This Is Not How It Ends(8)

“How are your classes?” he asked. “What are the kids reading now?”

The feeling crept up on me, impossible to contain. I didn’t want to have this conversation with Daniel. He was ill-equipped. Inviting him had been a mistake. Short answers were best, leaving no room for discussion. My mother kicked me under the table, her starry eyes bearing down on mine. Daniel was oblivious. He quickly moved on to the Royals and the upcoming X-Men movie, as only someone so emotionally barren knew how. After the waiter brought our drinks and we toasted to her birthday, my mother slipped off to the bathroom.

Daniel sipped his beer while I gulped from my martini. “I’m trying, Charlotte,” he said. “I want us to work.”

Remorse pulsed through me. What was I trying to prove? Daniel didn’t deserve this, and the piece that was missing before glared brighter than ever. Could Philip Stafford, a stranger on a plane, have this effect on me? Daniel saw that I was mulling this over, and he tried to give me what I needed. “Do you want to tell me about it?” His eyes were serious, probing. “I want to understand.”

Everywhere I looked there were reasons he couldn’t understand. Theories and hypotheses never fit into our conversations.

He was power tools and plumbing.

I was literature and linguistics.

There couldn’t have been a worse fit.

I’d only agreed to go out with him because he’d asked so many times, and I didn’t have the heart to say no. Grading papers and tutoring had kept me busy during the week, and we’d meet up on Saturday nights. It had lasted six months. Six more than I should’ve allowed.

Connecting was never easy for me. Trust was a factor, and I’d already decided early on that marriage probably wasn’t in the cards. Teaching fulfilled me in ways that a relationship could not. Blooming young minds were far more satisfying than the back-and-forth of a tedious push and pull, one that would surely end in regret. When I was asked why I chose English, the reasons stemmed from a muddy past. Words had power. They carried weight and, when strung together, invited you inside their world. One that didn’t hurt. I felt their pain and sorrow, their highs and happiness, but my own heart was tightly guarded.

Yet, I was thirty, the worst age, I’ve been told, to be alone.

“Forget it, Daniel. Really. It’s not important.”

“It is, though. It is to you.”

Daniel was talking, but it was someone else’s voice I was hearing.

Mom was scooting beside me, her familiar smell tickling my nose, when I caught him walking into the restaurant with the gorgeous blonde, the one from his earlier interview. Philip. My first instinct was to take cover. Or, at the very least, hide Daniel somewhere. I watched the casual way in which he instructed the blonde to sit, and the way the waitstaff knew he was someone important in their midst. They crowded his table, and he, true to form, was oblivious to the attention.

My mouth gaped open, and I turned my attention back to Daniel, but failed. My entire body was shouting: Can you feel me here?

Mom and Daniel were deep in conversation about a vacuum cleaner she was considering buying.

“How come you’re so quiet, Charlotte?” Mom asked, wrapping an arm around me.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure, honey?”

I squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back.

“You two look so much alike,” Daniel commented.

We moved closer together, and he snapped a picture with his phone.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he said. “It’s nice to be here celebrating with you.”

I took a final swig of my martini and glanced in Philip’s direction. He was enthralled by the blonde, hanging on to every word, and she with him.

“Thank him, Charlotte,” my mother said, giving me a little nudge. Next thing I know, I’m leaning across the table and giving him my mouth.

I lingered longer than I should’ve. Daniel’s lips were soft; they tasted like beer and a host of mostly pleasant memories, but I wished to feel something more, something inexplicable that would wind my heart with pulsing beats. I pulled away first. Daniel tried to rein me in, but I was already gone, across the room, locking eyes with Philip.

“You two,” she gushed, “you’re giving me the happiest birthday ever.”

Philip stared so long the blonde turned. It was the kind of hair that bounced when it moved, while every strand remained in place. I reached for my messy light waves. I had been going for the sexy beach look, but compared to her, I felt windblown and sloppy.

As I fixated on my appearance, Philip made his way toward our table. The blonde glimpsed at her reflection in a compact, refreshing her lips. I slunk farther down in my seat.

“Charlotte! What are the chances?” His English accent turned the heads at the table.

A crimson sheen flooded my face. I tried not to compare Daniel’s boyish features to Philip’s polished charm. Daniel, in his tightly buttoned orange dress shirt and brown corduroy jeans. Philip, clad in a gray tailored shirt with form-fitting slacks. They couldn’t be more opposite. Homegrown simplicity set against European chic.

“You look splendid, Charlotte. That color suits you.” Philip winked. “And who’s this lovely young lady?” he asked, reaching for my mother’s hand and bringing it to his lips. My mother was normally a chatterbox, but Philip left her mute.