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~ Bridget ~
Present
“And this is Evan having watermelon for the first time,” I say, showing a pic on my cellphone to Josh as we sit at the bar of the restaurant. “It’s his favorite food now.”
Josh smiles politely. I can’t tell if he’s repulsed or not to find out I have a kid.
“Can I get you a real drink?” he asks, nodding toward my club soda.
“I’m good,” I reply. “Alcohol messes with my sleep, and I need a good night’s rest whenever I can get it.”
Josh hasn’t asked about Evan’s father. Maybe he doesn’t want to get jealous. Or maybe he’s not that interested in Evan.
He reaches for my glass and takes a sip. “How can you drink this stuff without alcohol?”
“I’m used to it. Sometimes I’ll have it with grenadine.”
“Like a Shirley Temple?”
“I know, it’s a kid’s drink. But for me, it beats waking up five, six times in the night.”
“Then let’s get you a Shirley Temple. At least it beats a plain old soda.”
He waves at the bartender and orders the drink.
“I’ve got a few more pics of Evan on my phone,” I venture. Actually, my phone is full of photos of Evan, but I don’t plan on showing them all to Josh. I just want to see his response.
He flashes that gorgeous smile at me, the one that had us all swooning at the coffee shop. “Let’s see ’em,” he says.
Encouraged, I show him the photo of Evan snuggling with the neighbor’s puppy, Evan covered in spaghetti, and Evan curled in Aunt Coretta’s lap.
“Cute,” Josh says.
But his statement rings a little hollow. I can’t say for sure, but I’m not getting the same vibe that I did when I first met him. At the coffee shop, he was in full charm mode. Tonight, he just doesn’t seem as interested.
We talk about the usual date topics: his line of work, my studying nursing, how long we’ve each lived in Denver, etc. But as I finish the Shirley Temple, I’m more and more convinced that I’m not Ms. Right for him, and he’s not Mr. Right for me. I try not to think about how much I spent on the shoes and dress.
“Oh, man,” Josh says after reading a text that just came into his cell. “My grandfather’s in the hospital. I have to go. I am so sorry about this.”
Somehow, I can’t help but wonder if that’s what the text really was about.
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” I answer.
He stands up. “I owe you dinner. Maybe next Saturday.”
“Don’t even worry about it.”
“I’ll text you.”
Sure, you will, I can’t help but think. Oh well. At least I can tell Lashawna I tried. This way, I’ll make it back in time to read Evan Good Night, Moon over FaceTime.
I check the time on my phone, a photo of Evan pointing up at a butterfly as my home screen. It’s a recent photo. The older he gets, the more he looks like his father.
A shiver runs down my spine. I’ve gone days, even weeks without thinking of Darren. But for some reason, I’ve thought of him multiple times today and yesterday. Maybe going out on the date is what’s stirring up old memories.
