“HONEY, I’M HOME,” KAITLYN announces as she walks through the front door. “Just had my last exam for the semester and aced it.”
“Excellent,” I say, giving her a high-five to congratulate her. “Not that I expected anything less. I have some news as well,” I say sharing my unexpected positive turn of events at work.
“You know what this means, don’t you? It means we have to celebrate,” Kaitlyn announces.
“Totally. What did you have in mind?”
“There is a band playing at Emmett’s Pub. A girl in my class’s boyfriend plays the drums.”
“Anything that doesn’t involve loud thumping bass music sounds good to me. Casual is definitely more my speed.”
Emmett’s Pub proves to be the perfect spot to celebrate—comfortable, festive, and absent of the obnoxious streaming lights and tacky décor of nightclubs. Clover Fields is the name of the band playing. Their sound is a mixture of rock and folk music, complete with a violin and bagpipes. The lead singer, dressed in a flannel shirt and sporting a long brown beard, belts out lyrics reminiscent of old-Irish ditties while the crowd sings along. Taking our cue from the crowd, Kaitlyn and I join in, jumping up and down to the sound of the music. The floor literally bounces beneath my feet.
“I’m going to grab us a beer,” I say to Kaitlyn, who is now dancing an Irish jig with her friend from class. I don’t think she even hears me.
Walking to get a drink, I cannot help but compare the atmosphere of Emmett’s Pub to The Bayou. Everyone I pass on my way to the bar is friendly and accommodating. I don’t have to barrel through the crowd, competing with girls to be noticed. Instead, people smile and move aside to let me get through the crowd. Yep, Emmett’s is definitely more my scene.
Only one bartender is working, which is surprising considering the size of the crowd. He seems earnest and overwhelmed, so I hold back and wait for him to get to my side of the bar. Typically, I’m more aggressive, waving my hands to get noticed as if I’m a stockbroker at the New York Stock Exchange.
As I wait, I look around the bar and people watch. A few booths line the sidewall of the bar; they are filled with people engaged in lively conversation, leaning forward trying to be heard over the music. My peripheral vision catches sight of someone staring over at me. It’s Logan, my date the following night, who is sitting beside a girl and across from another couple in one of the booths.
I give a slight smile of recognition, unsure of how exactly to react. Should I wave, walk over, and say hello? Instead, I pretend to be preoccupied with getting my drink order. Placing a beer in both of my hands to make it noticeable that I am not alone, I walk intentionally past the booth, making eye contact, but not saying hello.
It is obvious that Logan is on a date; the girl sitting beside him makes that abundantly clear as she flirtatiously places her hand on his shoulder as she talks.
“I can’t be mad,” I tell Kaitlyn later that night. “It’s not like we’re a couple.”
“I know, but how did he act? Do you still have your date tomorrow?”
“I guess so, well I don’t know. I guess I’ll know tomorrow—we have class in the morning.”
THE SHRILL OF MY PHONE’S alarm rings annoyingly, alerting me that morning has come all too soon. A collection of consumed beers sits in my belly painstakingly reminding me of the night before. After seeing Logan with his date, I had foolishly thought it a good idea to pound a few more beers. I should have known better, given the fact that I had Taekwondo the next morning . . . with Logan. Ugh! I contemplate staying in bed and surrendering to my hangover.
But I don’t because I am a sucker for punishment. I need to know how Logan will respond. Will he explain? Is he still planning on taking me out?
I drag myself to class, looking disheveled, and absent of makeup. At least I made it, I tell myself, unlike Logan who doesn’t show. My overactive imagination tells me that his absence is intentional; Logan is avoiding me. Either that or Logan is still with his date. Both scenarios are depressing.
I kick and punch with mad intensity. I am certain that the alcohol toxins are being released from my body. Adrenaline pumps through me; even the pushups that I usually struggle with come easily.
Kaitlyn is waiting for me when I arrive home. “Wellll?” she asks.
“He was a no-show,” I report back.
“Really?” she answers.
“Yep, another one bites the dust,” I say as I head straight to the bathroom to shower.
Cold water pours down from our low-pressure showerhead; the water always takes several minutes to heat up. I stand underneath the showerhead, shivering as the jolting, cold water streams down my face. I am not sure why I am crying—is it really because of Logan? We haven’t even gone on a date; our encounters have always been flirtatious, but nothing serious. Maybe, I am harboring residual feelings for Zach? Although it has been more than a month—certainly I am over him by now. I am, for the most part. I think I just needed a good cry—a cathartic release. My ego has taken a beating over the last several years. A girl can only be dumped, ignored, and made to feel like a loser so many times before she starts believing that to be true.
“Are you okay in there?” Kaitlyn asks as she knocks on the bathroom door.
“I’m fine. I’m just contemplating my future as a nun,” I respond.
“In the shower?” she shouts through the door.
“Consider it my baptism.”
After my shower, I change back into my pajamas with the full intent of indulging in an afternoon of gluttony. Rain pounds the roof of our top floor apartment while thunder lights up the sky. The dreariness of the day alleviates my guilt and gives me carte blanche to stay inside all day like a hermit. I am content with my blanket, bag of goldfish, and TV remote, which is what I tell Kaitlyn when she looks as if she is about to give me a lecture.
“I don’t want to hear it,” I say cutting Kaitlyn off before she has a chance to chastise me.
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Good, because I’m safe in my blanket cocoon and this is where I plan on staying for the entire day.”
“What about your date?”
“I assume that it’s off. Well, I don’t know that for sure but that would be my guess. I’ll either get a call from Logan to let me down gently or he’ll just stand me up altogether. Either way, there is no need to get out of these pajamas.”
I hear a buzzing on the other side of the couch where my phone is laying.
“Right on cue. Hmm, let’s just see if that is. . .” I say as I reach over to answer. I don’t recognize the number, but assume the call is from Logan whose number I never got. “I am guessing that this is him.”
I am thankful for my private crying session in the shower—it gave me a chance to shake off the hurt and ready myself for Logan’s rebuff.
“Ashley, hi, it’s Logan from class.”
My stomach drops at the sound of his voice. I had always been too busy gazing into his eyes or checking out his nice physique to notice the sexiness of his voice.
“Hi,” I reply.
“I wanted to give you a call since we had plans tonight.” I zero in on his use of the word ‘had’.