Till Summer Do Us Part(10)

He also doesn’t quite understand what it’s like to feel bored.

He likes a routine. He has said time and time again, he wishes his life were just as regimented as mine, whereas I wish that I had more spontaneity.

And sure, I have the money to be spontaneous, but I don’t want to use my money like that. I want more life experiences…and convincing and lying through my teeth is one of them.

“There’s nothing bad about it. Seems like fun to me.”

Derek shakes his head. “If Denise wasn’t so crazy stressed right now, I’d ask her what the hell she was thinking by allowing this to happen, but I’m sure she’ll bite my head off if I do.”

“Yeah, I’d stay away.” I shove a big piece of cake in my mouth.

Derek watches me chew for a few seconds and then says, “Breakfast cheat?”

I swallow and then nod. “Yeah, been eyeing it all week.”

“Good?”

“Slightly dry.”

“That sucks.”

“Eh, you live and you learn.” I pop another piece in my mouth and then stand up. “I should get going. I don’t want to be late for my wife.”

Derek rolls his eyes and then stands as well. “Dude, please.”

I chuckle. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m getting into character.”

“I knew you taking improv classes was going to be idiotic.”

“Idiotic?” I scoff and adjust my beanie on my head. “Derek, I’m saving lives out here with my improv skills.”

“Yeah, really saving lives.” He lifts his coffee in my direction. “Thanks for the drink. Sorry I was late. Same time next week?”

“Yup.” I pick up the rest of my coffee cake to eat on my short walk and then head toward the door.

We offer our goodbyes, and then I take off toward Third Avenue, where I’m supposed to meet Scottie. I texted her late last night, introduced myself, and sent her a picture so she knew what to look for. She responded that I looked like a bulkier version of Mika. I took that as a drunk confession, because I doubt she’d say something like that to someone she didn’t know. And then we agreed to meet in front of the Anthropologie on Third. She stated it was appropriate because there were wedding dresses in the window display.

But that’s about all I know.

I thought about asking Mika for more information, but since he works late, I knew he wouldn’t have time to answer me, and also, I kind of want this to be a mystery. I’ve known Denise for years, but I’ve yet to meet Scottie. I think Mika said she’d only recently moved to NYC a few months ago.

I finish my coffee cake, throw my garbage in a bin, and then cross the street to the Anthropologie, where I find a woman standing in front of the window display, arms crossed, glancing around as if she’s looking for someone.

From the uneasiness in her stature to her wandering eyes, there’s no doubt that it’s her, so I pause for a moment to take her in.

Standing at what I’m going to assume is five six with heels, she comes off as professional in a black pencil skirt with a tucked-in white blouse, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her legs are bare, and her feet are fit into simple heels. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, curled at the ends, and she doesn’t have one strand out of place. She seems poised, ready to take on the world, but the knit in her brow and the worry on her lip lend me to believe as an onlooker that something’s troubling her.

I can only imagine what that is…

With my hands in my pockets, I cross the street, and just as I hit the sidewalk, her eyes connect with mine.

She stands a bit taller, adjusts her purse strap on her shoulder. “Wilder?”

“That would be me,” I answer as I watch her eyes not so coyly take in my black worn jeans, forest-green T-shirt with a hole in the collar, and my loose-fitting beanie.

“You’re…you’re not what I expected,” she says, giving me one more once-over.

“Yeah? What were you expecting?”

“Well, I mean, someone with…” She gestures toward me but doesn’t follow it up with a definition.

“Might have to catch me up on what you’re trying to say, because it’s not making much sense.”

She clears her throat. “Sorry, I just thought given your position in life, that you might look more…professional.”

“Ah.” I nod and then glance down at my clothes. “Not much of a clothes guy. Don’t bother spending my money on something that in the grand scheme of things doesn’t matter.”

“Some might argue that appearance matters.”

“Others might argue that you should never judge a book by its cover,” I counter with a smirk.

She studies me for a moment while I nervously tug on my lip ring. I was not expecting such a lukewarm welcome. I thought that I’d show up, she’d express her gratitude for my help, and then we’d go have some fun in marriage counseling. But this cold, standoffish exterior is quite chilling.

Clearing her throat, she says, “Well, I guess this will have to do.”

She guesses I will do?

Well, glad I could accommodate.

She then holds her hand out and says, “Hi, I’m Scottie.”

Knowing I really have nothing better to do today, I take her hand in mine and give it a shake. “I’m Wilder. Nice to meet you.”