Page 3 of Passion and Privilege

My father and I decided it would be better if he moved into the apartment over the woodshop. It saved on rent and he could put all his energy into keeping his business afloat. The place was very small with one bedroom. I knew he wanted me to stay with him, but we needed our space. I found my apartment and that was that.

I never went to college like we had planned for years. The money just wasn’t there, and honestly, I didn’t want to waste time learning how to write a proper essay. I wanted to work with my hands. I wanted to be a carpenter just like my dad. He was disappointed but it was for the best. He needed me whether he wanted to admit it or not. He didn’t take care of himself. That was why I had to check on him.

Last year, I finally got my journeymen’s. I was thrilled to get to work alongside my father instead of being the helper or the person that handled the business side of things. Together, we were running the business. He was still the expert, but I was able to take on jobs on my own and bring more money into the business. Things were better than they were a few years ago, but we still had a long way to go.

I put away my groceries and cleaned up a bit. The one perk to my shitty apartment was the fact I did have my own washer and dryer. That was a new addition. I was so glad I didn’t have to trek down to the laundromat anymore.

I glanced at the clock and decided to get ready for dinner. Yes, it was supposed to be a surprise, but when Scott showed up or called and asked me to meet him, I didn’t want to be wearing my jeans and hoodie. In my line of work, I tended to dress very casually. Very, very casually. I was often covered in sawdust. I wore faded jeans, heavy boots, and typically had a toolbelt slung around my hips. It wasn’t very feminine. I wanted to remind Scott I was still a sexy woman.

I took a shower. Once I stepped out, I lathered myself with my favorite scented lotion that I knew Scott loved. I started getting ready, a ritual that involved choosing the perfect outfit and meticulously applying makeup. We’d been together five years. I wanted to remind him of that woman he fell in love with back then. I knew we were both busy and caught up with our careers. It was important we had these moments to reconnect.

When I walked into the restaurant, I wanted him to look at me and be proud to call me his girlfriend. Maybe after tonight, he’d want to call me his fiancée. I was still waiting on the proposal, but I suspected it was coming soon.

As six turned into seven and the clock continued ticking off the minutes, a sense of disappointment crept in. The reservation time was inching closer and Scott was nowhere to be found. I dialed his number, hoping for an explanation, but his phone went straight to voicemail. Maybe he forgot, lost track of time, or something came up.

Thirty minutes past the reservation, I resigned myself to the reality that the surprise dinner might not be happening. Disappointment settled over me. I had been standing to avoid wrinkling my dress, but clearly it didn’t matter. I flopped onto my old, used couch and pouted. Just when I was cursing the man and then feeling guilty because maybe something had happened to him, I heard someone outside my door.

I grinned and jumped up. I quickly smoothed down my dress and rushed to open the door with the expectation of seeing my boyfriend.

“Amber?” I asked with confusion when I saw her holding a little box with a bow.

“Catherine? What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” I muttered and walked back inside.

She followed behind me. “But why are you here? Am I early? I thought you would already be at dinner.”

“Me too.”

“Is he running late?”

“I don’t know,” I said, sighing. “I keep calling, but he’s not answering. The reservation was almost an hour ago. I saw him earlier and asked if I was going to see him, but he said no. I thought he was teasing.”

“How weird,” she said. “And rude.”

“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the box.

She grimaced and tried to hide it. “I was going to leave it at your door. It was a congratulations gift.”

Congratulations because we both thought Scott was going to pop the question tonight.

“Thanks.”

“You look nice,” she said, smiling.

“Thanks,” I said, sighing. “All dressed up and nowhere to go.”

“Why don’t we go to the restaurant together? You’re already dressed up, and it’s a shame to let the night go to waste. We’ll drink some nice wine and eat overpriced appetizers.”

At first, I hesitated. The idea of salvaging the evening felt like a desperate attempt to mend something that had already shattered. But then, a spark of defiance ignited within me. Why should I let Scott ruin my night?

“Let’s do it,” I said, smiling. “This face took a lot of work.”

She laughed as we walked out. The restaurant was packed as usual. We made our way to the bar and ordered cocktails and a basket of stuffed mushrooms to split. The quiet atmosphere was filled with a soft, golden glow from the low-hanging chandeliers. The murmured conversations of diners provided a soothing backdrop. It wasn’t the dinner I had been expecting, but it was nice, nonetheless. It was one of my favorite restaurants, but it was also one of the most expensive in town, which meant I didn’t get to eat at it very often.

My gaze wandered around the room, taking in the cozy ambiance of the restaurant. But then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of timing, my eyes locked onto a sight that sent shockwaves through me. Across the room sat Scott, sharing an intimate dinner with another woman. They were both leaning across the table like they were trying to get closer. He was smiling and looking at her the way he used to look at me.

My breath caught in my throat. As I watched them, a painful realization sank in. Scott, the man I thought was planning a surprise dinner for us, was with someone else. They held hands across the table. I watched as he leaned in for a kiss. The world seemed to blur. The blood drained from my face and an icy chill raced down my spine. I felt a sensation akin to my heart being ripped out of my chest.