Please forgive me, I don’t know how to apologize
Don’t bother, I reply in my head.
This is what I deserve for opening up to a man again. Our first real date, and he stands me up with some half-assed excuse that makes no sense.
Lucas never struck me as the lying type, but then again, neither had Tegan’s father. Maybe there’s something wrong with me. I must be genetically programmed to only be attracted to bastards.
And, okay, Lucas blowing me off for a date is not the same as my daughter’s father telling her to her face that he wants nothing to do with her. But Lucas knows how hard it is for me to trust, to be vulnerable, to put my happiness into somebody else’s hands. And on the first occasion he has to prove he cares about me, he’s a no show.
Disappointed in a way that aches inside, I unplug the phone and go back to my table. The wine has arrived; I take a long sip, and then ask for the bill, doing my best to ignore the pitying look the server spares me.
I pay in cash to be quicker, grab my coat, and march straight out of the restaurant, hoping I won’t have to wait too long for a free cab.
I’m pacing up and down the curb, searching the street for a free taxi, when a car screeches to a halt on the other side of the road—Lucas’ SUV.
He gets out in a rush, all flustered—the opposite of how I feel. A cold calm has settled over me. I trusted him, and I was wrong. End of story.
The walls I’d struggled to let down are back up, strengthened with new fortifications I won’t let any man through ever again.
“Vivian.” He stops in front of me, panting. “I’m so sorry.”
He’s wearing a fleece sweatshirt and sweatpants. Riiight, he had a work emergency. Like he would be caught dead in front of his clients wearing anything less than a three-piece suit.
“No problem,” I say, falsely cheerful. “You had a work emergency, right?”
Lucas seems relieved. “Yes, totally out of the blue, and I’m so sorry I couldn’t let you know before. You must hate me right now—”
“What kind of emergency?”
His eyes get wary. “I can’t discuss clients.”
“How convenient. See, I could understand if you worked in a psychiatric ward with people in serious trouble who could have emergencies. But you’re a couples’ therapist, so I’m curious as to what happened for you to have to drop everything and stand me up on a Saturday night.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Ah, going ‘no comment’ all the way. Like a real pro.”
“A pro what?”
“Liar.”
“I’m not lying.”
“So you were out saving a marriage tonight?”
Lucas stares at me. “No.”
“What were you doing, then?”
“I can’t tell you,” he repeats.
Behind him, I spot a cab with the light on coming our way. I stomp off the curb and raise my arm to stop it.
Before getting in, I turn to Lucas, who looks lost and desperate. “Then we have nothing more to say to each other. I don’t want a man who can’t be honest with me.”
“Vivian, wait!” he calls after me, as I slam the door. “Please!”
I turn my head away from him as the taxi pulls into the street.
***
While making my exit, I might’ve acted like a strong, resolute woman. But inside the cab, I break down. Tears flood my eyes and I can’t stop the sobs.
I’m so pathetic. I’d sworn I’d never stoop this low for a man ever again, and yet, here I am.
At home, I kick my shoes off in the hall and then check on Tegan, opening her door a crack. The faint sound of her snoring greets me.
I open the door a tad more and slip inside to steal the cat from the foot of Tegan’s bed. Tonight, I need some company.
In my room, I drop Priscilla on the bed and move into the bathroom to remove my makeup with jerky, angry moves. So much for the effort. I shouldn’t have bothered.
What’s even sadder is when I shimmy out of the sexy underwear I picked out especially for him. What a waste of lace. I switch to sensible, cotton panties, pull on an oversized T-shirt, and scoot under the covers.
Priscilla raises her head threateningly, a warning not to disturb her slumber a second time. I disregard her silent protest and hug her closer to my chest, scratching her behind the ears.
The purring starts, and slowly lulls me to sleep.
***
For a week, I do my best to ignore Lucas. I ignore his calls, his texts, and the three bouquets of roses he sends me. I get to the office before him, and don’t leave until his SUV has disappeared from the street.
And the one time he comes knocking on my door, I stubbornly pretend not to be there. Lucas knows I’m inside—he yells it through the door—but I purse my lips and refuse to let him in. He’s no longer welcome in my office, my life, and, most importantly, my heart.
The avoidance strategy works pretty well, until I meet with Leslie for drinks on Friday night and she forces me to stare at the facts. We’re on a rooftop in Manhattan with a wonderful view of the city, drinking overpriced strawberry martinis.
“Are you sure you didn’t overreact?” my friend asks. “Luke tried to cancel the date, didn’t he? He didn’t stand you up on purpose.”
“With a text, thirty minutes before we were supposed to meet. Who does that?”
“But he said it was a work emergency.”
“What kind of work emergency? He was wearing sweat pants, and when I asked him if he was out saving a marriage, he admitted he wasn’t. That’s literally his job. All he does is save marriages.”
“It could’ve been something else he can’t tell you about.”
“Yeah, like what?”
Leslie takes a sip of her martini, pondering the question. “I have no idea.”
“Neither do I. I’ve tried for a week to come up with a
