A couple walks in then—a stunning blonde wearing a fitted burgundy dress and a man who steals the attention of every person he passes, he’s that beautiful.
I shift uncomfortably when the hostess seats them at the two-person table directly next to mine. Our tables are so close together there’s only a foot and a half of space between them, if that. Edging sideways, the woman squeezes into the booth next to me, primly smoothing her dress beneath her. The man sits opposite her, unwinding his red scarf with white squares from around his neck and looping it on the back of his chair.
I study the man out of the corner of my eye. He and his date are dressed up nicer than the restaurant calls for. Did they just come from a show? Is this their first date, their fifth, or their fiftieth? They’re not married, judging by their lack of rings, and there’s something about the hesitancy in the woman’s posture that has me guessing it’s their first date.
I soon discover I’m right. Sonny and Cher’s “I Got You, Babe” drifts through the restaurant, mingling with the myriad conversations humming around us, but at this distance, it’s impossible not to overhear this couple’s every word. Sipping my ice water, I pretend to study my phone while I listen.
As far as first dates go, it seems to be off to a good start. He’s brought her a bouquet of fresh white lilies, which she’s propped on the booth next to me. Plastic wrap crinkles every time her elbow brushes them. They ask each other all the typical first-date questions: where are you from, what do you do, what do you like to do…
At one point she laughs at a story he tells her about falling off a trampoline in the third grade and breaking his pinkie finger. “Oh, Devin. You didn’t.” She covers his hand with hers on top of the table, obscuring the crooked finger, and my stomach hardens into a ball. When’s the last time I experienced such a sweet, simple gesture of affection? The smile he gifts her is so radiant it’s blinding.
He tells her about his family. How his mother runs a flower shop in Cleveland—Blooms & Baubles—but how he wants to work for his dad, a developer on the south side, and help deliver the business into the future. She says she’s always wanted to move to Cleveland.
He does most of the talking, charming her with story after story, and a life unfolds before me—rich, complex, and beautiful in its meaning and uncertainties. He talks about high school and his love of soccer and baseball and long bike rides through the Metroparks. She listens intently, but prompts him with follow-up questions and measured laughter.
When the server approaches my table for the third time asking if I’m ready for the check, I finally nod. The couple is nearly finished as well. The man—Devin—has gone to the restroom and the woman is scrolling through her phone. I check the time; it’s after nine o’clock, and I still have a long drive ahead of me before I can finally crawl into bed and surrender to exhaustion.
Gathering my bag, I reluctantly leave. On my way out, I veer toward the restrooms—a pit stop is always a good idea before a long drive—and pause at the mirror in the back hallway to study my reflection.
My cheeks are hollow and the purple smudges under my eyes that have become a permanent fixture these last few months are bruise-dark. Today might have been the end of one long, arduous journey, but it marks the beginning of another. Sighing, I turn at the same moment the door to the men’s room swings open beside me, and I find myself face-to-face with the man from the next table over—Devin.
He glances at me, his smile stretching across his model-worthy face. “Excuse me,” he murmurs. The lights above us flicker twice as I watch him pass me in the mirror until he disappears from view.
Ten minutes later, I steer my car onto I-71, the highway that will take me home, and suppress a yawn that feels like it’s birthed from the depths of my very marrow. Only two hours until bed. I can make it…
I never make it.
I vaguely recall exhaustion tugging at me throughout the drive, but I stubbornly refuse to stop. I crack the windows, blast music, and think about the couple on the date next to me. Their stories, their history, their lives. The man’s beaming smile and intoxicating confidence… my own loneliness…
The next thing I know, I’m in the hospital and Brie is holding my hand, imploring me to come back to her.
* * *
“Cass, what’s wrong?” Devin’s face blurs into focus. He’s kneeling in front of me on the sidewalk and gripping my shoulders, mouth a slash of concern. Mercedes is standing beside him, wide-eyed and rigid.