Bri didn’t stop talking about Tristan the entire session, and our instructor threatened to separate us if Bri didn’t cease. She was clearly infatuated as she described Tristan’s hair, his smile, the way he danced, and the romantic kiss they’d shared after the gala when he saw her into a cab.
I tried not to be jealous. Just because her story was more Cinderella than mine, I’d still had a romantic-ish evening of my own. But there’d been no kiss, and I had yet to hear from Al, whereas she’d had three texts from Tristan just while we were sitting there enjoying a post-yoga caffeine boost of chai tea. Bri planned to meet him for dinner.
“Enough about me,” Bri said. “Did you aim high and meet someone last night?”
“Uh...” I stalled. I’d rather hear another ode to Tristan’s lips than tell her about Al. While Al was obviously a someone, I was quite certain that as an academic, he didn’t meet Bri’s criteria of reaching up.
“I met a lot of someones.” When in doubt be vague.
“Yes, the gala was packed,” she said. “Sarah was thrilled. But you know what I mean. Did you meet anyone that you think is exceptional? Meaning, did you approach someone you normally wouldn’t go for?”
I thought about Al. Would I have approached him if I hadn’t found him in my office? I thought about his chiseled good looks and roguish smile. Nope. I’d never have had the nerve to approach him. But because he’d been in my office, it wasn’t as if I’d had a choice. I debated telling her about him, but I really didn’t want another “aim high” lecture when she discovered he was a doctoral candidate and not exactly gainfully employed as yet.
I’d been the one to pay for our pizza, pie, and night-caps last night. Al had protested vigorously, but I’d insisted. I remembered living on ramen noodles as a student and I couldn’t in good conscience let him spend money he didn’t have.
“Possibly,” I said. “I did meet a few men with potential. I’ll keep you posted.”
Bri clapped and bounced in her seat like a gif that would read Yay!. I sighed. I wished I felt the same optimism about Al, but at the moment I didn’t know if I’d ever hear from him again. We parted ways outside the coffee shop as Bri planned to spend the afternoon preparing for her date. My more modest project was to finish the jigsaw puzzle of world wonders that I’d started a few nights ago while I did my laundry. Thrilling, I know.
I was just stepping into the vestibule of my apartment building when my phone buzzed in my pocket. I took it out and read the screen. I didn’t recognize the number and my heart did a little flutter.
“Hello?”
“Where are you right now?” Al asked. His accent identified him right away.
“At my apartment,” I said. “And happy Sunday to you, too.”
“Right, yes, happy Sunday. How long would it take you to get to...hang on...20 West 34th Street?”
“Midtown?” I asked. “Half hour by subway.”
“Well, get cracking, love, we have places to go and things to see,” he said. “Text me when you get here.”
My phone went dead. I should have been annoyed. This was my day off. A day of rest, not a day to schlep back into the city. Instead, I was smiling as I dashed up to my apartment to change before I raced to catch the train.
The tour guides never mention that the top of the Empire State Building is freezing, especially in February. I suppose this is because it’s common sense, but apparently common sense isn’t as common as you’d think. My teeth were chattering, my nose was running, and I couldn’t feel my toes, but Al was having the time of his life.
“Look over there!” He pointed. His eyes were huge, his grin was wide, and his enthusiasm was infectious. “That’s the Chrysler Building, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” I didn’t actually look but pulled my hat lower over my eyes. Were there icicles forming on my lashes? I swear they crunched when I blinked.
Al zipped around the observation deck, leaving me to follow in his wake. “And that’s the Statue of Liberty. She’s so tiny! Have you ever been out there?”
“Once,” I said.
He eyed me expectantly and I found myself opening up about my ex-fiancé, which I hadn’t done in forever. Maybe it was because I knew Al wasn’t going to be here for long or perhaps I just felt like I could trust him. Either way, I shared and it felt good.
“My ex, who is also the reason I moved to New York, and I went out there when we first arrived. We did all of the expected tourist things during our first six months.”
Albert’s gaze held mine. “And?”
“And it’s amazing,” I said. “Everyone should see the Statue of Liberty and Ellis Island.”
“Not that,” Al said. “Of course, I want to go see those things—but tell me about the ex.”
“Oh, him.”
“Yes, him.”
“We met at college in Vermont and came to New York together after we graduated,” I said. “He wanted to be an actor and I wanted to work at a museum.”
Al tipped his head to the side as he listened with his full attention. This was becoming quite the endearing trait.
“Were you happy?” he asked. He tucked his gloved hands into his coat pockets so I knew the cold was getting to him, too.
“For a while,” I said. “When I landed the job as registrar at the Museum of Literature, I felt as if everything was falling into place, but...”
“But?” he asked.
A bitterly cold wind whistled between us. This was the part of the story I hated. It was such a cliché.
“But one evening I came home early to our tiny apartment and found him in bed with...”
I stared meaningfully at Al. I didn’t want to have to say it.
Al held up his hands. “Let me guess. He was in bed with some fit young actress.”
“I wish.” My tone was bitter even after all these years.
His eyes went wide. “Fit young actor?” I shook my head. He looked perplexed. “That rules out women and men. I’m running out of ideas or at least ideas I want to say out loud.”
“She was a mature woman who, despite enough Botox and filler to make the Hudson River solid, was old enough to be his grandmother,” I said. Al grimaced. I felt bad and said, “Sorry, that was bitchy.”
“Warranted,” he said.
“Maybe.” I shrugged. “He came from a very wealthy background and his parents didn’t approve of his career choice so they cut him off. She was “sponsoring” his career so naturally he left me for her.”
“Ouch.”
“You know what’s even worse?” I asked. “It’s seven years later and they’re still together. In fact, I think they’re genuinely a love match.”
Al gasped and put his hand over his mouth in a comically appalled expression that made me laugh, which I’m sure he intended.
“The cheek,” he said.
“Right?” I asked. My ire was firing me up, warming me from the inside out. “I suppose it was only to be expected. The “starving young actor” life he had chosen didn’t gel with his “I want what I want when I want it” personality. We started fighting about money early on. I was thrifty and he was a spendthrift, proving once again that a prince and the poor girl can never be a couple.”