Beach Glass

by Suzan Colon

  “What kind of dating did you mean?” I put on the amethyst earrings that I forgot go so perfectly with this silk teal dress I never get to wear. “The kind where I go out with a stranger and try to tell the story of the Tragic Widowed Mom without ruining the entire evening? Talk about baggage. ‘My husband is dead, bizarre surfing accident, and by the way, hope you like kids.’” I run a brush through my hair a little too hard. “Bethy, I am the dating equivalent of a lap full of ice water.”

  My sister scoffs. “Like you even tried.”

  “My test cases at the playground with the divorced daddies didn’t go too well,” I snap.

  “Two guys!” my sister exclaims. “Okay, so you ran into two idiots who couldn’t handle the story. Not everybody’s going to be that weird, Katy.”

  “Yes, maybe they’ll be weirder. At least with Daniel I’ll know what to expect.”

  “Which is what, exactly?” Bethy shoots back. “Nothing at all?”

  I give her a look heavy with Shut up. “I won’t have to say much. He’ll listen to me. He’ll feel bad for me without making me feel like I’m the most pathetic woman on the planet. And,” I add, to cut off the speech I can see Bethy preparing to make, “then he’ll go home. Same as always. No surprises, which suits me fine.”

  “So you catch up on the last few years, you eat some food, and then you both go to your respective homes. Just like the good ol’ days.” Bethy rolls her eyes. “Katy, this is a total waste of your time.”

  “Do you remember,” I ask Bethy, my words coming out round as I carefully line my lips, “the last time I bothered putting on makeup?”

  “Then it’s a waste of time and lip gloss,” she mutters. “You should put on makeup for yourself, not Daniel. Freakin’ waste case.”

  I burn a level gaze at her in the mirror before going to the closet and holding up two different pairs of high-heeled shoes. “Grey kitten or brown stiletto?”

  “I’m not aiding and abetting this date,” she says, shaking her head stubbornly.

  “It’s not a date,” I insist for the fifth or fiftieth time since I told Bethy, with now justified reluctance, about running into Daniel at the park. As pissed as I’m getting at her and as stressed as I am about running late, I feel a small spark light up again about that meeting. How incredibly random to run into Daniel, even in the same city. Random? It’s almost impossible.

  I used to believe in fate, that everything happened for a reason. Until Carson died. There can be no reason for that. None that I would ever want to know.

  But that would mean my meeting with Daniel wasn’t fate, just a weird twitch of time and place. And maybe I am getting too dressed up and acting like this is a date when it’s so not. It’s just two people who used to be close and who haven’t seen each other in years catching up over dinner.

  Oh God.

  Still holding the two mismatched shoes, I sink into the chair in the corner of my room as a weight lands on my shoulders like a heavy shroud. It’s not that I think Bethany’s right about Daniel. The sudden sadness is the vision of what Daniel and I have become. I said yes to this dinner because I wanted to feel something of my old self and that comforting closeness we shared. I knew I could tell Daniel something bad, something terrible, because that’s what my story is, and he would understand completely, having been through something terrible himself.

  But it’s not going to be that way. He’ll over-sympathize, the way people do. I’ll change the subject quickly to try to get the taint of pity off me. Then he’ll tell me how great his life is and that he’s found somebody else, because that’s what always happens when you break up with someone you thought you were going to be with forever. They get better looking and go to the gym and get an amazing job and do all the things you begged them to do when they were with you, but they do it for their new girlfriend. And they live happily ever after with someone else.

  Or, it will be even worse than that. The closeness I want won’t be there, and Daniel and I will be strangers.

  “Katy?” My sister sees me crying and comes over to me, kneeling in front of the chair. “Katy, what’s wrong?”

  “I just wanted to be with someone who knew me from before all of this happened. I wanted, like, for just a little while,” I whisper, my chin trembling, “to be me again.”

  Bethy’s eyes get bright with tears. “Katy, I’m sorry. I said all that stuff about Daniel because I didn’t want you to get hurt again. But you’re right. Go with him. Who knows?” She tries for a laugh. “He might be fun to hang out with.”

  I shake my head. “No. If I call him now, I can cancel before he gets here.”

  The front doorbell chimes, a sing-songy series of electronic bell tones. Bethy looks at me and smiles. “Too late,” she says. “For once, he’s right on time.”

  I WAS RIGHT. Daniel is a stranger.

  I look at the man sitting across the table from me, and I recognize him, yet I don’t. The Daniel I knew was boyishly cute, all scruff and bed head, jeans and sneakers and T-shirts and that cartoon mouse tattoo. The eternal college kid, a punk rock Peter Pan. And shy, almost completely lacking in confidence.

  This man, this Daniel, is handsome. He’s older, nearly thirty now, but it’s not that he’s aged. He seems more mature. He’s decked out in Varvatos again, the rock world’s version of business attire, but tonight he’s wearing a dusty turquoise pinstriped shirt, a grey velvet blazer, dark grey slacks, and black leather boots. His hair is expertly shaggy, his face clean-shaven. And, I notice, he smells really good, like suede and a hint of some manly cologne.

  Some things are the same. His eyes lift over his menu and meet mine. “Hey pretty Katy,” he says. Just the way he always used to.

  I know I’m supposed to say Hey Darniel, my part of this game, but I can’t bring myself to do it. My smile is tight, and my eyes go quickly to the menu, but not before I miss the disappointment that flickers across Daniel’s face. In a quick save, I ask, “Is there anything here a vegan boy can eat?”

  “My assistant called ahead,” he says, putting his menu aside. “You won’t have to sit through me quizzing the server for ten minutes and asking for all kinds of substitutions.”

  Daniel has an assistant? The last time we sat down to dinner, Daniel was the assistant.

  “You having the steak pizzaiola?” he asks, knowing exactly what I want. “And how about some wine?”

  “Sure.” My eyes run down the wine list, knowing what Carson would choose, and I can almost hear his rich voice pronouncing the exotic names so perfectly. I push the list to Daniel. “You pick.”

  “Mmm, quite a selection,” he says. “Should I use my patented Ouija Board method?”

  I smile as this joke from our past surfaces and gently pushes aside my moments of anguish. “I find that method to be as reliable as any other I’ve seen.”

  “Hey, let the spirits pick the spirits,” Daniel says. He closes his eyes, waves his finger in a small circle, and lets it land where it may on the list. He nods in satisfaction. “Oh, excellent choice.”

  “What is it?”

  He shrugs. “Hell if I know. It’s got a long French name, so it has to be good.”

  I can’t remember the last time I giggled. It feels so nice.

  Daniel shrugs off his jacket, and I see a hint of script on his wrist under the silver band of his watch. “Is that a new tattoo?” I reach over to push the cuff of his shirt back, but he pulls his arm away.

  “Yeah,” he answers, “It’s nothing.”

  I think to tease him about this, ask him if it’s a naked lady. Then it occurs to me that it might be a woman’s name. Another woman.

  A woman he has every right to be with, I think to myself, though I clench my teeth briefly. He never got a tattoo of my name.

  The server returns to take our wine order and to let Daniel know that the chef was informed of his food preferences and of my allergy to avocado.

  The wine turns out not only to be good, but a good idea. It eases the fam
iliar unfamiliarity of being with Daniel again. We have an intimate history, but things have changed for both of us and between us. The catching-up conversation is a sign of that, but a surprisingly pleasant one. Before anything else, and thankfully before asking me about Carson, Daniel wants to hear all about Amanda.

  At first I thought he was being polite, and I’d even mentally put a ban on kid talk at dinner, thinking child-averse Daniel would glaze over. But he brought her up, and his interest seems genuine as he asks how old she is, about the things she says, if she’s walking. He tells me again, with his schmoopie smile, how adorable she is, almost a mirror image of my baby photos.

  When I ask him to fill me in on his life, I hear how much has changed for him, too. He started out by asking for a raise at the recording studio and then a promotion. When he had an idea about a production note, he spoke up. Apparently, the Wailing Walls liked what they heard, and they asked him to produce their ballad “Always.” It became their first number one song. When they asked Daniel to produce their next album, he took the leap and said yes.

  He’s also produced albums for another major band and a crossover country-pop singer who’s gorgeous and notorious for dating people she works with. I feel a twinge of something unpleasant.

  “Working with Delia was really cool,” he says, finishing his story and truffle ravioli. “I got to spend a few months in Eleuthera. Gorgeous island. Ever been?”

  “Not yet,” I say, taking a sip of wine. “Sounds like you travel a lot.”

  “Not really. Most bands want to record in New York.” He grins. “If I travel, Finster hangs out upstate as a therapy dog at this great pit bull rescue organization.”

  “That’s really cool,” I say. “So does your girlfriend travel with you?” Whoa. Where did that come from? I quickly put down my wine glass.

  Daniel’s eyes crinkle with quiet amusement. “Are you trying to ask me if I have a girlfriend, Katy?”

  “No! No, of course not. I mean, I just naturally figured, you know, it’s been a few years. I moved on. You must have, too.”

  The waiter chooses this exact moment to come over and chirp, “How’s everything over here?”

  Daniel smiles. “Fine, thanks.”

  “Can I get you another bottle of wine?”

  “We’re good,” I say.

  “And how was dinner?”

  “Awesome, thank you,” Daniel says, giving me privately wide eyes that say Can you believe? I smirk, stifling a giggle.

  “And would you like to hear what we have for dessert?” the server asks genially.

  “You know what?” Daniel says. “We’re really good for right now, and I promise you, if we need something, you’ll be the first to know.”

  To my credit, I wait until the server is far away before I snort a laugh so unattractive that if I were with anyone but Daniel, I’d be mortified. But because it’s Daniel, the snort only triggers his own guffaw. Both of us say “Server Interruptus” at the same time, another old shared joke.

  Eventually, the laughter fades, but our smiles remain. We gaze at each other in warm appreciation. For a moment, Daniel and I are both exactly the way we always were.

  “WANT TO HEAR some of the tracks I’m producing?” Daniel asks when we’re back in his car, a shiny little red convertible he’s renting. He hooks his iPod up to the dash. “The sound won’t be great through these speakers, but you’ll get the idea.”

  We spend the drive back to Bethy and Ray’s house listening to edgy, melodic rock. It’s big and beautiful, with layers of airy, lacy guitar held steady by solid bass. At the breaks I tell Daniel how good the music is, but sometimes I can’t say anything, I’m so impressed. I just smile at him, and he grins back at me, pleased and proud.

  When we get to the house, Daniel parks, but we sit together as the last song plays out. “There’s more to be done,” he says, turning off his iPod, “but it’s getting there.”

  I shake my head. “Daniel, it’s amazing.”

  “Well, they’re really good.”

  “You’re really good. I always knew you would be.”

  “Thanks, Katy.” If it wasn’t so dark. I think I might see him blushing.

  I might be, too, because we’ve arrived at the odd intersection of how to say goodnight. Or, more appropriately, goodbye.

  “I’ll walk you to the door,” Daniel says, getting out of the car to open my door before I can say he doesn’t have to do either.

  If we walked the few yards from the car to the front porch any slower, we’d be statues. I know Daniel. He’s being quiet and deliberately hanging back because he’s thinking. I hope he’s not going to try to apologize to me for anything. What happened between us seems so trivial now. A birthday party, an argument about engagement. That was a lifetime ago. Carson’s lifetime.

  Slow as we are, we do eventually reach the front door. “Well, here we are,” I say.

  “Here we are,” Daniel echoes, though he says it with happy wonder. His smile is sweet. “I still can’t believe it.”

  The way he’s looking at me reminds me of the moment right before our first kiss. It was as though he was gazing at some quiet miracle. Like he couldn’t believe his good luck, but the good luck was staring him in the face. Just as I am now. My heart trembles at this familiar feeling, and my cheeks flush.

  “I should go,” I whisper. “It was good to see you, Daniel.”

  He reaches forward, his hands gently holding my bare arms to stop me. “It is good to see you, Katy. I’ve been wishing for this for years.”

  I stop, the feeling of his warm touch sending a shimmer up my arms, and his big hands move down to take mine.

  “I wanted to talk to you so many times,” he says. “There were so many things I wanted to share with you, things only you would have understood. Something amazing would happen, and I’d go to pick up the phone to call you, because you were the first person I’d want to tell.” His shoulders hitch in a small shrug. “Without you, nothing was ever as good.”

  My throat goes dry, knowing exactly how he feels. Whenever I heard a song we loved, Daniel floated back to my mind, and I’d remember what we were doing when we heard it. Taking a drive, making love on a rainy morning. And I’d wanted to tell Daniel about writing my book. Carson was thrilled for me, but success came easily to him. Daniel knew of every struggling step I’d taken to get to that mountain, and he’d walked with me almost all the way. Reaching that pinnacle without him was bittersweet. And then, when I fell, he wasn’t there to catch me.

  “Katy,” Daniel says, “You asked me something before. Sort of.” He smiles gently. “You wanted to know if I’m with anyone.” He squeezes my hands before letting go of them, and he takes off his watch and pushes up his sleeve. Then he shows me his inner arm, toned and sinewy with muscle.

  On his wrist, the letter K is tattooed in large, bold script. Under that, the length of his forearm, is a single word. Always.

  My fingers move to touch the looping swirls of the words, feeling Daniel’s smooth skin beneath my fingertips. He draws nearer. And suddenly, I pull my hand back.

  “That’s very nice,” I say crisply. “So you got a tattoo of my initial and a Wailing Walls song title. Is that supposed to mean something?”

  “Yeah, it is,” Daniel states, pushing his sleeve down. “First of all, the Walls wrote that song after I got the tattoo and told them about you. That song is about us, Katy. And second, it means there’s no one else for me but you.”

  I fold my arms. “You’re telling me you haven’t dated at all since we broke up.”

  “I have. Well, I tried.” Daniel shrugs. “It never worked out.”

  “Same old Daniel,” I scoff, “still afraid of marriage and children.”

  He looks at me with quiet exasperation. “No, Katy. Same old Daniel, still in love with you. And I’m not afraid of anything anymore.”

  The anger warming inside me crystallizes. Before this, Daniel’s biggest demonstration of love was letting me go. Why couldn�
��t he man up and show me something that mattered back then? Where was all this brave love when it would have been easy to accept? I don’t have the time or energy to test out Daniel’s new realizations about love and life. Being both parents for Amanda takes everything I have. He’s trying to get me to believe in him again, and I can’t. I can’t believe in people who always leave, or fate, or birthday wishes.

  “It’s getting late, Daniel,” I mutter. “And it’s too late for us.”

  My hand reaches for the door, but Daniel steps in front of me, and I walk right into him. His second of being startled is over quickly, and his arms automatically circle me like they’re meant to be there. Like so many times before, his face, handsome and looking at me with such sweetness, is close to mine.

  “Katy, just listen to me,” he begins, in a way that makes me stop struggling. “I’m sorry for the reason we’re here like this. I never, ever would’ve wished Carson any harm, and I can’t tell you how it makes me feel to think of you going through that loss. I’m sorry, Katy. I truly am.”

  At the sincerity in his words, I soften in his embrace, my hands resting on his strong arms. “I believe you.”

  “I don’t know why things happen the way they do,” Daniel says. “But here we are, Katy. Look at us. Somehow, you and I ended up in the same city. You took your daughter to play in that sandbox. I took a walk in one direction and not another. You could’ve left five minutes earlier, or the band might have wanted to keep going. But none of that happened, Katy.” His gentle smile is back. “We happened.”

  I’m mesmerized by what he’s saying, staying still enough for Daniel to put a hand to the side of my face softly, caressing my cheek. “I’ve had two years to think about what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, Katy. But I realized that nothing I could ever say would convince you that I’ve changed. It’s what I’d do. I wanted to become the man you always told me I could be. Everything I’ve done has been because of you, Katy, and for you,” he insists. “I wanted to earn your belief in me.”