Tiffany:
“I am loving this weather!” Brit said as she put on a pair of sunglasses and twirled around in Times Square. The sun caught her purple hair and lit it up. “You know, I thought Natalie was crazy when she agreed to do the carnival in April instead of May, but it’s been so warm. I think it’s going to be great.”
“Yes, you gotta love how polar bears are dying from melting glaciers so we can ride the Ferris wheel a month early.”
Brit gave me a playful push in the arm. “Hey, I thought I was the cynical one.” We turned down 44th street, and Brit stopped. “A moment of silence for my favorite block in Manhattan.”
“This is your favorite block?” I eyed her skeptically. In a city that held Central Park, Lincoln Center and countless museums, I was surprised by her pick.
“Yes, allow me to give you a tour.” We walked down the block to the St. James theater. “This is where I saw American Idiot and afterward Billie Joe Armstrong signed my playbill.” Well, that made sense. I can see that making a huge impression on Brit. “And, across the street is the Phantom of the Opera. Erik took me to see it last month for my birthday. It was fantastic. Have you seen it?”
Had I seen Phantom? I had auditioned to be one of the ballerinas. Afterward, the director and choreographer had complimented me on my strength and grace. I never knew if I got the part. My accident had occurred the next day, and when they called my agent, I had informed her that I didn’t want to know. But I didn’t feel like getting into that now. That was another time, another life. Instead, I nodded. “Yeah, one of my favorite shows.”
“And there”—she pointed up the block—“is the restaurant Kristen made reservations at. Carmines.”
“Awesome, I’m starving!” I was eager to turn away from the Majestic theater and concentrate on something that didn’t hold painful memories and regret, like spaghetti.
Brit checked her watch. “We still have thirty minutes. Want to get a drink at the bar? An overpriced martini that we can’t afford?”
I laughed. “Sure, sounds great.”
Brit opened the door and stepped inside, and I was immediately hit with the slick sounds of Bobby Darin singing Beyond the Sea. I looked around the room. It had such a New York mobster feel, and I instantly felt a pang of longing for Harry. He would have loved this place. In fact, it was so easy to envision him in this atmosphere that I thought I saw him sitting at a table near the window. It was crowded as people made their way from the hostess station to the bar with so many people obstructing my view I had to remind myself that just because I could imagine Harry here didn't mean he actually was here.
Brit had given our name, told them we were early, and that our entire party had not arrived yet. The hostess took our name and advised us to go to the bar. The crowd cleared and for my own sanity, I stole another glance at the table by the window, expecting to see someone who looked more like Stan Lee than Harry Archer, but my heart slammed against my chest when I realized I hadn’t imagined Harry. He was here. In this restaurant. And he was with a beautiful girl.
She had long dark hair, light green eyes and was twirling her olive in her martini while Harry had her completely enraptured by whatever engaging story he was spinning her way. His hands were moving a mile a minute, his Italian side clear as day. By her side of the table there was a rather expensive looking camera. I imagined them in a dark room together, developing the film, doing all sorts of things I didn’t want to envision. Suddenly, I felt like there was a spotlight on me, terrified he might turn and catch me in his line of vision. I had spotted him, but that didn’t mean he had to spot me.
I slipped my finger through Brit’s belt loop and gave a tug. She looked startled when she turned to me. It was so damn crowded at the bar. Why was it always so crowded in Manhattan? I realized then that the matinee had gotten out and so all the Phantom goers were now dining here.
“We need to go. Now!” My voice was pleading, and Brit didn’t question me, just followed me blindly outside. I made sure to lift the hood of Brit’s jacket over her head so not to draw attention to her purple hair. Even if Harry didn’t spot me, he might spot her, which would then clearly show her fleeing the scene with me as her accomplice. The last thing I needed was for Harry to think I was stalking him on his date. Oh god! He was on a date. The realization hit hard as I stepped outside and took in a deep breath of fresh air.
Once the door was shut behind us, Brit grabbed my arm. “What the hell was that all about?”
“Harry is in there. And he’s on a date.”
“What?” She whipped her head back, but I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down the steps.
“Yeah, if you stand by the lamppost and look at the table by the window you can see him.”
Brit tried to casually stroll by the light post. Keeping her hood up, she pulled out her phone and pretended to make a call. Once she spotted Harry, she turned and gave me a sympathetic look. Her confirmation that it really was him and I wasn’t conjuring his image because I missed him so much made my stomach turn. Panic began to crawl up my spine and set up residence in my vertebrae. Running seemed like a good option before I completely turned to stone.
I walked in the opposite direction of the restaurant, and Brit jogged behind me to catch up. “I can’t eat there. I can’t go back in and have a good time knowing he’s in the same room. Please. If he was with his brother or parents, yeah, sure, but…”
“I understand. We won’t make you eat there, don’t worry. Let me call Kristen before she shows up there.”
“Brit.” I bit my lip, feeling horrible over what I was about to ask. “Can you not tell Kristen? Then she might tell David, and David might tell Harry, and I don’t need this to be a big thing.”
“All right, what should I say?”
“Say you saw my ex. I mean, we’re in New York. She knows I lived here. Just don’t let her know it was him.”
“Okay… I wonder why he was here anyway?”
“He must have seen his parents for Easter. Makes sense that he would stay a few days.”
“Doesn’t he have to work?”
“He works remote.” I wished she’d stop asking so many questions. It killed me that I still knew his routines without talking to him in almost two months.
While Brit called Kristen and figured out a new place to eat, I leaned against the door of the St. James theater, wishing some theater god would open it and kidnap me. I needed to disappear. I expected to have a fun girls day. Instead, I was hit with the realization that Harry didn’t mean what he had said. He was ready for a relationship. He just wasn’t ready for one with me. And despite all the Band-Aids I had put over my heart, all the distractions, and all the times I forced a smile, the truth was I wasn’t over him. I still loved him and seeing him with her unlocked all those vaulted emotions. I needed to learn how to survive in a world where Harry happily chose not to be with me but with someone else.
Apparently, the thought of kissing me was toxic.