Infinite(55)

“Your friend Sarah introduced us,” I added. “I’m . . . Dylan Moran.”

At the sound of my name, something changed in her expression. She blinked; her pupils dilated. Her eyes reappraised me with an odd curiosity. She looked uncomfortable, and I wasn’t sure why. Had something happened on that date that I didn’t know about?

“Dylan,” she murmured. “That was you? The blind date?”

“That was me.”

“I’m sorry. I do remember now. It’s just that my life is sort of Before and After, and that was Before.”

“We went to a club that night, didn’t we? I don’t even remember which one.”

“The Spybar,” Karly replied without hesitation.

“Right, of course. Well, I’m sure that went really well. I have a reputation for being the world’s worst dancer.”

“You’re probably being hard on yourself,” she said generously.

“Oh, I doubt it. Anyway, I’m ten years late in apologizing.”

“That’s not necessary. I went into it with the wrong attitude. I hate blind dates.”

“Same here.”

We’d had our exchange of pleasantries. Now it was time for me to walk away. But there was still so much to tell her.

I’m your husband.

I love you.

You’re in danger.

I couldn’t say any of that, but I also couldn’t let meaningless small talk be my last conversation with Karly.

“I’ve read your poems,” I added.

“Oh?”

“Your book. Portal. In fact, after I bought it, I read it four times in a row.”

“Four times. Are you a masochist?”

I smiled. That was such a Karly thing to say. “Actually, your poems are very eloquent, but they made me sad.”

“Sad? I don’t hear that very often. I hear disgusting. Gross. Satanic. But sad is a new one.”

“They made me sad because when I read them, I realized what I missed,” I told her.

“I don’t understand.”

“I had a date with someone who was obviously very deep, thoughtful, complicated, and talented, and I didn’t get to know her at all.”

Karly took a sip of tea as she reflected on what I’d said. I wasn’t trying to flatter her. I was being sincere. If she was still the woman I loved, she’d recognize that.

After a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Do you want to sit down?”

“I would. Thank you.”

I took a seat and had to restrain myself from reaching over to caress her face, which would have felt so natural. Her gaze flicked to my left hand, where I still wore my wedding ring. White gold, with an inlaid Celtic knot over black titanium. “That’s a beautiful ring,” she said.

“Yes, it is.” I wanted to tell her: You gave it to me.

“So you’re married.”

I didn’t know how to answer her. My wife was sitting at this table, and she didn’t even know it.

“I was.”

“Divorced?”

“She died.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I still haven’t been able to take off the ring.”

“I understand.”

“It’s hard enough that I lost her, but our last conversation was an argument. She made a mistake, and I couldn’t get past it. I let it ruin us.”

“What was her mistake?”

“It doesn’t matter. She was talking to me, but I wasn’t listening. Now it’s too late for me to make things right. There’s so much that I wish I could tell her.”

Karly’s eyes drilled into mine. “What would you say?”

I thought about that. My wife was sitting right here, and I could tell her anything I wanted. It was easy now to say what I couldn’t say before. I forgive you. But I was so far past that. If I could have my wife back, I wanted her to know that things would be different.

“‘Don’t give up on me,’” I said. “That’s what I’d tell her.”

“Maybe she felt the same way. I mean, it was her mistake.”

“Maybe. We’d both gone down the wrong path and ended up somewhere we didn’t want to be. I just wish we could get a do-over. A second chance. I want that more than anything in the world.”

“Yes, it would be nice if life worked like that. I think about that a lot.”

“I’m sure.” I frowned and then said, “I heard what happened to you. Your mother. And everything after.”

Karly nodded. “I don’t run away from it. Not anymore.”

“I probably didn’t tell you about this when we met. The Dylan from back then didn’t like to share personal things. My parents died when I was a kid. My father shot my mother, and then he killed himself. I was there to see it happen. It changed me. I had to make a lot of choices in my life after that, and believe me, I didn’t always make the right ones.”

She sipped her tea, but her eyes never left mine. To me, it felt unbelievably intimate. “That’s an interesting way of phrasing it.”

“What’s that?”

“‘The Dylan from back then.’ Almost as if you’re not the same person.”