The Night Before(15)

We make awkward small talk. It’s actually painful, reminding me of the distance we will have to travel to be more than strangers. And then I’m reminded of how desperately I need to make that journey, with someone, anyone. And it all feels hopeless.

Maybe it’s just Adele. Damn it, Adele, what will it take to make you happy? I hit the search button to silence her.

“You said you just moved back here,” he says.

“Uh-huh.”

“From the city?”

I already told him this on the phone.

“Uh-huh.” I know this is immature. This is old me talking, and new me tells her to shut the hell up along with Adele and her desperation coming through the radio and make nice conversation. I tell myself I can make that long journey if I just follow the instructions, the rules, one at a time, starting with a normal answer to his question.

“I was a research analyst. Tired of going to the office. I can do what I did at home, and there’s a market for independent research now.”

He pretends to be interested.

“I follow one industry—chemicals—and the companies in it. But also other industries that impact that one, and the economy and trade policy and currencies.… God, I’m boring you, aren’t I?”

“No, not at all. I mean, I do similar work looking at investments,” he says. “I used to commute into the city. But my firm opened an office here, so it made more sense, you know, when I was married and we thought we’d have a family.”

“And now you’re stuck here? They won’t let you transfer back to the city?” That’s an obvious question, right? This is not easy for me.

“I hadn’t thought about it. Just trying to get back on my feet, you know?”

I nod, look sympathetic. But, really, he’s been divorced for over a year. No kids. I wonder if he’s still in love with his wife. His ex-wife.

“Your sister still lives here—it’s not so bad,” he says.

“Rosie could be happy anywhere,” I quip. Rosie was happy with Joe because we grew up together and, well, he’s Joe. She was happy to follow him to UConn. Happy to come back and be an administrative assistant (aka secretary) and help pay for his law degree. Now happy to be home with Mason. She’s been this way all of our lives.

Sometimes I wish I were Rosie. I wish I had her magic potion for being happy.

I wish there was a recipe for it. But then again, I would be the one person to measure wrong.

Jonathan Fields makes a left and eventually we go under the bridges for the train and the highway. Now we have to turn left again to get back to Schaffer, where we started. We’ve just driven in a large rectangle. But I say nothing. He’s not driving like he knows his way around—like he’s lived downtown for a year. He’s driving like he just moved here.

We park on the street four blocks from the string of bars and restaurants that abut the apartments along the water. It’s an inlet from the Long Island Sound, so not exactly the ocean. More like a river. But there are boats and sunsets and all of that. The smell of the ocean. The sound of the waves. And it’s as far away from the part of town where people like my sister live, so it attracts the young, single crowd.

And every divorced dad in the county looking to get laid. Maybe it’s a good thing he doesn’t know the fastest way here. Maybe if he did, I would worry more.

Jonathan Fields wears dark tailored jeans and a loose button-down shirt tucked in with a belt. Loafers. Dress socks. Two buttons are undone at the top of the shirt, just enough to reveal a small tuft of chest hair. No jewelry. Thank God.

I am a fan of chest hair. It’s masculine. Manly. I don’t understand all the waxing and laser removal. I like manly men. It makes me feel that it’s safe to lay down my sword and shield—that I won’t get ambushed in the night because someone else is watching the perimeter. It’s nice to be part of an army, even if it’s a small one.

Asshole had chest hair. I used to weave my fingers through it. And suddenly I miss him more than I can bear. I think his name, his real name, and feel his embrace. I feel his skin against my skin, arms and legs weaving, torsos locked together. Warm breath on my neck as his mouth finds its way to mine. A deep kiss. A sigh.

He said the words as we lay still. I love you.

And I believed him. For once, I let myself believe.

I got it wrong. It won’t happen again.

And now … I have to start over, make another long journey from strangers to lovers. I’m so tired and we haven’t even begun, Jonathan Fields.

He pulls the key out of the ignition and looks at me with a smile. He says something corny like Shall we? and my brain feels like a circuit’s been tripped by the conflicting information. The car. The Shall we? But then the jeans and the chest hair. I feel confused, so I smile and open the car door. I need air.

“Where should we go?” I ask. I haven’t actually eaten here before. I come here with Rosie and Mason to watch the boats. There’s a huge playground and it’s a long drive from her house—all the makings of an outing. And Rosie loves her outings. I feel a surge of warmth wash over me as I think about Rosie and Mason and Joe, and my work and the future. There is so much that is good.

I hear Mason call my name. Lala!

I hear Rosie in my head. You don’t need a man.

And I think, as I watch Jonathan Fields walk, But I want one.