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There’s no way I’m trekking back to the restaurant on foot. It’s several blocks away, and I’m wearing heels and a tight dress—not exactly the best outfit to take a stroll in. Luckily, the subway is nearby. It’s my least favorite mode of transportation, but it’s the cheapest option most of the time. The only reason I didn’t opt for it on my blind date was because a car is a safer choice than navigating public transportation alone so late in the evening (plus, it ensures a quicker exit strategy if needed).
The train car is packed with commuters, all trying to find their own place in the tiny, cramped space. During the ride, I try to stop thinking about Dillan, if for no other reason than I don’t want to drive myself crazy.
A tiny part of me regrets throwing away the note, but honestly, there was no reason to keep it. The number hadn’t worked and staring at it again will only make me sad. Even trying several different combinations of the last two scribbled numbers didn’t make a difference. I’d done all I could, and the best thing to do is let it go.
My mood doesn’t improve much when I finally get back to Amelio’s and realize that Rex’s car is gone. My first thought is that it’s been stolen, but given the fact I wasn’t even able to get it to start, I realize it’s likely been towed. This is confirmed by one of the waitresses who is heading into work and sees me standing in the parking lot like a loser. Great. Just freakin’ great.
During the subway ride back home, I get the joyous privilege of texting Rex about his car. As I rummage through my purse to find my phone, I hear it ding several times with a slew of messages. Once I go through them, I realize he’s already well aware of it being towed and, needless to say, not very happy.
By the time I get home, I’m mentally and physically drained. I unlock the front door of my building, kick out of my heels and dance upstairs. I know how I look in my wrinkled red dress, messy hair, and smudged makeup, and if I’m honest, I feel a bit disheveled too. Dillan marks my first one-night stand, and even though I firmly believe in the equal right of women and men to embrace their sexual freedom, the night has an oddly awkward tinge. No, not the night itself—it was the most wonderful night of my life and probably always will be, despite the disappointing ending. It’s just, well, a tad unfamiliar for me. Perhaps it’s the novelty of the situation or the fact that I stepped out of my comfort zone. Either way, it was a unique experience. Period.
For once, the elevator is operational and empty—such a blessing.
As I step out onto my floor, I take a deep breath and start to sneak down the hall. My apartment is at the very end, and I’ve got to pass Mrs. Loughty’s door to get there. She’s the last person I want to talk to. I’m almost positive she already knows I stood up my blind date, and she’ll have a million questions as to why. Returning in the afternoon wearing the same outfit I left in, looking a sexually satisfied mess as I do, will not look good.
I tiptoe closer and closer, pausing to listen at her door. When I don’t hear anything, I figure she’s either out or napping, so I release the breath I’m holding and keep walking. I only take two steps before her door opens.
“Elizabeth, darling. You’re home.” Her voice echoes in her UK accent, which has lost its lovely tone and taken on a stern, almost schoolmistress-like quality.
Biting back the feeling of being seven years old again and not having done my homework, I pivot to greet her, trying not to appear guilty. “Mrs. Loughty, good morning. You’re looking well.”
Her gray hair is pulled back into a neat bun—as it always is—not a single strand out of place. Draped over her hunched shoulders is the frayed green knitted shawl she tends to wear around the house.
She has her hands on her hips, giving me a loving smile. “You mean good afternoon.” There’s a teasing tone to her voice.
“Right. Afternoon.”
“Well, you obviously had a good time last night, my dear.”
My face is burning from embarrassment. Not that I’m embarrassed by sleeping with Dillan, but there’s something about an elderly British lady finding me coming home from a one-night stand that makes me feel guilty. Especially since I’d ditched the blind date she set up for me. But, my lucky stars, it seems as if she doesn’t know we never met. What a relief! That’s a conversation I do not want to have right now.
“It was definitely an interesting night,” I say quickly, hoping and praying she won’t press on. “Well, I need to get changed. Talk to you later.”
I only manage half a turn before she asks, “Who was the man you chose to spend time with instead of Herbert?”
Shit.
Part of me thinks about ignoring her and making a quick escape. Just full-on booking it to my door, but I know that’s not the mature way to handle things. Doesn’t stop me from thinking about it though. Oh, and can we talk about how she outright demanded to know who I’d been with? It strikes me as incredibly rude, but hey, I’ve come to expect that level of bluntness from her over the years.
Logically, I know I don’t really owe her an explanation for my actions (well, maybe I do, considering I did agree to the date she orchestrated), but emotionally, it’s an entirely different ballgame. With a playful smile, I turn back to her.
“I’m sorry?” I put all the innocence I can muster into my voice and facial expression. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Mrs. Loughty shoots me a look that clearly signals she’s not buying my virtuous act. “I spoke to Herbert last night, and he said that you two never managed to connect. So, when I didn’t hear you come back last night, I was worried. But…” She gives me a knowing glance and arches her gray eyebrows. “It looks like I didn’t have to be.”
“Yeah, about that…” I hurry to try and think of a good enough excuse, cursing myself for not doing so on the ride over. “Unfortunately, my car broke down, and my phone died, and…” Even as the words spill out like some weird verbal diarrhea, I know how ridiculous I sound.
Mrs. Loughty snorts and crosses her arms. “I was not born yesterday, you know. I may be old, Elizabeth, I’m not that old.”
Smooth move, Lizzie.
With a heavy sigh, I give her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Loughty. I ended up reconnecting with an old friend from high school. You were so nice and excited about setting me up with Herbert that I honestly feel guilty for not making the date. I’m very sorry for standing him up. I didn’t mean to. I just…lost track of time.”
It isn’t entirely a lie. At least parts of are true. I do feel guilty. But I can’t bring myself to tell her what really happened. She’s already giving me that disapproving “mom look” older women seem to perfect, even when they’ve never had kids.
There’s a semblance of disappointment in her eyes, which only makes me feel ten times worse. “Well, you can call Herbert yourself and apologize for your behavior,” she declares, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I already told him you probably had a perfectly legitimate excuse, and you’ll call him the moment you can. You will do so, my dear, won’t you?”
“Great, thanks so much,” I say through gritted teeth.
