Page 6 of That's Not a Thing

“I didn’t know this was your place. It’s great.” I manage to eke out these sentences and follow them up with another. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” he answers, surprise still evident on his face. “It’s nice to see you.” He studies me a moment longer before his eyes dart to Aaron and he clears his throat. “So, what was the question? Something about hosting a party?” He glances back at Lana and Reese.

“Oh, never mind about it.” Lana waves her hand dismissively and forces out a laugh. “We were really impressed with the food and kind of just wanted to meet the chef. Anything to make my coworkers jealous tomorrow, right?”

“Still the same Lana as always.” Wesley smiles down at her indulgently, and I want to bang my head against the table in shame for wishing that smile was directed at me. “Well, consider yourself on the permanent guest list, then. Any time you want a res, just tell them you’re on my list.”

“Amazing. Thank you!” Lana looks really excited for a nanosecond, and then disappointment flashes across her face, likely because she has realized it would be completely traitorous for her to frequent this establishment on any sort of regular basis.

“Okay, well, I’d better get back to it then. Enjoy the rest of your meal.” Wesley’s eyes travel briefly over each of us before he turns and heads back toward the kitchen, stopping and chatting with other guests along the way.

He has left behind a silent table, none of us sure what to say. I finally turn toward Aaron, meeting his eyes reluctantly. He is chewing lightly on his bottom lip, the same way he does when he mulls over medical notes.

I decide it is my responsibility to get the conversation flowing again. “So ... that was unexpected.”

“And definitely not awkward at all.” Aaron laughs halfheartedly and reaches for his water.

“So much for my TriBeCa wedding idea.” I shrug as I wonder how I ended up in this situation, engaged to a handsome young neonatologist and panicking about whether I’m still hung up on someone else.

Even though I know, on a rational level, that Wesley and I have no future, would it be too selfish, flat-out wrong, to marry Aaron when I still react so strongly to the presence of another man—a man whom I may have once loved a little bit more than I do my current fiancé?

But as my mind races in about sixteen different directions at once, I wonder if I might be mistaken. What if I am misinterpreting my shock as some sort of yearning that it isn’t?

As I take a frantic bite of myscampini, I imagine Wesley cooking this dish, his hands all over my food, and everything tastes different than before. I’m acutely aware of the juices seeping out from the slick pieces of shrimp inside my mouth, the fibers of flesh coming undone against my tongue, and it’s suddenly too much, way too much. I cough abruptly, blocking the food, pushing it away from my throat, like I am trying to keep it from entering me, from reaching my insides, possessing me all over again. I grab for my ice water, taking several large gulps as I try to wash away the taste of Wesley, swallowing once, twice, coughing again.

I’m doing a poor job of masking my discomfort, and Aaron signals our waitress for the check. Nobody mentions dessert. I think fleetingly of Wesley’s crème brûlée and nearly shudder. Yes, it’s definitely time to go.

“Don’t forget, this meal is on us.” Reese reaches into his back pocket for his wallet as the waitress returns with the little leather folio in her hand.

“It’s really not necessary, you guys,” Aaron argues as he produces his own wallet. “We obviously appreciate the gesture, but let us split it, at least. The prices here aren’t exactly gentle.”

“Here you go,” the waitress nearly sings as she hands Aaron the folder. “Your meal was comped, but there’s some information inside about special events—you know, wine tastings and prix fixe nights—if you want.”

“Well, that was nice of him.” Lana looks at me with her eyes wide. After the way Wesley and I left things three years ago, I think Lana and I would both be less surprised if he had kicked us out of the restaurant rather than treating us to a free meal.

“For sure.” Reese nods as he starts to stand. “But now we have to buy you an actual engagement present.” He laughs lightly as he stuffs some bills into the folder to tip the waitress.

“Oh, please.” Lana swats him as she slides to the end of the bench and rises as well. “As if I wasn’t going to buy them an actual gift. She’s practically my sister.” Lana grabs me and gives me a tight squeeze, an exaggerated show of affection.

I am so gutted from seeing Wesley that I just want to lean into her, allow her to do the work of keeping me upright. Her skinny arms are strong from all that time she spends at Equinox or whatever flashy gym she likes these days, and I have the thought that maybe she is stronger than I am in every way. At least she knows her own mind. I can’t break down, though, not here, in front of Aaron. And certainly not where Wesley might still see me.

I paste a smile on my face and wrap my arm through Aaron’s as we head toward the coat check. He looks down at me and heaves me closer to him as we walk, as though he knows I could use the extra support right now, as though he will always hold me up.

DURING THE CABride back to my apartment, Aaron and I are both silent. He knows that getting over Wesley is one of the most challenging hurdles I have overcome in life—although, if my reaction at the restaurant is any indication, it would seem I really haven’t gotten over him at all. There is clearly still much work to be done by way of getting over.

“So, that was a surprise,” he finally says.

I just nod, as Aaron has told me several times throughout the two years we’ve been together that he doesn’t need to know every last detail about my past. I’ve already given him the broad strokes of how Wesley and I had to break our engagement due to irreconcilable differences, that he blamed me for things that couldn’t logically be considered my fault, but I’ve always spared him the specifics. He said it would save us both; me from having to relive the pain, and him from having to brood about how close I once was with another man. He insists that he prefers to remain willfully ignorant, that he’d rather think of himself as the only fiancé, not the second fiancé.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, fixing me with his dark, sloping eyes. He sounds guarded, like he’s bracing himself for something.

I lay my head on his shoulder, noting that I’m wiped out from the enormity of it all, devastated by the newly niggling prospect that I might not belong with Aaron after all.

“Nah. There’s not much to say. I guess he’s back from England.” I lift my head to look up at Aaron; his jaw is set, like he’s prepared to listen if I want to continue, like he can withstand whatever details might be forthcoming. “It’s fine,” I say, putting my head back down on him. “It was just a surprise. Thanks for helping me keep my cool.”

“No problem,” he answers, as he angles his own head to rest it against mine. We lean into each other like that, and I am overcome by a rush of warmth and love, which is instantly followed by alarm. Just because I had an extreme reaction to Wesley doesn’t mean I can’t be with Aaron, does it? The fact that I once loved Wesley so intensely doesn’t mean that my love for Aaron isn’t also real.

“So, tell me about your day, then, with Moe,” Aaron says, clearly making a peace offering. “What was he like?”