NAT
The evening could not have gone more perfectly. It was crowded, but not so much that people couldn’t find seats. We sold a ton of wine, broke only one glass, and the refrigerator Giovanni fixed held up nicely.
We had hugged friends good-bye, thanked all of our new customers, sent any of the people who needed rides home in an assortment of Ubers, Lyfts, and cabs (oh my), and had just sat down at a table by the brick wall to open a bottle of bubbly and celebrate.
I pop open the champagne and Holly grabs four glasses while Jessie waves good-bye to our final two customers of the night as they step into a black Prius. Jess yells out a happy, “Good night. Get home safely!” then locks the front door, flips around a wooden sign Holly had made from a picture of a cork popping from a champagne bottle (open) to a picture of an open of red wine being vacuum sealed (closed).
Jessie immediately turns around to Holly, me, and Sven, and runs excitedly over to the table, “Postparty car analysis. Go!”
“What is a postparty car analysis?” Sven asks Holly as I pour them each a flute.
“You know how when you’re a couple, right after you leave the party and get into your car, you start gossiping about everyone who was there?” she answers.
He seems genuinely confused. “Why would I do that? That sounds mean.”
I hand him his glass, then make a joke of waving him off. “Okay, Sven’s too nice to play. But speaking of cars, that reminds me: Sven, I’m going to go to Giovanni’s tonight. Would you mind giving Holly a ride home?”
“So that we can gossip in the car?” he asks jokingly.
I shrug. “Or whatever else you want to do in the car,” I suggest, giving him a fun wink as I hand Holly her glass of champagne.
I watch Sven gently take Holly’s hand and give her a shy smile. “It would be my pleasure.”
Jessie knows what’s up. “Holly, we can handle cleanup if you guys want to leave after our toast.”
“Oh, I couldn’t do that to you,” Holly insists. “There’s way too much to do.”
“Nonsense,” Jessie counters as I hand her a filled flute. “The cleaning crew will be here in an hour for the heavy lifting. We just need to get the glasses into the dishwasher and things like that. You should go.”
Holly sneaks a quick look at Sven. “I don’t know…” she says awkwardly. “Jessie, you just broke up tonight. We need to rally around you.”
“It’s a breakup, not an election,” Jessie points out. “And I’m fine. You should go.”
Sven kisses Holly’s hand lightly. “I’m happy to take you.”
“Well…” Holly hesitates.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” I mutter. I raise my glass and quickly toast, “Here’s to us! Good people are scarce.” I down a fast gulp like I’m doing a Jell-O shot, then turn to the two of them. “Now get the fuck out.”
Both Holly and Sven laugh before drinking their champagne. “Let me grab my purse,” Holly says, practically giddy.
In less than two minutes, Holly is out the door with the man of her wet dreams, and Jessie has relocked the front door and is heading back to me. “I feel like I just finished finals week in college.”
“Me too,” I say. “I am exhausted and wide awake all at once.” I take a sip of champagne. “So where did you leave things with Kevin?”
Jessie looks down at her drink. Looks back up at me. “Would you be mad if I didn’t drink this?”
“Of course not. If you don’t feel like celebrating, I totally understand.”
“I do … I just … I want my head to be clear right now.”
Jessie doesn’t say anything else, and I know her well enough to know that she is not a typical girl: If she doesn’t feel like talking, pushing her along won’t help.
“I totally understand,” I tell her, giving her a smile as I pick up Holly’s, Sven’s, and my glasses, and walk them toward the dishwasher. “Let’s just clean up and get out of here.”
Jessie picks up her glass and the bottle, and follows me. “Man, that agent of Holly’s is a piece of work. I felt like I was serving Auntie Mame.”
“Make no mistake, you were,” I tell Jessie as I dump the champagne into the sink. “I could tell you stories. Did Holly tell you about the guy her agent was with?”
“I don’t think she was with him,” Jessie says. “He’s too young for her. Really cute, though. I kept trying to figure out a way to introduce myself to him.”
“That’s the commercial director Holly told off,” I tell Jessie as I rinse the glasses and put them in the dishwasher.
“No!” Jessie exclaims.
“Yes,” I confirm. “And he asked her to meet him for dinner tomorrow after work.”
“You do the glasses. I’ll wipe down tables,” Jessie says as she wets a rag and begins scrubbing down the bar. “Well, she’s with Sven now, so: friends or date?”
“Not sure. I don’t think Holly knows either. But he…”
My phone pings, which startles me a little. I pull my phone from my apron pocket and check the screen.
Did you like the flowers?
Shit. I have to admit, even after all this time, that man still manages to surprise me. From the time the flowers showed up, I was bracing for Marc’s text. I didn’t want Giovanni to hear my cell pinging like crazy, or see a flood of texts on my phone.
But Marc never called, texted, or gave any indication that he had even a passing interest in me.
Jessie walks around the room, picking up stray glasses. “Giovanni’s waiting for you. You should go.”
“No, no,” I say, neither lying nor telling the truth as I quickly text back.
They were lovely. I’m with my boyfriend. Gotta go.
Then I put my phone on vibrate.
Half an hour later, Jessie and I have finished cleaning up, and I am headed to Giovanni’s.
Well, I should say as far as Jessie knows, I am headed to Giovanni’s. In reality, we drive off at the same time, then I follow her car until she makes a right turn while I go straight, en route to Hollywood Hills.
I pull over a block later, turn my phone ringer on, and check my screen. Three text messages and two voice mails.
I’m in town next week for business. When can I take you to dinner?
Hello? I just left you a message.
You’re not answering, so I checked your bar’s Web site. You appear to be closed on Mondays. Can I take you out then?
And immediately, I’m nauseous. I sit in my car for several minutes, shoulders slumped, absentmindedly watching cars whiz past me, the drivers anxious to be home and in their beds.
Finally, after mentally preparing myself, I listen to his voice mails.
The first one is just as I expect. His voice is smooth, he’s charming … He’s a snake. “Darling, it’s me. I hope the florist got you exactly what I asked for: I told them a woman like you deserves millions of roses, but to also add a surprise or two. I also said nothing but purple and white.”
He pauses, but the message keeps playing. Finally he says, “I miss you. I didn’t realize how much until recently. Please call me back.”
The messages ends. I take a deep breath and play the next one.
“I’m getting a divorce,” Marc begins. “I’m telling her everything. I didn’t want to tell you over voice mail, but I was afraid otherwise you wouldn’t call me back.”
I don’t even wait for the rest of his message before I call him back.
He answers on the first ring. “I’m so glad you called. It’s over.”
“What happened?”
“I miss you is what happened. This marriage feels like a hollow shell. I feel like we’re pretending to be a happy couple, and it’s all an act. I want out.”
For a few moments, I’m speechless. “When are you going to tell her?”
“Before I leave for Los Angeles. I want it all out in the open.”
“Wow,” is all I can manage.
“So, the question is … Will you still have me?” Marc asks.
“I … I’m sorry. I’m just stunned,” I stammer. “Of course, I love you. I’m thrilled about this news. Not thrilled. What a terrible word. I just mean…”
And the words sort of disappear. Marc finally asks, “Would you like to have dinner with me on Monday?”
“I would LOVE that,” I answer immediately.
“Good. I kept my apartment, so maybe we could stay in … Wait. Hold on,” Marc says.
I wait for a few moments.
“Elizabeth just walked in,” Marc says, lowering his voice. “Can I call you back?”
“I’m actually … going to bed,” I half lie.
Marc gets quiet. “The boyfriend.”
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I quickly insist.
“Are you sleeping with him tonight?”
“You know what, Marc, until you actually break up, you’re not allowed to guilt-trip me,” I snap, surprising myself with my sudden backbone.
“No, darling, I’ll be right there,” I hear Marc say, presumably to her. Then he whispers to me, “I have to go. Wish me luck.”
And he clicks off the phone.
I have no idea what to think. I have no idea what the right answer is. Do I even want Marc anymore? I mean, sure, I love him and there’s a chemistry …
Actually, do I even love him? Or am I just in love with the romance? I’ve been wanting him to be free for years, and now that he’s about to be, I feel … clenched.
Why aren’t I happier about this?
But I am happy. I’m just in shock. Supposedly, some women who get proposed to need a few days to let everything sink in. It’s probably that. My phone beeps a text. I immediately check it.
I’m passing out on the couch, trying to stay awake. If I don’t answer the door, knock harder.
Giovanni. Right.
Beautiful, super-nice Giovanni. Really one of the good ones. Jessie did an amazing job picking for me. I text him back:
Perfect.
Oh, and I made you the Italian hot chocolate we talked about. It’ll be waiting for you when you get here, Nice and warm.
Just like you.
I wasn’t going to say that, but yes. Now stop texting and get over here.
Be there in 20.
The kind of guy who gets up in the middle of the night to make me hot chocolate. The kind of guy you build a life with.
I’ll cancel my dinner with Marc.
Why couldn’t things have just worked out with Chris back in college? Then I wouldn’t be dealing with any of this drama.
Where did that come from? Probably because I miss college. I miss having the certainty I had at twenty that my knight in shining armor would make my heart flutter, without being a dick. Without breaking my heart.
I sure wish I could get that certainty back at thirty-two.