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I told you women normally say that after the date :) he responds immediately.
There is no date. And no, I’m not buying dance lessons because you lured me here, I add. I’m complaining about you to corporate!
Come on. I’m sure dance lessons will lift your mood.
I hold the camera up to my left hand, middle finger flying high. I text that back with the message: This is the only thing I’m lifting when it comes to you.
And then I delete the damn app.
Will appears again, this time with more lemonade and a box of tissues under his arm. “Here,” he says, holding out the cup.
“I don’t need to be patronized.” But I take it anyhow and drink some, wishing it had vodka in it.
“Need these?” He offers the tissues.
“NO!” I’m not letting that weasel ruin my night. Who cries over someone with a username like NiceGuysFinish?
Wincing, Will gives me a look that says he’s judging me. I agree. I’m totally judging myself now.
The door is to my right. Without another word, I head for it.
“Mallory!” Philippe calls out as the other two David victims stroll along the room’s perimeter, talking about getting dinner at the new Mongolian barbeque in town. “Please don’t leave!”
“Are you kidding me? I’m not converting to a paid customer so David the Asshole can meet his quota!”
“No, no, no! Tonight’s lesson is one hundred percent free for you, Mallory! It’s just,” he says, looking around the group of dance students with eyes that dart as he clearly counts heads, “even including me, we have an odd number.” One super-old dude with an impressive Duck Dynasty beard appears to be comforting a crying older woman in a Chanel-style suit.
Is that going to be me in thirty years?
“So?” I challenge Philippe.
He looks at Will, then me. “It would be a much richer experience for everyone if we can pair up properly.”
“Do you have any idea what my day has been like, Philippe?” I start, winding up inside, ready to unleash a verbal whip that cracks with emotion. “It’s been kinda long. And very full.”
Will reaches up to gingerly touch the wound I gave him.
Philippe takes my hands in his again, an earnest expression on his face wearing me down. Exhaustion fills me, emotional and physical. My calves ache along with my heart.
“Do not let David win. Let your pain step aside and your soul take over, Mallory,” he says with a dramatic flourish, looking just over my shoulder as if the horizon beckons him to take a journey to the divine.
“Is that a corporate slogan for some advertising campaign, Philippe?”
“Just because it’s a commercial does not mean it isn’t good.”
I laugh in spite of myself. Will steps closer to me.
“C’mon, Mal. Stay.” His eyes watch me, face filled with expectation and, dare I think it–hope?
“You really want to be in a class with a woman who threw a football trophy at your head today?” I ask him.
Philippe jolts. “You two are married?”
“What? No,” Will says, frowning. “Why would you think that?”
“Only someone with years of great passion for another would fight like that!”
“It wasn’t–”
