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I’m putting away my phone when Rose, the nurse I stood in for when I ran into Alex the night he took me out to dinner, walks in.
“How are you doing?” I ask, taking in her dejected look and the dark rings under her eyes. She’s lost her mom to cancer, and they’d been close.
She rubs her hands over her face. “Some days are better. Others are harder.”
Laying a hand on her arm, I give a gentle squeeze. “I know it sounds lame, but if there’s anything I can do…”
Her smile is strained. “Thanks. Actually, I owe you a drink for standing in for me.”
“Oh, no. You owe me nothing.”
“Please?” Her gaze is imploring. “As a matter of fact, it will help. It’ll be good for me to get out. There’s a bar not far from here, so we can walk.”
“Oh.” I was planning on going straight home and crashing into bed as I have an early shift tomorrow, but sleep can wait. This is more important. “Of course.”
Her expression lifts a little. “Nadia is also getting off now.” She takes her phone from her pocket. “I’ll check if she wants to join us.”
“Great idea,” I say as I peel off my scrubs.
To be honest, I can do with a drink. My nerves have been in tatters all day thinking about going over to Alex’s house tomorrow evening with the feeble excuse of returning his container. He’s going to see right through me, so I might as well drop the pretense and tell him honestly what the reason for my visit is—that I want to know why he never contacted me, and that I want him to tell me to my face we were never more than a one-night stand. That he lied when he said he wanted to see me again. Or if he hadn’t lied, I want him to tell me why he changed his mind. It’s the least he owes me.
Pushing the disconcerting thoughts aside, I dress in my jeans, sweater, and boots. Then I wash my face and apply mascara and lip gloss. By the time I’ve brushed my hair and pulled on my warm jacket, Rose and Nadia are ready.
We walk one block to a bar I’ve never been to, but Rose says she hangs out there frequently. It’s a cozy place with hardwood floors and wooden panels on the walls. A lamp burns on each table. We take one in the corner and order a bottle of wine and a few tapas that will serve as dinner.
Our banter is light and the mood is uplifting. Rose was right. Sometimes, no matter how tired I am, I have to come out and live a little. Often, especially after a strenuous day, I have to force myself to get ready and go someplace, but once I’m there, like now, I end up having fun. In fact, I’m having so much fun it’s close to eleven by the time we get the bill.
Rose and Nadia live farther away than I do and decide to share a cab while I choose the cheaper fare of the subway. I earn enough to pay the bills and help out my mom, but I have to budget carefully to afford the luxury of a few nights on the town and lunches with my friends.
I’m a block away from the bar, walking in the direction of the hospital toward the Sheepshead Bay station, when the lettering of Romanoff’s shines up ahead. I slow my step as memories of that night rush over me.
I’m curious. What does the place look like on a normal evening when it’s busy? Yet it’s not curiosity but an unfortunate bout of nostalgia that carries my feet in that direction. Instead of turning toward the subway, I walk the remaining distance along a pavement that’s still relatively busy at this late hour. This area of Brooklyn isn’t Manhattan, but it’s lively enough for many people to be out and about in the middle of a weeknight.
I stop at the window, trying to peer inside, but the curtains are closed. Dammit. I want to have a peek at our table, to see if I can spot it in the midst of all the others. I want to experience what I felt that night to make sense of why a single night can hurt so profoundly. How could I have gone from not wanting a relationship to wanting so much more after only one night?
Operating on instinct, I push open the door and enter into the cozy interior. A range of delicious smells greets me—garlic, fried onions, and spices. The place is as opulent as I remember, and the extravagance hits me as though seeing it for the first time. I don’t think I’ll ever grow used to it, no matter how many times I see it. The warm reds and golds melt together. Music comes from the stage where a band is playing a lively Russian song.
