Rose
One down, one to go, I head to the bar for my second glass of Pinot, leaving Des deep in conversation with three other pregnant women. This single chick does not care about who has great prices on cribs, under any circumstance, and this one in particular, my first encounter with him. I wish Connor would show himself already so that I can finally get it over and done with, live through it, and say to myself, look, you survived.
I spy a set of glass doors at the far end of the room and wonder if it leads to a terrace or some kind of outdoor space to hang out. I need to be out of this room badly. Even if it smells like dead fish out there. Stopping for several quick hellos and hugs from people I have not seen in years, I quickly extricate myself with one goal in mind, fresh air and okay, maybe a second goal, knocking off this second full glass of wine. As I push the door open, I’m greeted by the fetid smelling, humid air, but even the gross fishy odor is a relief from being a captive of my own anxiety in a crowded room. The terrace on the other side of the door is immense, with large, irregularly cut slate flooring, bordered by waist-high, light-colored, rough stone walls. At the far end are two couples talking, but the rest of the space is totally empty. I walk toward a shadowed area, as far away from the couples as I possibly can get.
Leaning up against the stone, I sip my wine and take in the moon’s extremely bright halo. It was nice to see Josh looking happy to see a pregnant Des. Whatever bad blood that had trailed between them seemed to dissipate almost immediately, and I could feel the warmth from both their hearts, leaving behind a treasure chest filled with great memories.
I don’t expect the same positive closure tonight with Connor. Ghosting me after over six years together takes a special kind of creep. The lack of respect, hell, the lack of balls, as he was not even man enough to tell me it was over. Who does that?
And now, I just want to run into him and get it over with. Seeing him, and all the emotional baggage that brings, has got my stomach in knots and my stress level as high as that moon is in the sky.
“Quite a moon dog.” I’m snapped out of my reverie by a voice I haven’t heard, not even in my own head, for a very long time.
“I was just admiring it.” I can’t remember the last time someone called a lunar halo a moon dog, at least, not since we were kids. “Guess you’re back from Thailand, huh?” I continue to stare at the moon because I can’t bring myself to look at him yet.
When he doesn’t answer, I cave as the nervous need to fill the silence becomes the victor. “I always wondered if our paths crossed again if I would have a Marion Ravenwood reaction, you know, when she sees Indiana Jones for the first time again and decks him.”
“You want to punch me?” he asks.
I turn and gaze at him for the first time, his profile illuminated in the moonlight. He looks good, much to my chagrin. I wanted him to be bald… and bloated.
“No, you’re not worth it.” I shrug.
Turning to face me, I watch as he takes me in, and I hope my hair isn’t doing funky things in the dank night air. I look fabulous, I tell myself, delivering a jolt of confidence boo
st to an ego I once let this man destroy.
No more. I took that power back. It’s mine now. And you don’t get it again.
“I deserve that.”
“Actually, you don’t deserve anything.” My words come out harsher than I’m feeling, which surprisingly is now bordering on numb.
“You’re right. I was a shitty boyfriend. I shouldn’t have done to you what I did.”
Taking a sip of my wine, I can feel my eyes rolling as if they have a mind of their own. “A few years down the road here, and I’m glad you did what you did, and that I didn’t waste any more of my life on you.”
“I wouldn’t call what we had a waste, Rose.”
“Oh no? What would you call it?” Crap, I’m at the bottom of my wine glass.
“It was good. You were my first love.” He smiles at me.
“Nice way to treat people you love.” I take a non-existent sip from my now empty drink. “So, what was it? You just didn’t have the balls to tell me that you were involved with her.”
Shrugging, he looks back up at the moon, its light reflecting off the strands of his perfectly cut light-brown hair. “Something like that. I knew you disliked her, and you’d go off on me.”
“So, you just wussed out.” It wasn’t a question. It was the answer. “Well, you know what, you both got what you deserved, and I know what I deserve, and it’s a man who respects me and has the maturity to communicate, even when times get tough.” Good riddance!
I’m immediately distracted, glancing over Connor’s shoulder at the guy approaching us in this isolated corner of the terrace. He’s big, 6’2”, 6’3” tall and built, in dark, skinny jeans and a black V-neck shirt, he’s much more casually dressed than the other men here.
As he nears, I recognize him and can’t help but smile.
By far, the most successful graduate of our class was something of a derelict all through high school. He wasn’t very interested in attending class, maybe the one exception, was art class. This guy could draw and when he sporadically showed up, he was always engrossed in whatever it was he was sketching. He sat behind me in 10th grade geometry and made me more than a little uncomfortable.
With each step, I can see his smile grow wider and it is magnificent. As he reaches us, he extends his arm, tipping a wine glass toward me to take.
“Sorry, babe. They were all out of the Pinot, so I got you the Sauvignon Blanc. I know you enjoy that more than Chardonnay.”