Page 83 of Tomorrow Belongs to Us
She seems to consider what I’ve said. “You should have seen some of the guys I went out with.”
“I’m happy not to have.”
“Apart from Vivian, who else was in your life?” Her fingers grasp the ends of her cardigan sleeves as she brings her elbows onto the table.
“No one. Just you.”
“Just me?” she asks, sounding surprised. I can’t help but notice her long, long lashes.
“Yes.”
“And before me, who was there?”
I cough lightly. “What is this? An interrogation?”
“I’m curious. Unless you have something more to hide.”
“I won’t hide anything from you, and, just to reiterate, I wasn’t hiding anything before, the timing was never right.” I pause, giving her time to make another barbed comment about Vivian but she doesn’t.
“So, before me?” She doesn’t want to let this go. I don’t understand why she needs to know.
“There were women. Not many, but a couple.”
“A couple? You’re not very … experienced then?”
“Experience has little to do with quantity.”
This elicits a laugh. “You’re very good, even with your limited experience.”
I haven’t done anything to her yet. “Thank you.” My lips curl up at the edges. She amuses me. She’s funny, and endearing. I am content just to sit here and talk to her all day long.
She swipes the menu from the small wooden menu stand and examines it. “You haven’t asked me about the guys I’ve dated.”
My gut hardens. “Because I don’t want to know about them.”
She looks up at me, then blinks again. “I'm sorry that Arla was so rude to you the other day.”
The sudden change of subject once again derails my thoughts. Megan is the queen of subject changes, but it’s a relief to know that I didn't imagine Arla’s coldness towards me.
“Why was she? I only remember her as being a friendly, bubbly girl.”
“She's being overly protective of me. She doesn't want me to get hurt again.”
“I won't hurt you again.”
We fall silent. I look at her. She looks at me. I remember her being in my classroom and staying back so that we could talk. I remember us going to the donut place. I can’t remember how that transition came to be; how we moved from meeting at the library to eating donuts together. It was all so slow and innocent, until that last night. And now here we are a, decade later in a coffee shop. The years have passed and still our meeting places are low-key and normal.
“Are you free tonight?” I have ideas for other things we can do, other places we can meet at instead of coffee shops and donut places.
She makes a face that instantly tells me she’s not. “My mom’s coming over.”
“Is this wise?” I whisper, conspiratorially, “Meeting now?”
“She’s coming later. Make sure you lie low.”
“She still hates me?”
“I think she’ll always hate you.”
