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As we begin to eat, Carter says, “I was honestly surprised you asked me out to dinner. I knew I was going out on a limb when I messaged you this afternoon.”
I plaster on a smile, trying my best not to make it seem it isn’t my idea to begin with. “Well, I realized I’ve been a little rude to you in our… past encounters.”
“That’s fine,” Carter takes a sip of red wine. “I understand if I caught you off guard.”
“Thanks for understanding.” In the spirit of sincerity, I also ask him, “So, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a kindergarten teacher.”
“Really?”
I didn’t expect that at all.
He chuckles. “I get that a lot. I don’t look like one, don’t I? But, well, I love kids. I may as well get paid for it. How about you?”
“Oh.” My voice falters. “I’m currently… unemployed. But I was a business analyst for a marketing firm until a few months ago.”
“You’re taking a break or something?”
“Something like that.”
Also, I was supposed to move to North Carolina with my future husband.I don’t say that, though.
For our entrée, we are servedHerb Crusted Lamb Chops.
As I cut through the meat, Carter tells me, “Oh, by the way, I’ve been looking for you in our senior yearbook, but I couldn’t find you.”
Shit. I completely forgot about that white lie.
Oh, well. I just have to wing it. It’s not like we’ll meet again. This is the last time.
I answer, “Oh my god, Carter. Did you forget already? I left high school during… junior year. We moved here to Atlanta. Remember?”
Carter’s face switches from confusion to acceptance. “Is that right? God, I really do have a bad memory. For a moment, I was worried I mistook you for somebody else.”
And you did.
It’s my turn to sip some wine. “Well, you didn’t. Blame it on the bad memory?”
By the time our dessert arrives, Carter and I have been laughing about ‘shared’ memories from high school; mostly, it’s just Carter telling me stories about our ‘old’ classmates and teachers.
He tells me about how a certain Christian woke up naked after the graduation party. And how Mr. Baker ended up marrying Ms. Schauffer despite their countless petty, public fights.
I laugh at each story, pretending to be someone I’m not.
And as I do exactly that, a sad thought creeps under my skin: I’m enjoying my time with Carter as Estelle Gibbs he went to high school with. NottheEstelle Gibbs that I am.
To make it worse, I’ve been smiling and laughing so much that my cheek muscles kind of hurt; it just reminds me of the times I felt like this with Larson.
He used to make me smile and laugh, and now, I’m just a part of his dark history—a lover better left unspoken of. Just as he is mine.
“Are you okay?” Carter asks as my expression falls.
I try to force another smile. “Y-yeah, I think it’s the-the wine.”
“Do you want me to drive you home?”
“No, I brought my car.”
