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“We aren’t doing this. I'm fine, crap. Call him!” Sarah demanded.
“Why would I call him?”
“Because you want to.”
Rose scoffed once more. “Maybe I should go to his house and tell his pregnant wife about our date instead.”
“YES! GO!” Sarah yelled. Rose’s brows furrowed in confusion.
“You’re agreeing with that stalker-like action?” Sarah would never agree to something so dramatic, Rose thought.
“Yes, you should expose him. Right now. Get him back for everything. It will make you feel better.” She was pushy, though Sarah tended to be that from time to time, Rose knew better.
“I get it, stupid idea,” Rose said with an exhale as she sat at her desk. She knew how crazy she sounded, how she must have looked. “I just can’t stop thinking about him,” Rose admitted softly.
“Then call him. Rose, so often you’ve allowed things you deserve to fall through the cracks because you don’t believe you deserve them.”
Rose shook her head. “There is no point. He stopped texting me weeks ago. He’s happy with his life. It is not like anything would have come from our connection but further heartbreak. It’s good it ended before it started.”
“You’re rambling.”
Rose exhaled. “I wish he were the same jerk he used to be. It would make this so much easier.”
“Have you ever thought this is what was supposed to happen? Him walking back into your life just after you get rid of a creep, just as…
“Just as he’s about to become a father?” Rose inserted. “Sarah, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but Martin Brock and I were never going to happen. I allowed myself to live in the fantasy for a night, and now it’s back to reality.”
“Rose, there is something you should know. Martin, he is…”
“Sarah, please. Just let it go.” Rose pleaded with her best friend with a tone filled with sorrow. Sarah nodded her head and, without another word, left the office. With her thoughts, Rose shifted back to Martin and their single night together. Their time together had left an impression on her she would never forget and would treasure.
* * *
As the day ended, Rose drove in the opposite direction of her house. She turned her radio onto the eighties channel, the one Martin had played on their date. Smiling, she pulled up to the planetarium, parking at the end of the lot. She rested her head on her hand, staring at the building before her. She could still hear him talk as he helped her out of the car. Promise her she was safe and it would be okay. The way he softly guided her into the building. She smiled as the flash of him turning on the stars crossed her mind. Rose closed her eyes, remembering how he looked at her, the galaxy's beauty over their head. He had made everything perfect, just as she dreamed.
She opened her eyes and drifted to the long wall they had walked along. He ensured she never tripped on the uneven parts of the ground, the gentle way he carried on the conversation, or never pushed her to offer more than she wanted. He made her feel comfortable like they never had a moment of ill past. Rose’s smile faded as she thought of running from him; the pain it caused she had ignored until that moment. He never grew frustrated with her, even when she ended the date early. In a single night, he had given her more joy than all the moments of her marriage.
Rose grabbed her phone and pulled up his number, his name stretched across the screen. She had saved it from the order forms he did at the bakery, a breach in her policy, yet she risked it. She hovered her finger over the green button; her breath hitched in her chest when suddenly the screen changed to Sarah’s name. Quickly, Rose answered and confirmed she was on her way home for their weekly wine night. Looking once more at his name, Rose tossed her phone into the passenger seat and started toward home.
Sarah and Rose’s weekly wine night became a tradition they started during Rose’s marriage after her third miscarriage. Unable to hide the secrets and pain, she finally revealed everything to Sarah. So, each week, they got together, talked, and shared any news or stress that had weighed them down. It had helped for a while, but Rose doubted anything would help her in her confusion over Martin. Rose walked into the room, wine glasses in hand, as she smiled at Sarah, who flipped through the pages of their old yearbook.
“It’s hard to believe someone that fine could be such a douche.” Rose laughed as she sat down next to Sarah on the floor.
“You were right, though. He’s not like he used to be. He’s so much kinder, so much softer.” Rose admitted as she glanced at Martin's football picture.
“How often do you think about him?” Rose took a sip of her wine and sighed; her gaze remained on his picture.
“Every second,” Rose admitted. “When he kissed me, something happened in me I never felt before. He made me feel alive, safe, beautiful.”
“What if he wasn’t with anyone?” Sarah asked.
Rose scoffed and sat back against the couch. “He is, so what does it matter?”
“Let the fantasy live on. What if he wasn’t with anyone?” Sarah repeated. Rose took another drink of her wine before she rested the glass on her knee. She hadn’t thought about it; he was another untouchable thing to her.
“Nothing would change,” Rose answered with a sad tone.
“Rose, that's stupid. You’re just making excuses now. Ignoring what you want, you always do that. You want him. Why the hell won’t you go after it? Fight for what you want for a change.”
