Page 55 of Another Life

“I’m not upset,” I reassure him, glancing around out of habit in spite of knowing now that he isn’t coming. It’s Friday night and Peter and I made plans to meet up, but he’s called me to bail, saying he had to stay late at work. Lucky for me, I’d already gotten us a table. “I’ll call you later.”

He apologizes, telling me he’ll make it up to me, but I’m already walking back inside, determined to not waste a perfectly good outfit.

We hang up just as I reach my table, and I tuck my phone into my clutch, prepared to eat and watch the drunk, rowdy people by myself.

It’s odd to be on the older end of the partying spectrum, watching everyone lose themselves in their liquor. But it’s also interesting, something I haven’t really seen since my collegedays. That’s what happens when you lay low and focus on work and family.

Peter recommended the pub, saying that even though it caters to a younger crowd, there isn’t a better place to get a burger at this hour. And now that I’m here, dressed up for our date, I’m getting my fucking burger.

Never mind that I thought we might finally have sex tonight. In the past, I’ve given myself to men far sooner, but nothing ever came of those encounters. So I’m trying something new, holding out until I’m actually ready to invest in someone. Tonight was going to be quite the investment. And if the red lingerie under my clothes say anything, Peter’s missing out.

If only he knew.

I met him five months ago while I was picking up lunch for my boss. It was a cute little interaction where he offered to pay for the food and I declined, saying it was on the company card.

And then he asked me to dinner, and I said yes.

Peter is…kind. He’s soft-spoken and thoughtful. Which is why I was able to let him off the hook for missing our date.

And for the last five months, I’ve insisted that we keep it casual. I haven’t dated anyone else, and I haven’t wanted to. But I’m not ready to commit to anyone right now. Not when Miley and I are getting ready to start our own design firm.

And not when I’m not one hundred percent about Peter. But if I’m being honest, he’s the closest I’ve come to a relationship in a very long time.

Someone places a drink in front of me and I stare up at the waitress.

“I didn’t order this,” I tell her, eyeing the glass of red wine.

“It’s from Pete,” she rushes out before walking away.

Pete.

I wish I could get people to stop calling him that.

I’m about to pull out my phone to text him with gratitude when I glance up at the bar.

And for some reason, it’s like I’ve seen a ghost.

The ghost of Abraham Pugliesi happens to glance my way just as I notice him.

It’s strange to see this man again, as a different woman.

The skin he’d touched was long gone. I’d shed the girl I was and became a strong woman.

He can’t possibly recognize me.

But…I’d seen him enough times on my television screen to know that he’d started to let himself gray. The thick silver whiskers amongst the dark brown hairs of his beard make me wonder if he’s kept track of time as it passed.

It’s been four years.

But love will still reach out and punch you in the gut if you let it.

Not love,I remind myself.

Still, time is a minor detail when it comes to the desires of the heart.

I tell my heart to take the night off as I ignore my wine and stand to walk toward him.

He waits there for impact as a smile stretches over his lips.

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