“No, thanks!” I cut her off quickly. “You guys are still so new, you should take the time just to enjoy being together,” I add, in case she gets offended.
“You’re right,” Lily nods. “Thanks.” She looks down at my abandoned lunch. “You want some of my fries?”
“I’m good,.” I make a show of checking my watch. “I should get to work though.” Lily makes to get up, but I wave it off. “No, you’ve got another half-hour of your break.”
“I did want to squeeze in a manicure for tonight…” Lily admits.
“There you go. See you back in the office.” I keep smiling as I grab my purse and exit the cafe, but instead of crossing the street straight back to our building, I find myself walking in the other direction, losing myself in the lunchtime pedestrians bustling on the street.
I need a moment to breathe.
Lily’s news stings, more than I expected. It’s not just that she’s my last single friend, it’s that everything she described about her upcoming dates with Greg is so perfect, it hurts; a lonely ache swelling in my chest as I imagine them reading the newspapers together over brunch, and strolling hand-in-hand through the antique fair.
I want to be in that picture, me and the man of my dreams.
I’ve managed to push my yearning aside for so long, to live with my loneliness as best I can. I fill my evenings with work and social engagements, plan my weekends so there’s barely a moment to think. But it still comes creeping in, on a rainy Sunday morning when I’m snuggled alone on the couch, or a perfect summer’s night, when all I see are happy couples crowding the park around me.
I want that, too. An arm draped around my shoulder, someone stealing half of the newspaper. A partner in life, the intimacy that comes from knowing somebody so well -- their heart. Their body.
Their soul.
I feel my cellphone vibrate in my purse, and when I see the caller ID, my heart lifts in a burst of happiness.
It’s him. Hunter. As if he sensed me thinking about him, he’s suddenly right there on the other end of the line.
“Hey,” I answer, stepping out of the flow of traffic up against a building. “What’s going on?”
“Are you busy?” His voice is stressed. “I can call back if this is a bad time—”“No, no!” I quickly protest. As if any time he wants to talk could possibly be bad. “Is everything OK?”
“It’s a disaster,” he sighs. “Listen, are you around? I could really use your help.”
“Just tell me what you need,” I say immediately.
“I’m at Sycamore Kitchen, on Fifth Street,” Hunter replies. I look up at the street marker. I’m on third, just a couple of minutes away. It’s a sign.
“Hold on,” I tell him, “I’ll be right there.”
3.
I’ve been in love with Hunter Covington since the first week of college, sophomore year. I was sitting in the middle of the lecture hall, wondering how on earth I was going to pass my science requirement, when the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen in my life folded himself into the seat next to me and grinned a devastating smile.
“Is this seat taken?” he asked, with a faint Southern drawl.
I shook my head quickly. “No, no it’s fine.”
“Good,” he said cheerfully. “Because I know zero about geology, and you look smart as hell. Want to be study partners?”
I wondered if it could really be so easy: the boy of my dreams just showing up like that. But my parents had met in college, too—in a lecture hall just like this one—and they were the happiest couple I knew. They loved to tell me the story of how my mom turned my father down every day for a month until class was over and she finally agreed to a date. By the end of class, I could imagine telling my own kids the tale of how Hunter and I met: the whispers we exchanged all through class, the jokes we shared about the professor’s sleepy teaching style, and how, when class was over, he suggested grabbing some coffee. I couldn’t say ‘yes’ fast enough.
I would have followed him anywhere.
Coffee became a regular study session in the library each week; late night pizzas, and even the occasional movie, too. But despite hoping, and wishing, and catching my breath every time he accidentally brushed my hand, Hunter never made a move. He was always the perfect gentleman with me—and it drove me crazy. I must have been the only girl on campus he didn’t seduce. Hunter had a reckless reputation, for sure: too much booze, too many sorority girls. My friends were all jealous of the time I spent with him, but they warned me, too, that the minute he seduced me, it would all be over: Hunter moved on to the next girl before you had a chance to get attached.
I laughed off their concern, told everyone we were just friends, but I was already in way too deep. I saw past the rumors and long list of conquests, and the more I got to know him as a friend, the more I became convinced that he was hiding a damaged heart, trying desperately to distract himself from the grief and guilt he felt over his fucked up family, searching for solace in the bottom of a bottle and the arms of yet another girl. I just needed to be patient, I told myself. One day, he’d get it out of his system and realize he needed to move on.
One day he’d see that the girl of his dreams had been right there with him, all along.
I reach the restaurant in record time and wave to Hunter through the windows. He’s in a booth at the back, and when he gets up to hug me in greeting, I feel the familiar rush of adoration just at the sight of him. Tall and muscular in a casual shirt and jeans, his tan is glowing golden; his eyes a bright blue. Clean-cut and handsome, that golden boy I met in geology class is all grown up. A real man now.