9
THE SERVER ARRIVES and introduces herself. Matt orders a bottle of red for the both us, chooses a Shiraz as per my request. He orders lobster bisque soup and the prime rib, and I choose grilled calamari, and avocado pecan salad. I always make healthy choices; grains, nuts, vegetables and fruit, lentils and kale. Health is a priority for me. My diet is a primary focus in my life, has been for years, and I suspect it will be that way for the rest of my days.
His gaze lingers on me for a beat, and I hate the fact that he can still manage to stir up a whirl of butterflies in my stomach. How the fuck does that work? I hate the guy. It’s that intense stare of his… he had it when he was younger too.
Some men just have an effect on you, whether you want it or not. Why do the jerks have that pull? I could read a million self-help books on relationships, and I still wouldn’t understand that one. It’s the reason why so many women stay with assholes… because those men have a hold of them.
He shakes his head again. “I can’t believe you’re the same girl I knew in high school.”
I roll my eyes without the least attempt to hide it.
“No, I don’t mean the way you look, Kayla,” he says. “It’s more about the way you carry yourself. You seem so confident now. You know the reason you got picked on in high school wasn’t your weight. You were just so meek and down on yourself. You were an easy target.”
I bite my lip. I want to tell him to fuck off.
“High school is like that. There’s always a victim everyone picks on. If we all choose a victim and pick on him or her, then we’re all in on the same game, and no one picks on us. It’s a way to protect ourselves. Thank God those days are over… teenagers are the most insecure people on earth.”
I smirk. “Well, you never seemed to have trouble in the confidence department,” I point out. “Mr. Popularity.”
“Oh, believe me. I had my issues.”
“Well, your issues were nowhere as serious as mine. It’s a wonder I didn’t blow up the school or grow up to be a serial killer.”
He smiles. “I’m happy you turned out great. Your mom has been talking my head off about you for ages; her beautiful daughter who just happens to be a registered massage therapistandyoga instructor. And when she’s not doing all those things, she’s busy saving the environment,” he adds with a playful wink. “I couldn’t wait to meet you.”
“And you never knew who I was?”
“All I knew was that your name was Kayla. I never put two and two together.”
“I guess you’d long forgotten about Whaley Wilson,” I say, another dig. “Believe me, I never forgot about you.”
Before he can say another word, the server, a stiff skinny middle-aged man, interrupts us and pours an ounce of wine in Matt’s glass. Matt twirls his glass and tastes the wine, and nods in approval.
I have the urge to say something snarky but I’m at a loss. I’ve never been particularly witty around Matt Moore, not like I am with Oscar. Oscar doesn’t drink wine. He’d probably make some crack to the server about how he’s being sexist by offering the tasting and approval to him instead of me.
The appetizers arrive and I dig in. The calamari is perfect and I enjoy every bite of it.
Matt reaches down for his satchel. He digs in and I’m curious to see what he wants to show me. He fishes out a white frame, and when he flips it around, I almost choke on my calamari — it’s a photo of me. It’s one of the photos he took of me when we were young, when we were friends, before he turned on me. He used to always carry a camera around — he was a real shutterbug, talented too.
“Wow,” is all I manage to say at first, once I finally swallow my calamari. “I can’t believe you kept that photo.”
“I’ve kept all my photos,” he tells me. “I have quite a few of you, but this one is my favorite.”
I study the photo. I’m sitting on a swing, a green lollipop in my hand, a huge smile on my face. I remember that day. It was such a happy day.
I realize then that I was way too hard on myself. I was pretty; flushed cheeks, big brown eyes, a smattering of freckles on my nose, thick brown hair, and of course the braces. I was a little chubby, yes, but it suited me.
He hands me the frame. “It’s a gift for you. Keep it.”
I take it carefully from his hands. “Oh…”
I study the photo again, and lean it against the wall next to us. “Thank you,” I say quietly.You’ve ruined my teenage years, but there’s that.
Almost as if he can read my mind, he says, “I know it doesn’t make up for all I’ve done to you, but it’s a start… there’s more where that came from.”
I’m just about to ask him to elaborate when the server arrives with our entrées. A huge steak for him and an avocado salad for me. We both dig in, and when he swallows his first bite, he smiles at me again. “I want to take you to Le Jules Verne.”
“Oh… where is that? What is that?” I ask. I haven’t a clue. I feel so stupid.
