live in the same city! And he knows that! There’s no reason we would need to be in Iowa to see a movie together.
I shake my head, crumpling up the note slowly in my hand. I toss it toward the trash can in the corner, and it bounces off the rim and falls to the floor.
Kendall, you idiot. He doesn’t want to see a movie with me in Iowa. He’s just romanticizing the whole incident, painting a picture of me as his Iowan fling. And really, aren’t I guilty of the same thing? Wasn’t I fantasizing when I imagined us meeting up again in Chicago?
Okay. Well, I’m firmly back to reality now.
I flop back down on my back in the bed. That was a great night of sex, and I’m not exactly sorry it happened, but I have to admit I’m a little frustrated with myself. It’s so unlike me to just jump into bed with a man, and this is exactly why. I trick myself into feeling attached, hoping something is going to come of it, and then, for one reason or another, it doesn’t work out.
Bailing before I wake up is a new one on me, I have to admit. Every other guy I’ve been with has at least stuck around long enough to say goodbye in the morning.
This is doubly frustrating because, as I suddenly remember, Chase wasn’t just a random man I happened to meet at a movie theater. He was Chase Harker. Hundreds of journalists and writers would probably love to get their hands on an interview with him, and I just happened to stumble into him in an Applewood movie theater. It was a golden opportunity, and I blew it.
Instead of sleeping with him, I should have mined him for information so I could draft an article and show it to Georgia Walsh.
I think back over our conversation last night, trying to remember if there was anything he said that I could use. But no. All I know about him, really, is that he’s pretty good at pool—and pretty good at a few other things besides—and that he’s living in Chicago. That’s pretty far from being enough to base an article on.
Ugh.
I bury my face in my hands. I feel so conflicted. I’ve never had a night like last night before in my life, and the truth is that I’m glad I’ll always have it to look back on. And really, it’s hard to argue with the passion that existed between Chase and me. I might have gone my whole life without knowing pleasure like that, and that would have really been a shame.
But on the other hand, it was a one-night thing, and now it’s over and he’s gone, and I’ve got nothing to show for it. No potential for a future between us. No interview to elevate my career. I know it’s a hyperbolic thought, but I feel as if something miraculous was dropped into my lap and I completely squandered it. Yet I can’t imagine doing anything differently. If I had last night to live again, I think I would make exactly the same choices.
Enough. It’s done, and there’s no point brooding about it now. I need to let what happened be a motivator to me instead of dwelling on what might have been. For a few hours, I had a taste of what it might be like to have a real story. I remember the feeling that rushed through me last night when I realized the man at the bar with me was Chase Harker and that his disappearance from the public eye was widely regarded as a mystery.
It was just the sort of thing I dream of cracking open with my investigative skills, and for a short window of time, I thought I would be able to do it. I was proud, excited, driven to get the scoop.
I haven’t felt that way about work in a long time. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way about work, come to think of it. But I’m inspired now. I know what I need to do next. I need to find a way to get that feeling back. Instead of complaining about the fact that Georgia never assigns me any good stories, I need to actively go in search of them. And once I find the right story, I’ll be able to show her what I’m capable of, and that will open the door to more stories.
So in the end, I guess I did take something positive away from my encounter with Chase—besides the memory of the best sex of my life, that is. Because meeting him has inspired me to go after my dreams.
I roll out of bed and find my clothes scattered around on the floor of the hotel room where they were tossed last night in our eagerness to undress. Putting them back on feels slightly embarrassing. Even though I’m pretty sure no one saw me come up here last night, I’m not looking forward to walking through the lobby in yesterday’s clothes. Even less am I looking forward to going home to Aunt Mariel.
I did have the presence of mind to fire off a text to her, sometime between the bar and the hotel, letting her know that I’d be spending the night with a girlfriend from college. But I have no idea if she believed my story. If she suspects what really happened, she might disapprove. Then again, she might be so eager for me to make some kind of love connection that she’ll be overjoyed and pester me about seeing Chase again. I don’t want that either.
It’s a relief to get back in my car, which is waiting patiently in the movie theater parking lot where I left it. I let my head fall back against the headrest and close my eyes, enjoying the familiarity of a place that’s my own. What a wild night that was.
Chapter 9
Chase
“Now boarding flight seven twenty-one with service to Chicago and Philadelphia.”
I hold out my phone so the attendant can scan my e-ticket, and she smiles. “Have a pleasant flight, sir.”
“Thank you.”
I make my way down the jetway, pulling my suitcase along behind me. It’s a good thing I got to the airport when I did. My original plane, the one that was grounded here last night, hasn’t been repaired yet, but the passengers are being offered transit on our choice of three other flights that have arranged to make pit stops in Chicago. By leaving the hotel and coming here first thing in the morning, I was able to secure a seat on the first flight out. I’ll be back home by noon, leaving my afternoon free for reaching out to new potential business contacts now that the whole Trivia Tonight thing has turned out to be a bust.
The flight attendant glances at my ticket as I step aboard the plane. “I see you had a first-class seat, sir,” she says to me. “Our first-class section is fully booked, but in the event of any no-shows—”
“Please, don’t worry about it,” I tell her.
“Are you sure?”
I’m a little surprised myself. Wasn’t I just thinking yesterday that I’d never fly coach again? But it’s only a short hop to Chicago, and after this long detour, it doesn’t seem like a very big deal. Who cares where I sit, really?
“It’s fine,” I tell her.
“Well, we’ll bring you a complimentary beverage once we’re airborne,” she says. “In the meantime, you’re in seat 14F. On your left, by the window.”
“Thank you.”
The plane is packed. It takes forever just to reach row fourteen. When I get there, I have to cram my suitcase into the overhead compartment, and then there’s a whole dance involving the two passengers who share my row getting up and moving into the aisle so that I can take my assigned seat. It’s cramped and uncomfortable, and the cabin is full of the sounds of people
talking too loudly and children complaining and crying. It’s a world away from the calm comfort of traveling first class. But to my surprise, I register all the discomfort only as a distant observer might. I notice it, but it doesn’t bother me.
The flight attendants step into the aisle and begin going over the safety briefing. I allow my mind to wander. I’ve flown hundreds of times, and I’m familiar with the basics. I should be happy right now. I should be feeling relieved, even triumphant. I seized the opportunity to get back to the airport early, and because of that, I’m getting out on the first flight. I’ll be back in Chicago soon. This whole ordeal is almost over.
But I’m not feeling any relief. I’m not sure what I’m feeling, but it seems almost like disappointment.
What could there possibly be to feel disappointed about? The investment opportunity not panning out, maybe? But I never had high hopes for that. It was clear from the first phone call that the developers were on their very first app, and while it’s hard to be the one to burst their bubble, it’s not exactly my first rodeo. I’ve had to turn people down before.
I lean against the inside of the plane, staring out the window as we start to taxi away from the gate. The truth is that I know exactly what’s bothering me. It’s been itching at the back of my mind all day, no matter how hard I’ve tried to shut it out or push it aside.
Kendall.
What an amazing night that was. It was the kind of thing I didn’t think could really happen to people. Not that a one-night stand is by itself anything to get excited about, but to meet someone you actually get along with? That seems rare. And especially in this day and age, when most people meet through online dating or being set up by friends. What are the odds of walking into a movie theater and just happening upon someone you’d sincerely enjoy spending time with?
What are the odds you and that person would have amazing physical chemistry and mind-blowing sex?
She looked so blissful this morning, as if the fireworks from last night carried over into her dreams. It hurt to walk away from her. It took me four tries to write a goodbye note. The crumpled-up drafts in my pockets are a reminder of that painful moment. Placing the folded up final copy on the pillow beside her and walking away was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I lingered for a long moment, on the verge of waking her, before tearing myself away.
She’d be made uncomfortable by how much trouble I was having walking away from her. It was supposed to be a one-night thing. We both knew that. Better to spare her the awkwardness of a prolonged farewell and to just be out of her hair before she woke up.
The plane picks up speed and lifts off, pressing my back into my seat. I lean over to see the ground falling away below me. Somewhere down there, Kendall is waking up, finding my note, reading it. Thinking of me. I hope that at the very least I’ve left her with some good memories.
“Sir?”
I look up. The flight attendant is beside me.
“Sorry,” I say, unsure how many times she’s tried to get my attention. “I’m a little distracted this morning.”
She nods, smiling. “Our beverage service will begin in about fifteen minutes,” she says, “but in the meantime, I can go ahead and bring you that complimentary drink. What would you like?”
“Coffee, please. Black. And thank you.”
She nods and retreats.
I’ve changed so much, I realize. There was a time when I might have wondered if her smiles and the fact that she was going out of her way to provide extra services to me might indicate that she was flirting. There was a time when I might have flirted back. Even in a situation like this, when there was no real chance of it leading anywhere, I used to enjoy flirting. It was fun and full of possibility. But since Ashley left, it’s like that part of me has been shut down.
Until last night, that is.
Because when I met Kendall, something in me came to life again. Something woke up. Something about her was able to trigger a response in me that I had nearly forgotten about.
Is it possible I’m making a mistake?
As I wrote and rewrote notes to Kendall this morning, crumpling up one after another, I briefly considered leaving behind some means of contacting me. A phone number, or maybe an email address. We do live in the same city, after all. But I quickly decided against it. It was meant to be a one-night encounter. The last thing I wanted was to leave her with some sense that I was expecting more.
But maybe that was the wrong decision. If this woman is capable of making me feel things I haven’t felt in years after just one night together, maybe I should have paid attention to that? Maybe there was actually potential for something serious to develop between us? And I don’t know for a fact that she’d be averse to it. The vibe last night was that we would only be together for a few hours, but it’s not like we actually said it. Could she have wanted more?
It’s not too late. The thought coincides with a bit of turbulence that makes my insides feel momentarily weightless. This is the digital age, after all, and no one is unfindable. I know her name and that she lives in Chicago. It’s not much, but it’s enough to start looking.
I’m sure Kendall’s on social media. I could reach out that way. A friend request isn’t too overbearing. If she’s not interested, she could just ignore it, and no harm done. But if she’s open to more…
The idea is so enticing that I actually reach for my phone, ready to pay the fee for airplane Wi-Fi so I can get started on my search. But something stops me. A memory. A slender hand on my wrist and a delicate laugh. A voice saying “Don’t you ever put that phone down, Chase?”
Ashley.
I shove my phone back into my pocket and close my eyes. Turbulence rocks the plane again, but this time the sudden drop makes me feel vaguely ill. No. I can’t reach out to Kendall. I can’t go through it all again.
Am I ever going to get over what happened? Somehow, I feel sure the answer is no. Even now, when I’ve finally discovered how to feel something for a woman again, it’s not enough to eclipse the memories.
I never thought I’d emerge this damaged from everything that happened between Ashley and me, but after all this time, I’m still not able to shake it off. It’s frankly embarrassing. The rest of my life suddenly seems to stretch before me, bleak and uncertain.
I knew it would be hard. Breakups are always hard, and it wasn’t as if I’d never been through one before. At first I thought the usual remedy would suffice. I would stay at home and sulk in my pajamas for a few days, until one of my friends decided to break me out of my funk. We would go out to a bar, have some drinks, and talk about how I could do better than Ashley. We would scout the girls there and spend the evening flirting with them.
And all of that happened. Sort of. The pajama-sulking part went off without a hitch. My friend Alex gave me a week before he told me enough was enough and that we were going out. But every time I tried to talk to a woman, I felt something stopping me. “You’re still hung up on Ashley,” Alex said. “Push through it. Play through the pain.”
But it wasn’t Ashley. It was something bigger, and a lot closer to home.
When Ashley and I sat in the doctor’s office and received the news that I was infertile and that we would never be able to have children, she was kind to me. She took my hand, squeezed it, and told me she loved me. She told me the two of us would get through this together, that we were strong enough to get through anything.
“This changes nothing,” she said. “I love you, Chase.”
And I believed her. I remember so vividly the relief of that moment, a balm to the raw ache of the news that I would never be a father. I wouldn’t have a child, but Ashley loved me, and suddenly I saw a glimmer of a different kind of future. It was paler than the one I’d once dreamed of, less defined, but it was there. There was still something there.
I do believe Ashley tried. We stayed together for several months after that. But something had changed between us, something that was hard to define. We stopped
having long conversations, focusing instead on talks about what had happened at work or what we were going to have for dinner. And that future, that ray of hope that had appeared to me in the doctor’s office, was never up for discussion. Any time I tried to bring up long-term plans, from moving into a bigger place to getting a dog, Ashley shut down. She didn’t want to talk about it.
In retrospect, I can’t believe it took me so long to figure out why. A future without the possibility of children was too painful for her, and eventually she admitted it.
“I’m sorry, Chase,” she said.
We were sitting in the living room of our apartment, but everything was wrong and off. Instead of sitting beside me on the loveseat, she had taken the armchair where our guests usually sat. I would have assumed the choice was so she would be able to look into my eyes while we spoke, but she wasn’t doing that either. She couldn’t even keep eye contact.
“Sorry for what?” I asked, already knowing deep down that I didn’t want to know.
“This isn’t working. I can’t keep doing this.”
“Can’t keep doing what?” I pressed. I knew what she meant, but maybe—just maybe—I had it wrong.
“I want to be a mother,” she said. “I want to have children, Chase. And I can’t do that with you. We have to end it.”
I was shocked. With the benefit of hindsight, I can see that things had been broken between us for months, but at the time I was caught up in the delusion. I’d wanted so badly to believe that she could still love me.
“You said it didn’t change anything,” I reminded her. “You told me we’d get through it, remember? Were you lying?” A cruel jab, and one I regret now, but the pain in the moment was so sharp.
The Baby Miracle Page 6
