The Words We Leave Unspoken(68)

The members of our table are all on the dance floor, all except for Marcus who claims that he doesn’t dance. A band is playing an eighties remix, too loud for Marcus and I to indulge in conversation. The majority of the crowd appears to be in their thirties, rather than the twentysomethings from my table. Receding hairlines, tailored suits, designer dresses with red-soled shoes – a dead giveaway. In a quiet pause between songs Marcus leans over and asks if I’m having fun.

I shrug as the band starts up again.

Marcus leans in closer and yells in my ear, “Not really my scene either.”

I smile and turn my face closer to his and say, “It makes me feel old.” Even though I’m younger and more unattached than most of the people on the dance floor, I can’t seem to muster enough energy to join them.

“I know what you mean,” he mouths.

Marcus is attractive with smooth dark skin, strong, defined cheekbones and straight black hair, not to mention that he’s dressed to kill. He doesn’t look a day over twenty-five but I laugh anyway.

I focus my attention back to the dance floor as I finish my drink, pick up the drink stick from my empty glass and pull the olives off one at a time with my teeth. I glance over my shoulder in search of our waitress when I see him.

Grey.

He’s sitting alone at a table nearby and staring right at me. I nearly choke on my own breath as our eyes lock. He doesn’t turn away. I have not laid eyes on him since before Christmas and now, seeing him just a few feet away gives me an actual physical pain in my chest. He’s wearing a bright blue dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair is glistening with product and his dark eyes are piercing, so beautiful I am instantly lost in a sea of Grey.

It’s as if a veil has been lifted, a veil of the past that I allowed to color every part of my life and now I finally see everything more clearly. I see him.

Just then, Michelle bounds into my line of sight, breaking the trance.

“Whew, it’s getting hot in here,” she yells over the music as she plops down in the booth beside me. I manage a small smile and watch her guzzle down her fruity drink, but my mind is on something else, someone else.

I feel like I need to do something, say something. I want Grey to know how I feel but I don’t know how to do this sort of thing. I can’t just blurt it out. I can’t just walk over there and pick up where we left off. And what if he rejects me? What if I’m too late?

I reach into my small clutch purse beside me, push around the lipstick and breath mints until I feel my phone in my hand. I pull it out, holding it in my lap under the table and type a short text to Grey. It is the only thing that I can think of in the moment. The only thing I am comfortable saying right now. I can only hope that it’s enough.

My favorite color is blue.

A minute goes by, maybe two, before I turn to glance his way when there is no response. I suck in a breath as I watch a tall, long-legged blonde sit down at his table. He pulls her chair closer and places his arm around her back as she nestles into his side and whispers something into his ear. I watch as he tips his head back a bit and laughs. The knife finally hits its mark when I see him turn his face to hers and gently kiss her lips. My face burns like fire and my heart breaks apart. I allowed myself to feel something for a brief moment and already the vulnerability has exposed me, let the enemy breach the fortress of my heart. How could I have been so stupid?

The club feels too small, too crowded. The beat of the music is pounding in my ears, too loud.

I grab my purse and slide out of the booth, leaning in and telling Michelle that I’m not feeling well. I race to the door, pushing through the crowd quickly until I feel the cool night on my skin. I gasp for air as if I couldn’t breathe while inside. My chest feels like a raw piece of meat, filleted and bleeding. The cold wind licks at my bare skin and the light drizzle wets my face. I hear Michelle beside me, saying my name.

“You okay?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I think I’m gonna to call it a night.”

“Are you sure? It’s only eleven o’clock.” Michelle’s eyebrows are pulled in, lines creasing the skin between them.

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ll grab a cab.”

“Well, happy New Year.” She leans in and gives me a swift hug.

I hug her back, wincing from the pain of brief contact as if my ribs are bruised and say, “Thanks for the invite.”

“Thanks for coming. Goodnight girl,” she says and then disappears through the door and into the sea of bodies inside.

Two yellow cabs are parked along the curb in wait. I walk to the nearest one, pull the car door open and slide into the backseat.

“Where to, miss?” the cabbie asks with a strong Middle Eastern accent, his dark eyes and bushy eyebrows appear in the rearview mirror as he waits for my destination.

I rattle off my address, complete with the nearest cross street.

The cab pulls away from the curb and darts into traffic. I release a heavy breath of relief and fight the stinging tears that threaten to exist.

Twenty minutes later, as we zoom down the main drag along Green Lake, I watch swarms of people gather outside pubs and restaurants. I see crowds of people pouring into the small mid-century homes in the neighborhood, all anxiously waiting to ring in the New Year. I feel hollow inside as the realization that I’ll be alone at the stroke of midnight settles in. I regret leaving the club so suddenly. The old me would have shrugged off the threatening scene and buried myself in another man’s arms with a vengeance. There were plenty of appealing offers that I had politely declined. But as the vision of Grey’s mouth on the blonde’s perfectly painted lips flashes through my mind, a dull ache settles into my gut and I know that I made the right decision. The cab pulls up outside my bungalow. I slip a twenty-dollar bill to the driver and exit the car. My usually quiet street is filled with voices and music echoing from nearby house parties. I unlock my front door, step inside and slip off my shoes. I melt into the sofa and let the night wash off me with a sigh. Turning on the television to drown out the quiet, I find the New Year’s Eve special in Times Square, the countdown showing thirty minutes until the drop of the ball.