interested. His eyes are bright, and I have his undivided attention.
I think for a moment and consider my answer before I reply. “Disappointed. It was always assumed in my world that I would graduate from college, get an engagement ring soon after, get married, maybe work a year or two, and then start having babies. Husband would work, and I’d raise the kids and lunch at the country club. Of course, my days would be filled with important charity causes I would work tirelessly for and host parties at my mansion in the Garden District.”
“So what happened?” He rests his chin in his hand.
“Well, my college boyfriend dumped me two days after graduation. I had to move home with my parents. Michael’s dad was nice enough to give me my job in his company six months later.”
“You still work there?”
Nodding, I lean back as the waiter approaches with a bottle in hand. He shows it to Aaron who motions for him to give me the approval. The waiter uncorks it and pours a small taste. My goodness, it’s fantastic. “Wonderful,” I tell the waiter.
He pours a full glass and then rests the bottle on a table nearby. “Are you ready to order?”
“I haven’t looked at the menu.” I scramble to find it and realize it was left on our old table.
“No problem,” the waiter says and looks to Aaron. “Would you like a moment or do you want served what we discussed?”
My eyes dart from Aaron to the waiter and back. Aaron replies, “Why don’t you give us a few more minutes?”
I open my mouth to ask what he had discussed with the waiter, but Aaron cuts me off and asks the question again. “Do you still work for your ex-boyfriend’s father’s company?” He reminds me of a bird dog—when he wants answers, he doesn’t like being distracted.
“Yup. And I have the honor and privilege of also seeing him and his wife and their three darling kids every Sunday at mass.” That deserves a big swig of wine.
“Do you still love him?” The brim of his fedora shades his eyes, but his voice betrays a hint of unease, as if the answer to this question is important.
I want to see him better. “Will you remove your hat?”
“Why?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Because I feel like if you’re asking that personal of a question, and you expect me to respond honestly, I should be able to see your eyes.”
The stony expression on his face melts into a gentle smile. He removes his hat and places it on the seat of the chair at the table next to us. He shakes his head back and forth and then uses his hand to tussle his locks.
His hair is long—just a bit past his chin—and the color of gold. It’s gorgeous by any measure, but for a guy it’s particularly pretty. It’s messy and he would probably think that he needed a brush, but I had never known until this moment that long, pretty hair on a guy could make me feel so flushed.
“Your hair is beautiful.” I sound dreamy, and quickly take a sip of wine to hide my embarrassment.
“Thank you,” he replies. He leans forward in his seat and takes my hand. “Do you still love him?” Each word is pronounced.
I don’t hesitate. After many years of exploring this on my blog, I know what the answer is. “I love the idea of him.” Aaron nods and looks pleased with my answer. “He’s smart, successful, and has a family. Not to scare you off on the first date”—I hold up my glass in a mock toast—“but I want what he has. I want to be married and have children. To answer your question though, no, I don’t think I ever really loved him as a person. He was a means to achieving my goal.”
“Ouch.” Aaron drops my hand, leaning away from me. An ugly scowl mars his features. “So you used him?”
“No,” I quickly reply and shake my hands in defense. “I thought I loved him. Hell, I was crazy about him. I doodled his last name paired with mine. He played football for LSU, and I wore his number and went to every game. But did I love him like
I think for a moment and consider my answer before I reply. “Disappointed. It was always assumed in my world that I would graduate from college, get an engagement ring soon after, get married, maybe work a year or two, and then start having babies. Husband would work, and I’d raise the kids and lunch at the country club. Of course, my days would be filled with important charity causes I would work tirelessly for and host parties at my mansion in the Garden District.”
“So what happened?” He rests his chin in his hand.
“Well, my college boyfriend dumped me two days after graduation. I had to move home with my parents. Michael’s dad was nice enough to give me my job in his company six months later.”
“You still work there?”
Nodding, I lean back as the waiter approaches with a bottle in hand. He shows it to Aaron who motions for him to give me the approval. The waiter uncorks it and pours a small taste. My goodness, it’s fantastic. “Wonderful,” I tell the waiter.
He pours a full glass and then rests the bottle on a table nearby. “Are you ready to order?”
“I haven’t looked at the menu.” I scramble to find it and realize it was left on our old table.
“No problem,” the waiter says and looks to Aaron. “Would you like a moment or do you want served what we discussed?”
My eyes dart from Aaron to the waiter and back. Aaron replies, “Why don’t you give us a few more minutes?”
I open my mouth to ask what he had discussed with the waiter, but Aaron cuts me off and asks the question again. “Do you still work for your ex-boyfriend’s father’s company?” He reminds me of a bird dog—when he wants answers, he doesn’t like being distracted.
“Yup. And I have the honor and privilege of also seeing him and his wife and their three darling kids every Sunday at mass.” That deserves a big swig of wine.
“Do you still love him?” The brim of his fedora shades his eyes, but his voice betrays a hint of unease, as if the answer to this question is important.
I want to see him better. “Will you remove your hat?”
“Why?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Because I feel like if you’re asking that personal of a question, and you expect me to respond honestly, I should be able to see your eyes.”
The stony expression on his face melts into a gentle smile. He removes his hat and places it on the seat of the chair at the table next to us. He shakes his head back and forth and then uses his hand to tussle his locks.
His hair is long—just a bit past his chin—and the color of gold. It’s gorgeous by any measure, but for a guy it’s particularly pretty. It’s messy and he would probably think that he needed a brush, but I had never known until this moment that long, pretty hair on a guy could make me feel so flushed.
“Your hair is beautiful.” I sound dreamy, and quickly take a sip of wine to hide my embarrassment.
“Thank you,” he replies. He leans forward in his seat and takes my hand. “Do you still love him?” Each word is pronounced.
I don’t hesitate. After many years of exploring this on my blog, I know what the answer is. “I love the idea of him.” Aaron nods and looks pleased with my answer. “He’s smart, successful, and has a family. Not to scare you off on the first date”—I hold up my glass in a mock toast—“but I want what he has. I want to be married and have children. To answer your question though, no, I don’t think I ever really loved him as a person. He was a means to achieving my goal.”
“Ouch.” Aaron drops my hand, leaning away from me. An ugly scowl mars his features. “So you used him?”
“No,” I quickly reply and shake my hands in defense. “I thought I loved him. Hell, I was crazy about him. I doodled his last name paired with mine. He played football for LSU, and I wore his number and went to every game. But did I love him like
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