“Sure, of course, but-”
The table bursts into applause. Penelope pounds David on the back in celebration, causing him to briefly choke on a shrimp.
The doorbell rings again. We all look up.
Kate slowly places her napkin on the table next to her plate and stands.
“I’ll get it,” she looks down at me, “unless-”
“Don’t,” I say, knowing exactly what is going to come out of her mouth.
“-unless you think it’s another-”
“Stop it.”
“-of your lovers?”
More hoots and hollers from the table. Even David laughs at that. My face is in flames, but there is a part of me, very small and rarely acknowledged, which enjoys this. The fun, flirty side of life I have so rarely experienced. I meet David’s eyes across the table. He’s still grinning, but there is warmth there, the softness I saw at dinner, and several times yesterday morning and afternoon. I feel myself wanting to trust him, to lean into him, to invite him to dinner with my friends more often.
Slowly, delicately, a tiny part of me, deep down and hidden away, begins to open up.
23
David
The women are louder than I expected. I guess I had assumed my little professor would spend her time with other professors, sitting around with port and aged cheese, discussing Plato and the Bronte sisters.
But this is a raucous bunch.
Dory, I know from the restaurant. She’s as friendly and welcoming in person as at work, her hospitality emanating from her like it is a natural part of her disposition.
Penelope, who I met yesterday morning, is hilarious and open, with a wide-mouthed grin and a loud, head-tilted-back laugh that reminds me of my younger sister.
Kate and Jessica, both standoffish at first, seem to have warmed up, once they felt I was trustworthy.
And the last one, Christine I think, is quiet, friendly and unobtrusive. She apologizes for having never seen my movies and I feel like I have seen her somewhere before, or perhaps seen her face in a magazine or newspaper, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.
Even the new one, Dawn, whom only Kate knows, seems friendly and unassuming.
“Oh, wow,” Dawn says, as Kate brings her into the kitchen. She makes eye contact with me, “You look just like-”
“Dawn, meet David.”
“Oh, that’s the same name as-”
“David is an actor,” Penelope says helpfully.
“Oh, right,” Dawn looks at me, eyes widening in recognition. I brace myself for a shriek or a panic, but none comes. “Right. Well, that’s…unexpected.” She nods at all of us.
“Welcome to Midnight,” Kate smiles, offering her chair and turning to drag an armchair towards the table.
I’m not used to groups like this. Close friends. Open conversation. No hang ups over appearance. No obsession with networking. No one has slipped me their phone number. No one has tried to convince me to invest in their personal project. Hell, no one even wants an autograph.
Instead, they talk and laugh. Drink and eat. Smile and reassure. Listen and support. Kate tells stories from the corporate jungle and Jessica recounts her latest night behind bars for protesting. Christine mentions the drive at the food pantry and Dory tells us about Philippe’s temper tantrum when she accidentally imported the wrong brand of Belgian chocolate. Penelope, making sure everyone has enough food and drink, tells us about her weaving students, and classes in metalwork she’s teaching at Jane’s college.
And Jane, glowing in the warmth of her friendships, as beautiful as she was the other night, lit by candlelight, and yesterday morning, naked in my bed with the sun streaming over her. Jane laughs and jokes and rolls her eyes with the rest of them.
I can’t take my eyes off of her.
“So how long are you staying up here?” Jane asks Dawn, the overhead light glinting off her hair.
“I’m not sure,” Dawn smiles, slightly nervous in her movements, “but hopefully Kate doesn’t mind if I stay for a few days.”
“Stay as long as you want,” Kate waves her hand in the air, “I love guests.”
“Just don’t touch her art,” Jessica says with a laugh.
“That’s good advice in general,” Penelope adds.
The evening seems to be drawing down. I stand at the sink, washing plates as Kate and Jessica fight over the last piece of blueberry pie.
“Why did you really come by tonight?” I hear Jane’s voice behind me, low enough to only be heard between the two of us.
“Just what I said.” I turn off the water and toss her a towel. She grabs a plate and begins to dry.
“It hasn’t exactly been a long time since I last saw you.”
I shrug.
“You could have called.”
I smile, turning to her, the last of my plates in my hand. “Are you angry I came over tonight?”
She seems surprised at my question. “No, but…you didn’t need to.”
“Why would I have need to?”
She shrugs, “You know.”
I fold the towel in front of me, “Clearly I don’t.” My voice is low, “Please enlighten me.”
She glances at the table where her friends continue to laugh. Penelope is telling a story about her loom which, it seems, is hysterical.
“Sometimes, after a one-night stand, men tend to…check up on women,” she speaks softly, her voice only loud enough for my ears.
“‘Check up on? What does that mean?”
“Come on,” she fixes me with those professor eyes, an inescapable gaze. “You’ve never sent a next-day text or phone call? ‘Hey, how are you? Last night was fun. I’ll see you around.’ Just to make sure there are no hard feelings and you’re both on the same page?”
I nod, “I have done that.” I pause. “After a one night stand.”
“So, you didn’t need to come over. I’m fine.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” I pull the abused dishcloth from her hand, “Unfortunately, I am not.”
“Wha-”
“Now that you’ve just told me last night was a one night stand.”
She looks confused. “Well…”
“Did you only want one night?”
Silence.
“Believe it or not, I’m not in the habit of one night stands.” I fold the
