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Cara nods knowingly. “Good call. Keep him on his toes.”
“Was it, though?” I ask. “We made plans for this weekend, but he just canceled on me out of the blue.”
Cara and Benny exchange a look. “Are you sure you didn’t sleep with him?”
I scoff-laugh. “Of course I’m sure. I think I’d know.”
“Hmm.” Cara plants her elbow on the bar and her chin in her hand. “Does he have a girlfriend?”
“No. He’s very anti-cheating, which is one reason we haven’t slept together. Because of Rich. He has an . . . ex-wife.”
“Damn,” Benny says. “He’s older?”
I nod. “Early thirties, I think.”
Cara rubs her palms together. “Now we’re talking. Older men are fucking awesome. Chances are, he isn’t dicking you around. Did he say why he had to cancel?”
“No.”
“So it wasn’t a girlfriend,” Benny tells Cara, squinting as if she’s scheming.
Cara shakes her head. “Most likely not a blow off, either, since he didn’t even get laid yet.”
I take a long pull from my straw before I point out, “Not afraid of commitment. He’s been married.”
“This is going to bother me,” Cara says. “Let’s get a second opinion.”
“Good idea.” Benny sits up on her stool, scans the crowd, and waves at a pair of men. They come right over.
“Hi,” Benny says. “This is Cara, Halston, and I’m Benny.”
“Nice to meet you,” says the dark-haired one. “I’m Jude, and this is Matt. Are you ladies—”
“How old are you guys?” Cara asks.
Matt rubs the back of his neck. “Uh . . . don’t worry, we’re legal.”
Cara smirks. “We’re conducting research, and we’re looking for men in their thirties.”
“You’re in luck,” Jude says, raising his glass. “We’re both thirty.”
“Excellent. My friend here,” Cara gestures at me, “had a great date with a guy in his thirties, didn’t sleep with him, and made plans for a second date, but he canceled last minute.”
The guys shrug. “Something probably came up.”
“And?” Benny asks.
“And what?” Matt turns to me. “Have you asked him?”
Everyone else turns to me.
I stir my drink. “It didn’t really seem like he was open to talking about it.”
“Then he has a girlfriend,” Matt says.
“He’s divorced.” Benny shakes her head. “Unless—maybe he was burned by his ex, and he freaked out.”
“Yes,” Cara shouts. “That’s it. He’s not ready to jump into the next relationship. Right, guys?”
Matt and Jude exchange a look. “Maybe,” Jude says. “I wouldn’t say I’ve freaked out before, but I have skipped a date with a girl I knew was looking for commitment.”
Finn had shut the marriage topic down when I’d asked for details. He said he hadn’t loved her like a husband, but was he trying to play it down so I wouldn’t know I was a rebound? I nod a little too hard, my head swimming from the alcohol. “That makes sense. His texts were so schizo.”
“Texts?” Benny asks. “No way. You need to talk to him face to face, or at least on the phone. Texts are too ambiguous.”
“They were really sweet at first,” I say, “and then when I didn’t respond, he got weird.”
“So you rejected him,” Jude says.
“No I didn’t, I was just busy at work—”
“Did you tell him that?”
“Well, no. I didn’t really say anything. I was upset.”
Matt makes a face. “When was his divorce?”
“Recently, I think.”
“My older brother was traumatized after his divorce,” he says. “It’s been three years and he still hasn’t been on a date.”
“So basically,” Cara says, “this guy’s trying to get back out there after a devastating divorce, and you go and blow him off.”
“I blow him off?” I think back to his six text messages—and my single two-word response. Do I have this all wrong? Was I the jerk? “Oh my God. Do you really think that’s what happened?”
Jude nods. “Definitely. Girls think we have it so easy, but the truth is, getting shot down by someone you really like fucking sucks.”
A wave of guilt—or gin, more likely—courses through me. I had burst into tears when I thought Finn had rejected me just a few hours ago, so of course I can understand why he’d be hurt. “What do I do?” I ask. “Call him?”
“No. You bruised his ego. You need a grand gesture.” Cara points at me. “You should go over to his place.”
“But he told me not to come.”
“Of course he did.” Benny nods. “He’s proud. You have to prove you’re really interested and not planning to screw him over.”
“Just planning to screw him,” Cara chirps.
“If a hot chick showed up on my doorstep to screw in the middle of the night,” Matt says, “I’d think I’d died and gone to heaven.”
“Really?” I ask.
Jude puts his hand on the back of my stool, his fingers mere inches from my ass. “If he doesn’t invite you in, he’s a loser. Better to find out he’s a loser now rather than later.”
I take another generous sip of my drink, feeling suddenly warm. I want to remove my sweater like I had last night for Finn’s camera. For Finn. And having Jude’s hand near me is reminding me of Finn’s, all the things they did to me . . . and to himself.
Did I make a mistake assuming he was no longer interested? I have limited experience with men as it is—I know virtually nothing about divorce. I should’ve been more sensitive. I slide off my stool. “I’m going over there.”
The four of them applaud. “Good girl,” Cara says. “If he turns you down, come right back here. We’ll be waiting.”
If he turns me down, I’m certain I won’t be going anywhere but right to bed so I can crawl under the covers for the rest of the weekend and drown myself in tears.
15
Outside, the cool air is refreshing, but not jarring enough to kill my buzz. I don’t even put on my coat, just wave down a passing cab and give him Finn’s address. On the ride over, I lower the window, unusually warm from the alcohol. I take off my mittens. I ask the driver where he’s from. When I’ve exhausted all the ways to distract myself from what I’m doing, I get out my phone. Looking at Finn’s photos of me makes me feel close to him. They have more likes and follows, but no comments.
As we get closer, my confidence wavers. Finn specifically told me not to come. If it was because I hurt him, I want to show him he has nothing to worry about. It could be something else, though. Something he doesn’t want to share. The only thing he’s been secretive about is his divorce—could this have to do with his ex?
The cabbie looks at me in the rearview mirror. “Well?”
We’re at the curb in front of Finn’s. I pay and get out of the car. The building has a keypad. I debate whether to wait for someone to come in or out. Buzzing his apartment seems almost more intrusive than just knocking on his door.
I’m not experienced in showing up unannounced. I’ve been on the receiving end of it, though. Just this afternoon, I talked to my dad about not respecting my wishes, yet here I am, doing the same thing to Finn.
This feels wrong. I open my messages and pull up our conversation from earlier.
I’m downstairs. I’ll go if you want, I just wanted to see you. And talk.
I don’t know how long I want to wait for a response. He might be asleep. Or worse, out. My Uber app tells me there’s a car two minutes away. As I’m trying to decide a reasonable time limit for my desperation, a bubble pops up to indicate he’s typing. I hold my breath until his message comes through.
You’re here? At my place?
I don’t know what to think. He doesn’t seem happy, and this is starting to feel less “grand gesture” and more “desperate stalker.”
I’m sorry. I can go. I’ve been drinking & my
friends said all these things & now I’m here.
I’ve barely hit send when his response comes through.
Come upstairs
I don’t know what to think. He doesn’t seem happy, and this is starting to feel less “grand gesture” and more “desperate stalker.” It’s too late now, though, because the door to the building clicks as he unlocks it from his apartment. Inside, I ride the elevator up to the sixth floor. Right as I approach apartment 6A, the door opens, and Finn steps out in only sweatpants. I have to swallow to keep saliva in my mouth. His abs are in full effect tonight, and they’re even better than I remember.
He runs a hand through his hair, pulls the door almost closed behind him, and whispers, “Hey.”
“Oh my God. You were sleeping.” This just keeps getting worse. “It’s late.”
He smiles a little. “It’s barely eleven, but, yeah. I was out like a light.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry to show up like this, I just, I was confused, and your texts were so—”
“It’s fine. You’ve been drinking?”
“I don’t normally drink, not like this. I just had a really bad day—”
“I told you not to come.” He glances behind him. “But if you’re drunk and alone, I’m not going to send you away.”
I’m an idiot. This is why I don’t drink—my judgment sucks. I’m about to apologize when I realize Finn is whispering. “You’re trying to be quiet,” I say, my remorse fading. “Why?”
He looks down the hall, his eyes distant. “Listen, I . . . I have to tell you something.”
My heart stops. I really am an idiot—a blind, trusting, rash idiot. “You’re not alone.”
“No.”
My stomach revolts. My martinis are about to get way dirtier. “Shit. I . . . I can’t believe I came here.”
“Let me explain—”
I can only see this situation getting worse, and I don’t want to stick around to watch it crash and burn. I step back.
“Stop.” He lunges for my arm but misses while trying to keep his apartment door from shutting. “It’s not what you think. Come inside, and I’ll explain everything.”
