Page 81 of Dirty Diana
Are you free for dinner?
I don’t hesitate.
Yes. Tonight?
More dots appear and then nothing, until:
Okay.
—
As I hurry to get ready to meet Alicia’s friend, Oliver’s text thread plays over and over in my mind. What if he wants to meet to ask for a divorce in person? But why over dinner? What if he’s reaching out to have a real conversation? What if there’s a version of us where we do tell each other what we really want? Is it too late for that? Alicia sent me a time and place to meet her friend for coffee, but as I’m parking the car I have a sudden pang about how I’ll find her. I scroll back through her texts but don’t find a name.
I text Alicia.
What’s this friend’s name? Does she know what I look like?
I wait, staring at my phone. Nothing. It’s almost time so I head into the café. There’s no one sitting alone or seeming like they’re waiting on anyone, so I find a table where I can watch the door. I order a coffee and check my phone, willing Alicia to text me back. Nothing.
When the bell above the door chimes, I glance up from my phone and see a slim, broad-shouldered guy enter. He’s got tousled hair and a slow, easy walk and he reminds me of someone I once knew.
He walks toward me, and I keep telling myself he’s a facsimile, because the original couldn’t possibly be here. The original is somewhere else, somewhere lost to me.
Then he’s standing in front of me, and I’m looking up at him. “Jasper.”
He sits down opposite me and leans forward, his elbows on his knees. He looks me in the eyes and smiles.
“Diana,” he says. “Thanks for taking the meeting.”
