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I love how she always just assumes that I am here to pick somebody up. My dating life hasn’t exactly been the best in the last five years, and honestly, I contribute that to the fact my job is emotional and they might teach us not to let emotion get the best of us while performing our job duties, but it’s easier said than done. Seeing a child stuck inside a burning building or finding someone dead on arrival isn’t something that just gets erased from my mind when I leave the scene. Angela might forget that easily, but I don’t.
“I’m not here to flirt with men, Angela. I’m here to blow off some steam, drink a bit of liquor, and then go home and sleep. You, on the other hand, are here to find someone to take home and that’s your prerogative, but don’t push that on me.”
My sister flicks her wrist, walks toward the front door, and inside she goes with me following after her. As we walk in, all the men turn and stare at Angela. Go figure. That’s exactly what she wants. Unlike me, who walks straight to the bar to order a drink, Angela stops and talks to one of the men, who obviously asks if you can buy her a drink and she replies yes. Doesn’t she get sick of having to flirt with these men just to get free drinks? I’ll never understand why she does it.
I put my elbows on the bar and yell to the bartender, but he can’t hear me over the jukebox playing, Uptown Girl. The only thing I don’t like about this pub is the jukebox is so loud that you can’t have a conversation without having to yell.
“So, what’s your favorite book?”
The man standing next to me with his elbows on the bar waiting for his drink looks over at me. But he doesn’t look like the rest. He is wearing khakis with a button-up shirt, headphones around his neck, and a pair of glasses. He doesn’t strike me as the type to take home women, but I could be wrong. This could be a sign that he’s putting on to not look like a player.
“Great expectations has always been my favorite. You?”
“I’m more of a mystery person, so I go with Agatha Christie. Have you ever read any of her books?”
Okay, so he’s definitely not like the other men here, and it’s actually kind of nice to have a change of pace.
The bartender comes over and drops his glass of Cognac in front of him and then asks me what I would like. I order a vodka and Sprite and he comes back within a few seconds and places the drink in front of me.
The man has gone back to his table, which has a laptop, and his headphones are now back on covering his ears. So either he’s playing hard to get, or he really didn’t think that I was interested in carrying on the conversation. But, in fact, I’m intrigued by this man because instead of using some crazy-ass pick up line he just asked me what my favorite book is which tells me he cares more about meaning things than most of society. Most people don’t pick up on my love for literature, but I’ve been an avid reader since I was seven. My parents couldn’t keep up with my book purchases. They filled most Christmases and birthdays with new books for me to find my next adventure. Honestly, sometimes it’s hard to find a book that you can dive headfirst into, but sometimes you just have to take a chance.
I grab my drink and pull out the chair across from him at his table and take a seat. He looks at me, slides down his headphones and smiles.
“Did you want to talk some more? Normally, people get pretty bored talking about books, but I could talk about them all day.”
This man sitting in front of me is different from the others, and I like that. My vodka and Sprite is the perfect combination. I am not usually one for talking to random men at bars, but a conversation about novels seems just up my alley.
“So your favorite author is Agatha Christie. I have to know which book is favorite and why?”
He scratches his head and maneuvers the headphones from around his neck and places them on the table.
“It’s not actually a novel. Thirteen Problems is a short story collection, and honestly I’m not one to enjoy short stories, but it’s a real work of art. Have you ever read it?”
I shake my head, take another sip, and listen to him tell me about the collection. The atmosphere almost fades away, not hearing the loud music or other people anymore, just him and myself chatting about our favorite books. It’s interesting to meet someone that has the same taste in authors as me. The classics don’t get enough attention anymore, except when they are required in high school English classes. It’s a shame more people don’t enjoy them.
“My name is Leslie, by the way,” I say, extending my glass to him.
“Noah,” he replies ,and clinks his glass to mine.
This is when I notice the ring on his finger. The man is married. What the hell am I doing? I down the last of my vodka, and pop up from my chair.
“Sorry for keeping you from your work, I’m sure you are ready to finish up and get home to your wife.”
He frowns and then looks down at his hand. “Sorry to give you the wrong impression. She passed, but I still wear the ring. It’s a habit.”
It takes me a minute to decide if I believe him. He could just be saying that, but he doesn’t seem like that type of guy so I sit back down. “What happened?”
She passed away from brain cancer, and it was pretty sudden. His wife knew something was wrong, but the doctors did all kinds of tests and couldn’t figure it out. After a year, they were finally able to determine it was brain cancer, and she passed within a month.
“I always wonder if she would have lived longer had they caught it sooner… I miss her every day.”
The fact that he is sitting here telling me this, gives him a point. Most men would never talk about something so personal to a stranger, especially while showing actual emotions. A tear leaves his eye, and I lean over and wipe it away.
“I’m so sorry.”
Noah wipes his eyes, and then places his hand on mine. “It’s hard, you know. Being in this life without her. She wanted me to be happy, and not isolate myself, but sometimes all I want to do is lock myself in my den and write horror stories.”
This man is broken, and he needs some guidance.
