If You Must Know (Potomac Point #1)(82)

Lexi shook her head as she threw the car into park. “You are so weird.”

“Thank you!” I opened the door and got out.

The Lamplight took its name seriously, with oil lanterns twinkling outside and in. My parents used to come here on dates to listen to live music. Mom would put on one of her fancier dresses, her hair done up, lipstick glossy and perfectly applied. I’d catch my dad patting her butt on their way to the car, and she’d half-heartedly shoo his hand away while flashing a flattered smile.

That sudden memory made me ache for yesteryear. For the chance to have done some things differently, and for another dozen years’ worth of hugs from my dad.

The Lamplight seemed like the only thing that hadn’t changed in the intervening years. Deep grooves marred its wood floors. High-backed red-vinyl-cushioned booths flanked the walls, creating little hideaways. A dozen or more café tables, all chipped and sticky because the waitresses couldn’t keep up with the spilled beer and barbecue sauce, were scattered around the open space. Some nights they pushed those tables aside to make room for a dance floor, but on open-mic night they positioned them here, there, and everywhere to give the illusion of a full house.

Max and I had hung out here from time to time early in our relationship, when he still got amped about music. Those had been exciting days, when we’d happily discussed everything and anything to learn as much about each other as possible. He’d been quick to laugh and high on his own dreams until he butted up against rejection.

Some nights I wondered where it all went wrong, and whether his attitude hadn’t been the only problem in our relationship. Had my disjointed lifestyle caused Max to lose his way? Had I expected to rise with his balloon and, when that didn’t happen, popped it so he fell back to earth with me? Those answers eluded me, but one truth was clear: he and I hadn’t brought out the best in each other.

In truth, I didn’t even know what my best was—an uncomfortable confession to make so close to my thirtieth. Even recently I’d gotten swept up into our family drama instead of focusing on making those big changes I’d vowed to make. But perhaps that was fate’s way of showing me that my best required help from people whose skills complemented mine.

“So we down with a bucket of Bud and some wings?” Lexi asked while scanning the room, presumably searching for Tony.

“Yep. Go give your honey a good-luck kiss. I’ll grab us a table and place the order.” I waved her off, nabbed a small table near the front, and flagged a waitress. My once-over of the room didn’t reveal Eli. Bummer.

Lexi returned before the food and beer arrived. Then the lights dimmed, and the first musician—a fiftysomething soloist with a growly voice—strummed his guitar.

He wasn’t half-bad, but the three beers I’d sucked down in forty minutes made me an easy audience. His average music gave me an excuse to zone out. My thoughts kept wandering to my mother and Amanda, and whether things would get better or worse for us. For the first time, I understood what it meant to be “in a funk.” I wished I could shake it off like Mo did bathwater. This malaise wasn’t as crippling as the grief I’d experienced a year ago, but I felt like a bird caught in an oil spill, gummed up and losing buoyancy.

During the dead zone between Growly’s set and Tony’s, I excused myself to use the restroom. On my return, movement in the back booth caught my eye. Granted, the dark corner made it difficult to see, but something about the man seated there made my body hum to life. When he looked up, my responding smile hurt my cheeks.

I waved before it occurred to me that Eli had chosen that particular booth to avoid people—maybe even to avoid me. Now he looked a bit like a cat burglar in a spotlight. Tapping into newfound maturity and empathy, I offered a friendly nod and began turning toward my own table, but then he waved me over.

A glance at Lexi showed that Tony and his two bandmates setting up had her full attention. She wouldn’t miss me for a while.

Eli studied me as I approached, making me self-conscious. I didn’t know what I hoped to gain by the “chance” run-in. From the first time we’d met, something about him had tugged at my chest, and my efforts to resist that pull were failing.

I slid onto the bench opposite him, determined to play it cool.

If my dad were here, he’d tell me to be myself so that, whatever happened, I wouldn’t have regrets. That advice had never been hard to follow, yet Eli was like a new world that I didn’t know how to navigate. A world with one rule: don’t discuss Karen. I repeated that in my head a few times to make it stick.

Then I promptly went with the most honest thing I could say. “I kinda hoped to see you here tonight.”

“Is that why you came?” He sat back, hiding his hands beneath the table, gaze searching mine.

“Not entirely. My friend Lexi”—I hooked a thumb over my shoulder in her direction—“asked me to come support her boyfriend, the guy setting up now. Did you come alone?”

“I did.”

Good. “You don’t seem shocked to see me.”

“I’m not.”

I teased, “Is that why you came?”

“Not entirely.” He raised one shoulder with a slight tip of his head, grinning. “I like open-mic nights. You never know when you might hear someone with talent and original material.”

He straightened his shoulders, fidgeting a bit in his seat. His apparent nerves made me feel less like a freak.