I look around the apartment as I listen to him drone. Sistine does have a point. This is not the living space of someone with a successful company. Most of the time, he looks like he just wandered out of a used video game store, not a boardroom. Maybe it is all a lie. Maybe he even believes it.
As we eat dinner, I have another beer and limit myself to one taco so my stomach isn’t too full. He continues to talk about himself, and for the first time, I notice he never asks about me. I know I’ve told him about Nana and her health problems, but not once has he expressed any interest in how she’s doing, or how things are going at the store.
After dinner, we go to the bedroom and put on a movie, but don’t watch it. When he kisses me, he still tastes like stale beer, and his hands are so clumsy trying to get my clothes off that I almost leave. I feel like I’m going through the motions and, if I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to be here. I don’t know why I stay.
Once it’s over I put on my clothes, get my purse, and he walks me to the door.
“Thank you for driving up here, babe. It was so great to see you again.”
“Yeah. Take care, Garrett.”
He kisses me and I walk away.
He has no awareness of how disconnected I’ve been throughout this entire evening. He doesn’t care either way. I normally feel exhilarated and giddy when I leave him, but tonight I only feel sadness—partly for him, but mostly for myself.
This is not what I want.
Maybe I do deserve better.
RHODES
Ithink about going to Cattywampus, but I feel weird being the lone guy at the bar, especially in a place where everyone knows everyone else. So, after spending a lonely night in my hotel room eating Big Ol’ Butts BBQ take-out again, I drive back to Birmingham at the crack of dawn.
I keep obsessing over whether Micah had a date last night. It was probably with someone younger who is closer to where she is in life. Someone without gray hair or a son in grad school. Someone who could give her a future with kids, PTA meetings, the whole nine yards.
Once I get to my loft, I text my son to check in, then dig Micah’s number out of my bag. I program it into my phone, then type her a message.
Hi Micah, it’s Rhodes. I made it home to Bham. I hope you have fun plans for the holiday weekend. Let me know if you want to meet up next time I’m in Magnolia Row.
It’s Labor Day weekend. The city should be relatively quiet, with most people going to the beach or lake houses to celebrate before the funky fall weather sets in.
I sit on the cold leather couch without turning on the television and stare at my phone. I’d forgotten how insecure dating makes a person.
Finally, my phone dings. It’s my son. He assures me he’s doing well and doesn’t need anything. He’s going to Lake Martin for the weekend with some of his friends from undergrad, and agrees to meet me for dinner on Monday on his way back through town.
I leave the phone on the coffee table and unpack my bag. I’m starting a load of laundry when I hear another message come through. Like a schoolboy with a crush, I drop what I’m doing and run to check it. I get butterflies when I see Micah’s name.
Hey! I forgot it was a holiday weekend! No plans yet, but I’ll see what my girlfriends are up to. Glad you made it back home okay. And yes, let me know next time you’re in town. I’d love to do dinner or something.
Part of me wants to be nosy and ask her how last night went, but the other part of me doesn’t want to know. At least she mentioned hanging out with her girlfriends specifically, which tells me she doesn’t have plans with whoever my competition may be.
And—the best part—she wants to see me again.
I respond that I’ll let her know as soon as I make plans to head back her way.
Once I finish getting my laundry going, I make a grocery list, head to the store, and come home with enough food to ensure I won’t have to leave until it’s time to meet my son for dinner on Monday. I settle on the couch, turn on college football, grab my briefcase, and dig out the photo album from the museum in Magnolia Row.
I’m flipping through the pages, examining each photo meticulously to make sure I haven’t missed anything, when something in a photo of the lobby catches my eye. Right above the fountain in the lobby is an elegant line of crystals hanging from the ceiling. If I had to guess, it’s the bottom section of a massive chandelier that once graced the thirty-foot space in the entry.
I take a picture of it and text Micah, asking if she knows what happened to it. She responds quickly, saying she doesn’t but her grandmother can check into it. I thank her, then settle back into a quiet weekend alone.
* * *
Monday night finally rolls around after a lonely weekend and I’m meeting my son at Tasty Town for dinner. He looks good, not too stressed yet, though it is only his first semester of law school. We order hummus and entrees and he tells me about his professors, trying to develop new study habits to keep up, and his anxieties about moot court.
“What about you, Dad? The new firm going well?”
I tell him about Magnolia Row, the hotel, and even Micah and her grandmother. He’s smiling the whole time I’m talking.
