“See you on Saturday, then.”
He nods, doesn’t add anything. If he had, I probably would’ve deserved it – but right now all I care about is this damn event. I need to show everyone I can do it; that I can move on. That no one can hurt me.
Not even them. Not even him.
“All good?” I ask, not convinced yet that he’s really agreed to do this.
The last thing I want to do is show up on my own.
“Saturday at six. Black suit and tie. White shirt.”
I sigh in relief and say goodbye, turning back towards the restaurant, ready to finish another long day but not at all ready to face the weekend.
4Sean
Ilook at myself in the mirror as I straighten the stupid collar of this stupid white shirt so that I can sort out my stupid black tie, as requested by my date for this evening.
As if I needed to be told how to dress – as if I’m incapable of going to a formal dinner. As if I haven’t done it a thousand times already for faculty events.
I’m a professor: I know how to carry myself, although never arrogantly so. I’m polite and kind – I don’t need to be taught what to do or what to wear. He could’ve saved his breath; if he’d spent even a few minutes talking to me, instead of snapping, he’d have known that. If he’d maybe asked me some questions about myself, taken the time to get to know me – if he’d done so over the years we’ve spent avoiding each other – then he’d know who he was dealing with.
I sigh and glance back down at my watch. Eric is fifteen minutes late. Maybe he’s changed his mind, or the dinner’s been cancelled and he’s forgotten to tell me.
I should never have got involved. It’s not something I agree with: fiction, lies, a man I don’t like but have to spend an entire evening with.
The problem is that I’m incapable of saying no – not to friends, family, even colleagues. Least of all to Jake. We’re childhood friends; we lived in the same neighbourhood and went to the same schools. I even had a little crush on him back then, which I still feel a little ashamed about even now. But he never made me feel silly or wrong. He didn’t leave my side even for a single day – not even when I tried to kiss him, out of nowhere, in my room, while we were sitting on my bed. But this is a story I can’t think about right now.
I grab my phone and decide to send my friend a message to see whether he knows of any changes to the plan. But just as I’m about to hit ‘send’, my phone buzzes with a new message.
I’m downstairs.
I know the number – I saved it to my phone yesterday when he texted to ask for my address.
I slip my phone into my pocket and grab the jacket from my bed. He didn’t even bother to get out of his car; he doesn’t deserve a response.
I grab my keys and leave my apartment, heading down the stairs and opening the door onto the street. I step outside and look around. I don’t know what kind of car he has, so I have to look around at all the cars parked along the road. When I spot his silhouette, I take a deep breath and approach the car. I open the passenger door and slip inside. Eric pulls away almost before I’ve even got the door closed; I strap quickly in and hang onto the handle above my head. From what I can see, his driving is a little too extreme for my taste.
We sit in total silence for the first few minutes of the drive. Eric hasn’t said hello to me or even looked in my direction, and I haven’t, either.
I don’t know how to act; whether to be polite as always or to give him a taste of his own medicine.
I don’t like the idea of him thinking I’m a dick, so I opt for option one. I clear my throat and attempt some sort of civil conversation – there’s no reason we can’t be friendly with each other.
“Where is this dinner?”
“Somewhere on the other side of town.”
“Somewhere… Like a restaurant?”
He nods and changes gear. He still hasn’t even looked at me. He’s rigid, his hands grappling onto the steering wheel with more force than necessary. His features are tense, his eyes narrowed in focus on the road ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he were gritting his teeth, too.
In the car, the silence is interrupted only by the sounds of the city centre as we drive away, by the horns of passing cars and the screech of tyres on the tarmac.
I try to relax, taking deep slow breaths and letting his delicious and slightly seductive scent seep into my nostrils, and to leave me with a strange sense of nostalgia and sadness – something which has nothing to do with me, with this evening or our strange encounter. It’s something we don’t share but which, for some unknown reason, has imprinted itself onto my skin as if it belonged to me.
“Maybe it’s best if we lay out some ground rules before we get there.”
His hard voice interrupts my thoughts.
