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“Thank you for going out of your way to let me know, in no uncertain terms, where we stand. I will say I was happy to see you. I'm not so petty that I can’t say this, even if you aren’t happy to see me. I’ve missed you, so much. I’ve thought of you and wished you well. I still do.”
Her eyes lose some of their heat, and she gives me a stiff smile. And I just stand there and watch her go.
After that entire conversation, there is only one thing that stands out, besides how she looked at me when she walked out of the elevator. When she pressed the button to hold the door open, I saw that she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Anything that came after I noticed that, didn’t register.
Is she not married anymore? All my plans and calculations had been made with a married Milly in mind. The idea of a single, available Milly causes a flicker of desperation, which has me making a decision I’m sure I’ll regret.
7
I can feel Dean’s eyes burning into my back as I walk away from the elevator. My pulse is racing, my heart feels like it is bleeding, and it takes all of my strength not to collapse where I stand and cry.
He sought me out to tell me that he wanted nothing to do with me. It was like reliving that night I called him all over again. I can’t begin to make sense of the emotions that are competing for dominance inside of me.
Despondency wins and I decide I have earned a drink before I head home to my mother and Anthony. I head to Claudia’s, a new Happy Hour spot on the ground floor of the building where Definitive Artists’ offices are. I’ve never been here before and am a little self-conscious walking in by myself.
It’s a little past four thirty, and for a Monday afternoon it’s crowded. It’s all chrome and glass and red upholstered furniture. It’s so sleek and sexy and gorgeous.
I walk around to the side of the bar that lets me watch people as they come in from the K Street entrance.
I pick up one of the haphazardly placed menus and immediately know what I want. The drink Mercy Mercy, a citrus and vodka cocktail is calling my name.I order one from the very young, very cute bartender who appears almost out of nowhere as soon as I look up.
“What’s your pleasure today, beautiful?” he says, grinning at me. And I want to ask him if he’s even old enough to work here.
“I think I’ll have this Mercy drink.” I smile back, because why not? After being verbally beaten up by Dean I could use some good vibes.
“I’ll be right back.” He grins, winks, and disappears around the side of the bar.
I glance around, everyone is with someone and I'm caught up in the interactions of people. Kevin and I hadn’t been out in years. I don’t even know what it feels like to have a drink at a bar.
He drops my drink off with a warning to not drink it too quickly. I immediately pour the entire thing down my throat.
As the vodka works itself into my system, I let myself get lost in the thrill of being here alone and start to think about the benefits of being single.
It’s great Dean and I didn’t have the reunion I used to dream of. Being single is what I need to do for a while.
It doesn’t matter that being near him felt like being home. It doesn’t matter that despite the time and distance and how he treated me, the feelings I had for him when I was seventeen are magnified rather than diminished.
I start to order another drink when the air fills with a fraught energy. I feel a thrill run up my spine; I know Dean’s standing behind me. He stands there for a few seconds before he slips onto the stool next to me, the sleeves of his jacket brushing mine as he sits.
I feel a tingle all the way to the tips of my toes, which curl in my shoes. I sneak a glance at him and find myself staring into a pair of stunningly clear green eyes. Dean is looking right back at me. This time his expression isn't enigmatic at all. He looks angry and eager to let me know it.
His eyes are roaming my face, just as mine roam his and neither one of us says
a word. I feel absolutely no discomfort as we look at each other. This perusal feels like my right.
When we were in high school, we would do this for hours. Lay there and stare at each other, but then our eyes were full of love and wonder. Now they are full of wariness and fear. At least mine are, I’m sure.
I don’t know why he followed me here. He just told he didn’t want to rekindle our acquaintance, has he come to pile on?
“Milly,” he says in a deep, rich voice which instantly sets my pulse to a wild cantor.
“Dean . . .” Is all I can manage in response. My eyes involuntarily fill with tears as I watch him. I see his struggle. He doesn’t want to be here, but he can’t help it. My struggle is the same. I want him to go and I hope he never, ever leaves.
He drops his head, almost in defeat, breaking our stare. A lock of his hair falls onto his forehead and my hand reaches up out of instinct to brush it back into place.
I stop myself, but before I can retract my hand he grabs my wrist, in a grip just shy of being punishing.
This is the first time I have felt his touch in so long. I want to savor it, but I also want it to stop because I don’t trust the feelings it elicits.
