Page 64 of First-Time Caller
GRAYSON HARRIS:This is me easing.
AIDEN VALENTINE:Noted.
AIDEN VALENTINE:Would you like to describe your relationship with Lucie for the listeners at home?
GRAYSON HARRIS:She’s the platonic love of my life. We share a beautiful, devious daughter. I’ve known Lu since we were three years old. She used to bring me cheese sticks at the ritzy preschool we went to together.
[pause]
GRAYSON HARRIS:She is one of the most important people in my life. She’s got questionable taste in music, can’t bake cookies to save her life, but has the most generous, kind, beautiful soul. I would commit terrible, violent crimes on her behalf.
AIDEN VALENTINE:I don’t think you need to—
GRAYSON HARRIS:But I’ll settle for finding her the match she deserves.
AIDEN VALENTINE:Most people don’t have such a positive relationship with their ex.
GRAYSON HARRIS:Most people aren’t Lucie.
Istraighten my napkin. Rearrange my silverware. I take a sip of water from the fancy, impractical glass and then put it back in the same spot. My waiter is whispering in the corner with the hostess, but I keep my eyes firmly on the white cloth of the tabletop.
I’m supposed to meet William at seven p.m. That’s what the calendar invitation Maggie sent me said. Grayson picked the date and Maggie did all the scheduling, but I’ve been sitting here for forty-five minutes and no one has shown up.
I slip theHeartstringsphone out of my tiny, ineffectual clutch and swipe at the screen.
Duck Duck Goose, the calendar says,7pm.
I look at the time: 7:48 p.m. blinks back at me.
Another basket of bread appears at the edge of the table, this time with a slab of fancy butter. A little bowl of mixed nuts too.
Great. I’ve inspired pity nuts.
“Are you sure I can’t bring you something from the kitchen?” my waiter asks, his face an embarrassing mix of apprehension and pity. There are only six tables in the restaurant and I feel like there’s a spotlight on mine. “Our French onion soup is really good.”
I’m sure it is. But I decided around the twenty-minute mark that sitting at an empty table waiting for a date who probably won’t show is less pathetic than eating soup at an empty table waiting for a date who probably won’t show.
“Can we wait just a few more minutes? Maybe he hit traffic.”
We both glance out the window to the cobblestone street. It’s empty.
“Sure,” the waiter says, nodding. There’s a woman behind him, slurping her soup and staring right at me. Her level of focus is unnerving. “I bet there’s an accident on the highway,” my waiter continues, oblivious to the attention I’m commanding in this tiny establishment. “We can wait. I’ll get you another glass of wine, okay?”
He drifts away from the table and I hold awkward eye contact with the woman who is still slowly eating her soup. She’s wearing a shirt with a bunch of printed cats on it, her hair in a severe bun.
I look down at my phone.
I could text Grayson, but I don’t need him launching another one-man assault against the radio station. He had been so excited tonight, sure that his pick was the right one for me. I don’t want to burst his bubble, and I also don’t want to explain I’ve been stood up.
I scroll some more. My thumb hovers over one of the few names programmed into the phone.
There isn’t a show tonight. I wouldn’t be interrupting him at work. I could shoot him a quick text. Just to confirm I’m at the right place.
Hey, I type out.Hope I’m not bothering you.
His message comes back right away.
AIDEN:Do you need me to call with a fake emergency?
