Lovely. So after reminding me that I’m old and will likely remain childless, my mother kicks my fragile self-esteem by sending me the birth announcement for the third child of my ex-husband and his former mistress.
Thanks, Patrice.
I should walk out to meet Simon. I’m sure he’s wondering where I am, but, God, my hands are shaking. I knew they got married. I even knew they had a kid way fewer than nine months after he and I split up. But somehow reading the announcement makes me feel old and sluggish. We got divorced four years ago, and in that time, Logan has gotten married and had three kids. And me? The formerly starry-eyed woman who couldn’t understand why her husband kept pushing off her suggestions to start a family? Well, I rescued a cat from a shelter two years ago, and I’ve been winning awards for copyediting since 2014.
Yea. Pretty sure I don’t come out on top in this scenario.
And yes, Logan’s a dick. He was a dick for cheating on me, and a dick for lying to me, and a dick for a million other reasons.
But he’s also a dick with a family.
And I’m a woman with a shelf of copyediting awards and a one-eyed cat.
I look in the mirror, and I’m unsurprised to see that my eyes are red, my nose is puffy, and tears are threatening to fall. I head them off with a harsh swipe of paper towel, which does nothing to dispel the redness. I abandon that futile mission and apply lip gloss and finger-comb my hair, enough that I look presentable and not like I’ve been crying in a bathroom. Nope. That’s fully allergies. In November. I pull myself together. Dammit, I’m on a date—a really good date—and I can’t let Logan or my mother derail it.
I repeat this pep talk on my way down the long hallway that leads to the seating area. McConnell’s is housed in an old building downtown, and the floors are these tiny black and white tiles. The hallways are narrow and the stairway rails are brass. I’ve always liked it here. I’m a sucker for old, funky buildings. I wind my way past the hostess stand and head for our booth, but when I round the corner, I see Kelli and Simon. He looks to be signing the check, and she’s leaning really far into his personal space. What the hell? I take a few steps forward, just in time to hear, “Here, take my number and text me sometime, so we can hang out.”
It’s official. On my way to the restroom, I must have tripped and fallen into a pit of hell. I know I’m not being rational. I can feel the irrational threading its way through my veins. I’ve been here before. I’ve sat and watched while the man I loved left me for another woman.
And yes, I know Simon is nothing like Logan. Well, rational me knows that, but she’s hiding somewhere in my brain with her eyes shut, fingers in her ears, and blankets over her head. She’s pretty useless right now. Meanwhile, irrational me is losing her damn mind, searching for the nearest exit. All I know is that guys cheat. All I can hear is my mother’s voice in my head chastising me for thinking, even for a minute, that I’d be enough to keep anyone’s attention.
Her voice and my insecurities lead me right out of the restaurant.
