Austin sat at home in the dark living room, in front of the television. It was on, but instead of watching it, he stared at the clock on the cable box.
He wished that Marcus had not moved back home, or that Caleb was around. He would have someone to talk to about this, but then again, he figured he was better off alone. They wouldn’t see the fool he was making of himself.
The clock read 10:30 p.m. Austin picked up his cell phone again from the sofa seat cushion next to him.
He punched the number for the recent call list and pressed Dial, since Monica’s number was the last one he had called. Actually, the last six calls had been to her number.
They’d started a little more than two hours ago, while Austin sat alone at the table in the restaurant, where he was supposed to have met Monica.
It was the best table in the house, the table Austin secured by pressing a fifty-dollar bill in the hand of the host when he entered. A bottle of the restaurant’s finest wine sat chilling in the center of the table, along with a single candle Austin had gotten sick of staring at by twenty-five minutes after the time Monica was supposed to have arrived.
That’s when he called her the first time. She didn’t pick up.
Austin left a message, hoping nothing had happened to her.
After another half hour and another four unanswered phone calls, Austin requested and paid the check.
Outside, while he waited for the valet to retrieve his car, he stood on the sidewalk, still hopeful, still looking for Monica’s Jaguar. It never showed.
He drove home, took off his jacket after stepping in the door, and without bothering to turn on the lights, he sought out a bottle of liquor.
Now sitting in the dark room, he poured himself a third or fourth shot. He had lost count.
He had been stood up. There was no other explanation. As he lifted the shot glass to his lips, he wanted to hate Monica. He wanted to tell himself he wouldn’t spend another moment thinking about her.
The doorbell rang. Austin knew who it was.
He got up, answered it, left the door open, and walked back to the sofa.
Monica walked in wearing jeans, sandals, and a knit top, which told Austin she never had planned to meet him for dinner tonight.
“Why are you sitting alone here in the dark? Don’t you wanna turn on some—” Monica said, reaching for the switch on the wall.
“Don’t,” Austin said, sitting down. “Why did you stand me up?”
Monica walked further into the living room and had a seat across from Austin. She appeared uncomfortable with what she was about to say.
“There’s something on my mind.”
“And what better way to express that than to be a no-show,” Austin said, pouring himself another drink. He looked up at Monica. “Want one?”
“No, and I wish you wouldn’t have another.”
Austin chuckled, then drank half the glass. “Now you’re trying to tell me what to do.” He set the glass down. “I care for you.”
Monica looked as though his admission pained her.
“I don’t want to end things,” Austin said. “That’s why you’re here, right, to tell me that you wanna end it?”
“Yes, I guess,” Monica said, as if ashamed.
“And what if I said you couldn’t? What if I said I won’t let you?”
“Then I’d say you don’t have that kind of power over me, and I’m ending it regardless.”
Austin closed his eyes and sighed. Opening them, he said, “So what’s wrong with me?”
“It’s not you, it’s—”
“Don’t give me that ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ shit,” Austin said. “I pushed too hard? I wanted it too much? What?”
“Yes. I guess.”
Austin traced the rim of the shot glass with his finger. “I won’t apologize for that. I’m a good man. If you were a good woman, not just some … bitch who toys with men’s emotions, you would realize that.”
There was silence, and a somewhat surprised look from Monica.
“I’m sorry,” Austin apologized. “I didn’t mean that. It’s just—”
“No need,” Monica said, standing up, walking over and sitting down beside him. “I know you didn’t mean it, and I know you’re a wonderful man, a man I would be honored to call mine. I’m just not ready to start a new relationship without working some things out first. Do you understand?”
“It’s him, isn’t it? Your ex-husband, that bastard, Nate Kenny. You’re still in love with him.”
“I’m not.”
“But he’s one of the things you have to work out, right?”
“Austin, I wish I could tell you everything, but it’s complicated.”
Austin sat on the edge of the couch, looking away from Monica.
She slid off the sofa and knelt in front of him, so he’d have no choice but to acknowledge her. She parted his knees, pushed between them, and stared him directly in the eyes. “I promise, if I were fully available, fully able to give myself to you, I would do it. God knows, with the horrible luck I have with men, I would be a fool not to.”
Austin stared back into Monica’s eyes, as if searching for the truth. “Okay, fine. But once you work those things out, will you promise to give me a call, check to see if I’m still available?”
Monica laughed, and despite the pain he was feeling, Austin could not help but laugh a little too.
“You’re so cute,” Monica said. “Now I’m wondering if I’m making the right decision.”
“You aren’t,” Austin said, standing, taking her hand and helping her up. “But I understand, and I appreciate you being honest with me.”
Austin walked Monica outside to the porch, gave her a hug, and said, “Good-bye, Monica.”
Monica smiled sadly and said, “Why don’t we just say so long for now.”
“Okay. So long for now.”