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Closing my eyes for a moment, I took a minute to inhale deeply. It had taken me a long time to move on, many nights of tears and wishing things had of been different.
“Cara, it’s been five years. It’s been two years since I started dating Jim. This is the natural progression: date, get engaged, get married, perhaps have kids. Things weren’t going that way with Jackson and I.”
“Of course, you’re right, it is the natural progression. I just thought that after all you’d been through with losing your brother and then with Jackson, you would have given it more time. Make sure that Jim really is the one.”
“I have given it time, Cara, and I’m happy.” I swallowed hard. Was I happy? I thought for a moment. I wasn’t happy, but I knew if I told myself that enough, I’d finally start believing it. I just hoped that Cara didn’t see through it.
“Happy? Are you? Are you really?”
I paused. She’d seen through it just like I knew she would. Sure, Jim and I had our problems. Okay, lots of problems, but they differed from the ones that Jackson and I had. We worked through them, or at least tried, which was more than what I could say about my previous relationship.
“Yes, I am,” I said weakly.
“Okay. I just wish it sounded like you were,” Cara said.
I should have been angry at her for not believing me, but from the sound of my voice, I wasn’t even sure a stranger would believe me at this point. I looked down at the dress that lay beside me and then over at the towel, regret sinking in about what I’d spent.
“I’m happy.” I repeated.
“Well, I guess that is all that matters. If you’re happy, I’m happy.” Cara replied.
“I am,” I answered, perhaps a little too quickly. I was quiet for a moment. How did Cara do that? How did she see right through everything, and know I was as unsure of this as I was the day I walked away from my life back home? I pulled my feet up underneath me. How did she know I was constantly guessing whether this relationship was right for me, even after two years together? How did she know I was always wondering if I’d made the right decision by walking away from Jackson? I glanced at the clock and knew if I didn’t get going, I was going to be late. I also knew if I kept thinking about this, I’d call and cancel my date, as I’d done before, and drown my misery in a carb laden meal. “All right, you, I must get going. I am supposed to meet Jim at the restaurant at six.”
“All right, well, happy anniversary, and I will call you tomorrow. Love you, bug.”
“Love you too.”
* * *
I took another drink of wine and placed the glass down on the table, tracing the rim with my finger. It was almost seven. I had been waiting for Jim for almost an hour. A loud gasp, followed by an excited scream, pulled my attention to the corner of the room. There I watched as a man kneeled down on the ground; a black velvet box perched in his hand as the woman across from him slipped the ring excitedly onto her finger. I smiled softly as I watched the couple embrace and then kiss before they sat back down.
“Hey, sorry I’m late.” I felt a hand squeeze my shoulder.
I smiled as I looked up to see Jim standing there. Instead of kissing me, he walked over and pulled the chair out across from me and sat down. He looked exhausted; his hair was disheveled—a normal look from him running his fingers through after a stressful day. His suit jacket hung open, he’d already removed his tie, and he had already undone the first three buttons of his shirt. Suddenly, I felt very overdressed.
“It’s okay.” I shrugged, picking up my wineglass. “I had good company.”
“I see that.” He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
I grabbed the bottle and poured another glass. “You really should try this wine before I finish the entire bottle.”
“I’m good. It’s been a long day. Not in the mood for drinks tonight.”
I frowned. This wasn’t the normal Jim, and I was wondering what had caused the lack of enthusiasm in him. He ran his hand through his hair once again, shrugged out of his suit jacket, and picked up the menu that was sitting on the table in front of him. He had barely looked at it before closing it again and letting out a sigh.
“Is everything okay?” I could hear the concern in my voice as I looked into his tired eyes. The more I worried something wasn’t right, the faster I could no longer feel the effects of the wine I’d drank. I placed my glass down on the table to give him my undivided attention in case he wanted to talk. However, one look at his expression told me he didn’t want to talk. What it told me was he didn’t really want to be here with me. I’d seen it before.
“Yeah, like I said, it was a long day.”
I looked over at the menu and then back to Jim. “If you weren’t feeling up to tonight, you could have called. I’d have understood. Instead, I could have just come over and made dinner for us at your place.”
“Welcome to The Porter House. Could I take your order?” the server asked, approaching our table, interrupting us. He emptied the rest of the wine from the bottle into Jim’s glass. I was about to ask if we could have a couple more minutes to give Jim time to look over the menu, but he surprised me by placing his order.
“Yes. I’ll have the New York strip cooked rare. A double baked potato, garlic mushrooms and onions on the side,” he murmured, closing the menu, and pulling his cell phone from his breast pocket.
“Great choice, and for you, miss?”
I sat there looking at the man who sat across from me, not sure what to say. We’d never been to this restaurant before. Come to think of it, that was why he wanted to come here, yet he knew exactly what to order and he’d barely even glanced at the menu.
