“Uh-huh. Does this ghost of Christmas past have a name?” And why do I give a flying fuck is the better question, but she’s going to drag this out until I end the call. “Don’t you have friends to go out with tonight? You always do.” I add that in for effect, but she doesn’t react.
“Your ex-boyfriend, that’s who. Doctor Gerald Prescott. And he’s still tall, dark, and handsome.” Now, that surprises me. That’s the last thing I expected to hear from my mother’s mouth, and it’s a name I haven’t thought about in a long time, but four years ago, he was a big part of my life. “Oh, Vickie, you should see him.”
“Why did he come see you?” I ask her.
“Why do you think?” she whispers and giggles like an excited schoolgirl. “Men don’t get over the women in my family.” I don’t remind her how untrue that is. Dad got over her and moved on. She’s the one who’s never fully moved on from him, despite being the one who walked out of the marriage.
“Did he ask you out on a date?” I ask, pretending not to know what she means.
She lets out a long, exaggerated sigh. “Stop playing dumb. He’s looking for you. Asked me for your phone number, but I told him I’d have to ask you first.” I furrow my brows. What she’s saying makes absolutely zero sense.
“Mother, I’ve had the same number since I got my first cell phone at twelve. Why would he need to track you down and ask you for it?”
“I made that same point, but he says he thought you had changed your number because he can’t get in touch with you.”
I let out a groan and wish I never bothered to pick up the phone. Four more minutes until my car gets here. Now that I think about it, I know why he can’t get in touch with me.
“I remember now. I blocked him.” It happened about a year after he left.
The relationship ended when he was accepted into a residency program, and I refused to go to Kentucky with him. I was a senior in college, and he was in his last year of medical school. He had spent a good chunk of his senior year traveling for residency interviews, and he found out he was accepted into Kentucky in the spring, the same week I was hired for my first job. After telling him I wouldn’t be moving with him, he gave me an ultimatum. I called his bluff.
“Well, he’s back and even more handsome than before.”
“He had his one chance, Mother.”
She scoffs. “He’s a doctor, Vickie. And you both were so young. Maybe the separation was a good thing. You two are older and wiser now. So, where are you going tonight?”
Relieved by the change of subject, I give her the name of the midtown restaurant quickly followed by, “My car’s pulling up. I’ll call you later.” Anxious to get off the phone, I tell her goodnight.
* * *
The ice cubein his red wine should have been my first clue, but like the lady that I am, I smile and pick up my own glass. It’s a noisy Friday night at The Smith, a midtown restaurant.
My date, Draymond, a man who looks ten years older and fifty pounds heavier than his online dating profile picture, adjusts himself in the seat for the fiftieth time. He clears his throat, looks at my breasts, and licks his lips.
“You’re a very attractive girl, Victoria.” I cringe, but I force a smile if only to hear what he has to say next. I’ve always had strong intuition, and I have the feeling that there’s a but coming. “But do you need all that makeup?” I don’t answer. I stare and raise both eyebrows and wait. “Pretty girls don’t need all that stuff.” He waves his hand around as if that would erase all the ‘stuff’ he disapproves of.
“Woman.”
“What?” He sips the wine, makes a face, and puts it down. He looks around the place, and I tell myself that if he asks for more ice, I will walk out of here right now.
“You called me a girl twice. I’m a woman. Haven’t been a girl in a long time.” His eyes return to my breasts, and he bites his bottom lip.
“Woman indeed.” He says it so low that I barely hear it. He licks his lips and I resist the urge to gag. I pick up my wineglass and finish my drink before looking around the restaurant, packed with people having fun on a Friday night. I sigh in defeat. That won’t be me tonight. At least not with this guy. “You know you don’t have to do all of this for me.” He gestures toward me.
“What do you mean by all of this?” I already know based on what he just said about my makeup, but I want to hear it from him.
“The makeup. The nail polish and the too tight shirt. I like my women simpler, more natural. There’s a passage in Proverbs that says, ‘Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.’
That was way more than I was expecting, but it always amazes me when scripture is quoted to control women. I flag the waiter and request another glass of wine. I’d take something stronger, but I need a clear head.
“But what if I like the makeup, nail polish, and too tight top? What if this,” I gesture to myself the same way he just did a few minutes ago, “is about me and not anyone else?” Least of all you, you classless idiot. I bite my tongue. Unnecessary meanness is not one of my traits.
He leans back in his chair and one of the buttons on his shirt pops. I want to point out that I’m not the one in the tight shirt, but my wine arrives, and I focus on that. He sighs dramatically.
“Don’t do that. Don’t be one of those. Youwomen,” he emphasizes the word, probably because I just called him out on it, “you do all of this to get a man’s attention and nobody can convince me otherwise. But that’s okay, Victoria Taylor. You have my full attention.” He pulls his body closer to the table. “And I do like what I see.” He raises himself and tries to look down my shirt. Idiot. It’s sexy, but it has a high neck and there’s nothing to look down.
The waiter returns, and I order a bone-in ribeye and a side of potatoes. I’ll pay for this in the morning when I meet my personal trainer for the first time in six months, but for tonight, I’ll indulge, already thinking of the dessert I’m going to get to go. A nice slice of lemon cake with extra whipped cream.
