The Secret Of Us. Liesel Schmidt
to mention the well-stocked liquor cabinet.
“What do you want?” I asked wearily. “After last night, I’m surprised you’re not at all worried about the possibility that I might throw another drink in your face. I realize I owe you a thank you for not having me fired, I suppose that does show you have some shred of decency in you. So, as lovely as it is to see you again, I really could do without this. And, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m at work. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk to the chef about some things on the menu today.”
I stepped forward, hoping he would take my not-so-subtle hint and allow me to pass.
Maybe, just maybe, he would go away and let me get back to the satisfied glow of last night’s surge of chutzpah.
“Lovely, huh? I was hoping more for exciting, but I guess I could settle for lovely.” He flashed a huge grin, then replaced it with a more sober look of contrition. “Seriously, though, I actually came to find out exactly why you felt a need to throw a drink in my face.” He shook his head sadly. “I can see why Charles might have deserved it. When he’s having a bad day, he has a terrible habit of letting everyone know it, and he was definitely having a bad day. Still, it’s no excuse, and it’s one of the things that I’ve had to call him on more than a few times. But as much of an ass as he can be, Charles really does have his good points – even if they aren’t always readily apparent.”
He paused, leveled his gaze at me.
“But me? What did I do? I’ve never even met you, yet you seem to have quite an impressive level of contempt for me.” Matt paused and cocked his head questioningly. “Ever thought that maybe I’m not who you think I am? That maybe, you might have me confused with someone else?”
I realized I was staring at him, almost mesmerized. It had been so long since I’d seen his face, heard his voice. I was still having difficulty processing his presence, wondering if seeing him this way would become a regular occurrence and how it would affect me.
I blinked my eyes, forcing my gaze from his face as my brain suddenly processed his words.
Not who I thought he was? Just how stupid did he think I was?
“You’re amazing, you know that? Truly amazing. You break up with me – after proposing, no less – without telling me why, and never return any of my calls. And three years later, you pop up where I work and expect me to believe you’re someone else?” I shook my head in awe. “You must think I’m a complete idiot.”
I reached past Matt to grab a fistful of the silverware.
“Leave. Now. I appreciate that you didn’t try to get me fired, but I don’t think I owe you anything.” I turned, taking a step in the direction of the kitchen, a safe haven within my line of vision.
“Wait!” Matt called after me. “Please.”
His voice had a plaintive tone.
Part of me wanted to keep on walking, pretend I hadn’t heard him or was too busy to stop. To leave him standing there and walk away while I still felt like I was in control. But the small part of me that still loved him kept me in thrall, and I looked back over my shoulder.
His head tilted slightly, and his eyes twinkled under the lights. It was the way he used to look at me, so long ago. A look that had always made my heart skip a beat and my breath catch.
And then a shadow passed over his face and his eyes.
Just as suddenly as it had come, the look was gone, replaced by one of confusion.
I shook my head and turned away again, leaving him to watch me walk away.
“Don’t!” My whisper may have been a bit loud, but that was only because I was trying to make sure that Matt could hear me above the din of the restaurant. It still qualified as a whisper, in my book.
“What? Come on, they’ll never notice.”
“I know your mama taught you better than that,” I shot back, still in loud whisper mode. I darted my eyes around guiltily. “They’re going to catch you, and then we’ll never be able to show our faces in here again.”
“They won’t catch me – stop worrying so much, Eira.” Matt shook his head, his brown eyes twinkling. “You know you want one,” he teased.
“That, my love, is beside the point,” I mumbled back, feeling a grin creeping across my lips despite my best efforts.
“I beg to differ. Think of it as seizing fortune.” Matt slid out of our booth, crouched low as he darted forward to dip his hand into the oversized carton of fortune cookies near the server’s station just around the corner from our table. As busy as the small Chinese restaurant was that evening, no one seemed to notice the handsome man as he stealthily hunched over the box to raid its contents and unearth a few extra treats.
“Literally,” I said with a wry grin. “I love you, Matt, you know that?”
“And I love you. Now here, eat the evidence,” he whispered as he slid a cellophane wrapped cookie towards me on the tabletop.
I unwrapped the little cookie and broke it in half, carefully tugging the slip of paper from its folds and reading as I popped the first half into my mouth.
“What’s it say?” Matt asked as he unwrapped his own piece of contraband.
I cleared my throat and tried to sound serious. “‘You will travel far and seek many new horizons.’” I giggled. “Uh huh. And I’m going to be a millionaire, too,” I said, crunching into the last half of my almond flavored treat. “What does yours say?”
Matt arched his eyebrows expectantly as he read. “‘Trust few with your future happiness or your trials will be great.’” The smile slid from his lips as he said the last words, and he seemed suddenly sobered. Gone was the playful look that had been there all evening as we had sat in our tiny booth, tucked into a corner and savoring our time together.
Now there was only worry on his face, despite his attempt at disguising it as he finally looked at me. The smile that was there now seemed doubtful; as I searched his eyes, I felt a tiny shudder of dread.
There’s a low dividing wall that edges along the bottom of the I-110 on-ramp at Gregory Street, unruly vines creeping over its red bricks to do battle with the graffiti so boldly and artfully executed across its rough surface.
One phrase etched in bright yellow block lettering offered an unexpected source of encouragement to anyone who happened to catch a glimpse as they drove past.
You are beautiful.
The first time I saw it, I cried. I couldn’t help it. Something in me had needed to see those words that day, in that particular moment – and it was almost like a gift meant just for me.
I looked now, just like I always did, for those words as I drove towards the ramp, needing something to boost my spirits. What I saw was as sharp as an unexpected blow to my solar plexus. The wall had been scrubbed clean, the overgrowth trimmed back to reveal a recent attempt at city clean-up. I felt tears well up in my eyes, disappointment tipping my precariously-balanced emotional state so that it finally fell and shattered.
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