Page 2 of Nothing Less than Magic
“Same old,” I echo, hoping to dispense with small talk and get right to the point of this meeting. The sooner we reconcile, the sooner we can get back to our old lives when we were together—and happy. At least I was. And I suspect Austin was, too, but it took time apart for him to realize it.
In the last couple of months, he’s been super attentive, almost thirsty, as the kids like to say. He texts me nearly every day, and he’s come over to the apartment a few times. Although it’s always under the guise that he’s there to pick up some of the stuff he left behind when he walked out, we wind up spending most of the evening together. I think it’s sweet. Almost shy, like he needs an excuse to court me.
The last time he showed up, we wound up in bed together. I don’t think that was an accident. And the sex was fantastic, the way it used to be when we first started dating and couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
I suspected then that he wanted us to try again but something was holding him back. And now . . . well, there’s nothing like the holidays to remind you how lonely the world can seem. October kicks off with what I like to call the fuzzies. You know the drill. When even television commercials for decongestants are filled with happy couples dressed in matching autumn sweaters, taking care of each other. And it only gets worse between Thanksgiving and Christmas.
I warn my followers on social media not to get caught up in all the Hallmark holiday schmaltz, that it’s just an illusion created by a billion-dollar industry. But if the season is what it takes for Austin to come to his senses, I’ll take it.
The waiter brings our giant pretzel with a hot pot of fondue.
“You sure you don’t want a martini?” I ask before the server leaves.
“Nah,” he says, surprising me. We’ve never been huge drinkers, but an after-work cocktail has always been our thing. And Austin did choose a bar for our get-together.
“How come?” I tear off a hunk of the pretzel and dip it in the cheese, careful not to drip on my sweater.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Just not in the mood, I guess.”
Austin has his lawyer face on, the one he uses in court when he’s fighting to get his client full custody of a child—or a dog, which is more common than you think. I read his lawyer face, and the fact that he’s not drinking, as a sign that he’s ready to talk. Really talk. Because to this day, I still don’t know what happened that made him leave. He’s too young to be having a mid-life crisis and too old to be indecisive, or ambivalent. And we were a good team.
Next year, we were planning to start our family. At thirty-seven, we knew our optimal baby-making years were behind us, but we wanted to build our careers to a comfortable place before we brought another human into the world. Besides, women these days are having babies well into their forties.
I have spent much of my life mapping out this future. A beautiful loving family. A successful profession. A life that is normal and good. Safety.
Of course, this is what almost everyone wants. Ninety-five percent of the couples that come to my lectures and TED Talks will tell you that. But most of them didn’t have the childhood I had.
This is all to say that our life was moving along to plan, and thenboom! He suddenly calls it quits on me.
The server returns, and we order a few more appetizers. Judging from the way Austin keeps fidgeting with his napkin, I can tell he’s nervous. I’ve given a lot of thought to this. Do I make him work for a reconciliation? I mean, he hurt me. A lot of women would force him to pay penance before welcoming him back with open arms. On the other hand, I tell my clients that it’s not healthy to play games. They should keep the lines of communication open. That you can’t have a fulfilling relationship without honesty.
Austin is laser-focused on something on the other side of the restaurant.
“What is it?” I ask.
“I think I recognize that guy, but I can’t place him.” He nudges his head toward the back of the room.
I turn to have a look. “Which one?”
“The man sitting alone near the bar.”
I shift my focus.
“Don’t be so obvious about it,” Austin says. “Does he look familiar to you?”
“No.” I’m not even sure I’m looking at the right guy. There’s at least three men sitting alone in the general vicinity of the bar. “The one in the plaid tie?” I say, because he’s the one who stands out the most. The tie, patterned in a series of black and orange checks, is an odd fashion choice. It almost looks like it’s part of a costume, or a castoff from a thrift store.
“Yeah.”
I try discreetly to have another look, but it means turning around in my chair again. Instead, I scrounge around in my purse for my compact and pretend to fix my lipstick in the mirror, catching a good view of the man’s profile. But I can’t help but shift my gaze to his tie again. It’s the kind of tie that demands attention.
Austin laughs. “What are you, James Bond now? Don’t worry about it, he’s probably a lawyer or someone who works in the courthouse who I’ve run into a couple times.” He reaches across the table and plucks the compact out of my hand and closes it, sliding it back to me so I can return it to my bag.
The rest of our food comes, and despite being anxious about Austin’s and my future, I dig in. Everything smells delicious, and the last time I ate was yogurt for breakfast and a pumpkin spice latte my assistant picked up from the Starbucks in the lobby of my office building.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I note that Austin hasn’t touched any of the small plates we’ve ordered.
“My stomach’s acting weird.” He subconsciously rubs his tummy.
