Page 57 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
“He's not Mr. Turner anymore.” It’s now legal for me to have feelings about this man and act on them but it’s not good for my mental health. News of his wife leaves me feeling sick to my core. “There’s more,” I say, the cocktails have loosened my tongue and my guardedness. “He has a child, too.”
Arla looks as if she's been slapped. “He ...WUT?” she screams.
“Will you keep your voice down?” I look around me, and the nosey guys next to us quickly look away. “He has a wife and child,” I hiss in a whisper. “They arrived unexpectedly.”
“Theybothwalked in on you .... while you were … on … your … knees?”
My cheeks turn red at the thought of it. “I'd finished.”
She jolts back and almost falls off her stool, only just managing to grab the edge of the table to save herself. “Thank God.”
“God had nothing to do with it.”
“She didn’t catch you …” Arla pretends to lick an imaginary lollipop. From my periphery I can tell that the two guys are staring at us.
“Will you stop being so vulgar!” I wish I hadn’t come here. She’s making a mockery of what happened.
Arla leans in closer. “You waited to tell me this news,now.In a public place? What have you been doing all weekend?”
Feeling sorry for myself.
I look at her helplessly.
“Start from the beginning and tell me everything,” she urges. So, I do. I proceed to tell her in detail what happened, and she listens, like any good friend would, but in the retelling of the story, I am forced to relive it and confront it, in a way I've successfully managed to avoid it by pushing it to the back of my mind each time that thought arises.
It’s not what I did to him, the power I had over him, reducing him to putty like that, but I felt good making him come undone. And now I get glimpses of the tender Lance, the one who wanted to try again, who wants a second chance; the man who wants to take me to dinner. They were nice things for him to say. They were sweet, until his family showed up. With hindsight I see him for the sleazeball he is.
A leopard never changes its spots, and now I question everything. Has he always been this preying monster? Should I believe what he told me about his sister? Is there a niece? Because the picture I saw on his cell phone isn’t the niece. It’s his daughter. Did he leave the school suddenly because of his career and because of the warnings from the school Principal, as I suspected? Or was it because of the tragedy that beset the family?
I am none the wiser.
Lance hasn't texted or called today. He's probably busy playing the part of the dutiful husband and father. I’m such a magnet for the worst kinds of guys. Arla signals a server and orders another round of cocktails. “This will help,” she assures me.
“They’ll leave me face down on the floor,” I reply, feeling miserable as I wipe away the condensation on my tall cocktail glass.
“It was buy one get one half-price, so if you hurry and drink up, I’ll get another round in.”
I raise my glass, grateful that Arla is the dependable, reliable, good friend who is always there for me. Unlike the men in my life. “Thanks for always being there for me.”
She smiles and raises her glass, touching it to mine. “That’s what friends are for.”
“I don't want you getting depressed over that man all over again.”
“I don’t have the emotional energy to get depressed.”
“To worthy men and happier love lives.” She touches her glass to mine again.
We are perched on high stools around a circular bar table, one of many dotted around. It's Sunday evening and the place is abuzz with electric energy. The large open-plan room is laid out with long benches and small high-tables; laughter ripples out, people chatter, and the tinkle of glasses and cutlery all melts into the background noise.
There is no such thing as Sunday evening back-to-work blues here.
“He has a wife and daughter?” Arla examines my face for signs of trauma. I school a hardened expression, not wanting her to know how deeply it’s hurt me. After what happened in my own family, this is one of the worst sins, to break up a family. “It must have been painful to see them.”
It was. Like a shark’s bite.
“Look at you,” Arla pats my hand softly. “I’ve never seen you so broken up like this before, especially over a guy. But this isn’t just any guy, is it?”
I don’t meet her gaze. I don’t want her to see right through me. A part of me hoped that we could have gotten to know one another all over again. Lance is a romantic, wanting more than just the physical stuff. Most men want the physical over the meaningful stuff. I’ve almost become acclimatized to it. Lance is gentlemanly in a world where many aren’t.
