He went to the counter to order and I looked him over. Seeing the sleeves of his white polo shirt wrapped around his biceps sent a swarm of butterflies through my stomach. I didn’t know why he’d even turned up – whether it was by coincidence or if he’d come to find me. Either way, the things I’d wanted to say to him when I’d tried to bump into him in the park were gone and my mind was vacant. All I could do was wait and see what he had to say.
‘So your email,’ he began, placing his drink down on the table. ‘It seemed so honest and it made me think about you. The real you. But it was hard because the personality I’d grown to love—’ His face flushed red. ‘To like had always been associated with Megan’s face. Even after I’d met you in person, I’d catch myself imagining Megan saying those things.’ He allowed his dark hair to fall into his eyes.
Seeing it from his point of view was worse than I’d expected. The whole situation I’d created was awful.
‘You’re very attractive,’ he continued. ‘I’d be punching above my weight to have you or Megan for that matter on my arm if I’m honest, but the whole thing has confused me. You’re voice, your personality, projected on another person’s face. It was horrible, even worse than when I found out Nancy Cartwright, a woman, did the voice of Bart Simpson.’ He smiled, but there was a sadness in his tone that humour couldn’t mask.
I felt a pain in my chest – a concoction of guilt and sadness rolled into one. ‘I understand. I should never have done what I did. This whole outcome just wasn’t on my radar.’
‘The problem I’m having is that I can’t stop thinking about you, Megan, or whoever. I’d deleted my Me & You account and your number because I wanted to move on, but I couldn’t. I missed talking to you and for a while, I tried to convince myself it was because you were the only person I had spoken to properly, for a while at least. So I agreed to a blind date a friend set up. She liked documentaries and wasn’t bothered about travel. She was attractive and nice enough but thought Notting Hill was “contrived” for goodness’ sake and that The Hunger Games was “for kids”. So I’ve been coming here every weekend, going to the local restaurants and pubs, just trying to see you.’
He paused and studied my face, trying to gauge a reaction. I didn’t really know what to say. I was glad he’d forgiven me and there were no hard feelings, and I agreed with him about how nice it was to chat but what did he want from me? What had I wanted from him? Eventually, apparently sensing the silence was growing awkward, he continued.
‘I didn’t have a plan for if I saw you. I wasn’t even going to approach you, so I don’t know why I did it. My teaching salary certainly felt the strain of all those meals out.’ He smiled properly for the first time. Seeing the darkness lift from his face momentarily allowed me to see his features better, like in his photograph on the Me & You website and not in the twisty, downward way they’d been on our previous encounter.
‘I suppose I’m curious.’ He sipped his coffee.
‘I can’t apologise enough,’ I said. ‘I’ve no more secrets, I can assure you.’
‘You are married though.’
‘Not for much longer.’ I glanced down at the natural oak table. ‘I’ve filed for divorce. It seems my husband was actually a serial appreciator of the female form, a bit of a collector if you will,’ I forced a humoured smile. ‘So it turns out he was dishonest about who he was too. I know exactly how you feel.’
‘I’m so sorry to hear that.’ His brows were pressed together, backing up his statement. ‘How long were you married?’
‘Eleven years.’ I pressed my lips together to keep my emotions in.
‘Oh God, that’s awful.’
‘I think he regrets it. But right now, I’m focusing on myself and moving forward.’
‘Those are good things to focus on – it’s all you can do. And you’re pregnant!’
I nodded. ‘I am, but we’ll be fine.’ I patted my stomach for emphasis. I felt a familiarity talking to Andrew, like he was an old friend or something and we slipped into conversation quite naturally. ‘I’m buying a house and it’s all going through. It’s odd, but I thought I had this perfect life – the perfect husband, the house, cars, and nice holidays – but I’ve come to realise none of it matters. It’s just materialistic nonsense that doesn’t matter; it doesn’t mean anything. This baby matters to me and that’s it. Being alone doesn’t scare me.’
Andrew nodded slowly. ‘I know what you mean about focusing on what’s important. When Beth got ill, things were put into perspective pretty quickly. We’d been saving hard for a new kitchen and when she was diagnosed, ten thousand pounds was sitting in an account, ready to plough into shiny new cupboards and an integrated fridge.’ He let out a humourless laugh. ‘Once she was diagnosed I just felt sick to the stomach. I resented all the late nights I’d spent offering tuition after school and all the overtime she’d done just to gather this pile of meaningless cash when, actually, those nights could’ve been—’ His voice trembled and cut off and he sipped his coffee, which I guessed was to mask his emotion. ‘Spent together,’ he finished.
It was hard not to notice the tears welling up in his eyes even though he’d turned his head towards the cake counter. His pain seemed to jump across the table and puncture my chest.
‘I can’t begin to imagine,’ I said sympathetically. I wanted to reach across the table and put my hand over his,
