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a with its own black, tin overhang surrounding a cordoned off shrubbery in a nook of the building. A classy place to eat, and I’m in jeans and casual top. It sinks in where I’m actually at, and how out of place I am. My eagerness to get here gets up and leaves.
What the hell am I doing?
Showing up unannounced for one. Well, I’m here now. Might as well go in and see which way the tide flows. He could hate the very sight of me. I pray he isn’t married. Would settle for his wife not being here at the moment. She won’t appreciate an old friend dropping in out of the blue skies. I don’t need the drama or want to cause any, but I could definitely eat. It’s been eleven hours since the bottom of my stomach was occupied.
I dangle three twenty-dollar bills over the front seat, along with a generous tip for the cabbie’s trouble. He takes the money, nods his gratitude, then wishes me a good day in a thick accent as I climb out. Advancing on the double-glass door entrance, I scan the interior of the place through the windows. Miniature chandeliers with fluted arms attached to acorn-shaped crystal globes are suspended over various-sized tables spaced spaciously apart. The smaller ones and black, velvet booths meant for creating intimacy are on the outskirts of the dining room.
Stepping past a sign that says Seat Yourself Tuesday onto the shiny black-tiled floor, shit gets real for me, and I almost back out of going any further. Something pushes me forward, propelling me around the servers walking to and fro, balancing trays on their palms. Chatter from the customers filling half of the tables on a Tuesday attests to the restaurant’s success. I scan for the cashier’s stand, locating it in the far-left corner behind a V-shaped, black marble countertop. Tommy’s behind it, speaking low to a couple of women, with a child-size thigh pressed against his backside. The child in his arm doesn’t register with me right then. I have eyes only for him.
Even with his back to me, I know that profile anywhere. A chef coat graces his shoulders that are not too big, too small, or too wide—he was never heavily-muscled, just cut. Oh, but trust me when I say he has enough strength on his trim frame to get any job done. Even now, after so many years, his presence sucks up the air in the room or suctions it from my lungs. I never could figure out which.
Now, that I’ve seen him, I can’t find anything in me that wants to be angry at Tommy any longer. Can’t go back the way I came either, literally or figuratively, not before letting him know I’m in the area. Catching up for old times’ sake doesn’t seem so bad at the moment.
I cross the floor to stand behind him. “You know, Tommy, it’s not fair that you’re still an extra medium and I’ve gained twenty pounds from sitting behind a desk all day.”
It’s almost hysterical how the women in front of him lean to opposite sides in sync, peering around him, checking me out with twin frowns. He swivels around, slowly, as if he wants to savor the moment. The second his midnight gaze lands on me, his eyes begin to slowly bulge out of his head.
“Kat,” he whispers.
The child is in full view now, her existence undeniable.
God, he really does have a child… and she’s sick.
The tube running from her nose to inside her shirt is heartbreaking. If his child is ill, he’s suffering, too. So am I simply because they are.
Nervous as hell, I wave. “Hey, Tommy.”
This is the man I’d given everything I am to and he deceived me, so why the hell am I nervous? I should be grateful he’s not my kid’s father. So why am I not? Because I don’t want him procreating with anybody else. Although I knew it was a possibility before I got here, almost a certainty really. Tommy’s too damn gorgeous to be single. Black, inky jealousy begins to eat at me from inside out. It takes the same amount of strength to move heaven and earth just to preserve eye contact with him and the fake ass smile on my lips.
“Long time, no see,” I say casually.
“You can say that shit again, but don’t. I heard you the first time. Where are you coming from?”
“From my flat.”
“What’s flat? Your tire?” His eyebrows do their best to form a unibrow, clearly baffled.
I giggle, and it almost feels like yesterday when it was he and I as one, and we could talk easily. Right now, I’m finding it extremely hard to chat with his baby girl staring at me. She’s doing what I am, wondering about the girl in front of her.
“No, I wouldn’t start a massacre in Arrow by driving here right now. My flat is my apartment, and who is this beautiful girl?”
“Why is your apartment flat, Kat? How the hell do you get in the damn thing?” He glances down at the child who’s gumming a chew toy for teething, then kisses her on the forehead. “And this is Majestic. Say hello, baby girl.”
It flat out kills me to see him be affectionate with Majestic—she was supposed to be ours. It’s difficult to keep the smile on my face, but I will, even if that kills me, too.
I wiggle my fingers at her, making her grin. Could fall in love with this little girl just because she’s Tommy’s, but I don’t think her mother would care for that.
“Hello, Majestic. I’m Kat. And, my apartment’s not flat, Tommy. It’s a regular apartment. They just call them flats in London.”
One of the women reaches around Tommy for the toddler, most likely the mother, Tommy’s woman or ex. “I’ll take her so you two can talk.”
Both of the women shove off, all three girls glimpsing back periodically as they exit the flap at the end of the countertop together, disappearing into a swinging door that probably opens to the kitchen on their immediate right.
I can see what Tommy sees in the one squirreling away Majestic. She’s beautiful, slim, a little world-weary if her eyes are any indication to go by, but she’s got a coke-bottle frame to die for, mocha-tinted skin, and a pleasant air about her, along with long tendrils of hair slipping from the hair net on her head. I can see what Tommy sees in her but not why he didn’t introduce us or why she wasn’t more curious about me and stuck around to find out my motives for being here. I would have.
Maybe she completely trusts Tommy like I didn’t.
He steps closer to the edge of the counter dividing us, along with a few other hurdles. I center on him again, his forehead wrinkled, one side of his mouth tilted up. His ever-present humor sparking in his eyes next to the long nose that fits his oblong-shaped face to perfection. Every part of him is physically perfect. Still.
