I had a relationship end last year. We’d been together for 2 years. You want to know what he said when we broke up? He said I was emotionally unavailable. That I treated everything like a business transaction? That I didn’t know how to just be with someone. Was he right? Victoria looked up sharply, then softened. Maybe, probably. I don’t know how to turn it off.
The analyzing, the strategizing, even this, she gestured between them. Part of me is wondering if you’re being genuine or if this is some elaborate attempt to get ahead at the company. It’s not. I know. That’s what scares me. Why? Because I don’t know what to do with genuine anymore. Noah set down his fork.
Can I tell you something, please? 3 years ago after Sarah died, I thought I was done. Not suicidal or anything like that. Just done feeling things. Done hoping. I went through the motions for Emma. Got up, went to work, came home, repeated. And part of me thought that was enough, that I didn’t need anything else.
What changed? Nothing changed. That’s the problem. I’m still just going through the motions. Still just surviving. And tonight sitting here with you is the first time in 3 years I felt like maybe there’s more than just surviving. Maybe there’s actually living. He met her eyes. So if you’re scared of genuine, I get it. I’m terrified.
But I’m also tired of being numb. Victoria’s hand trembled slightly as she reached for her water glass. This is insane. We just met. We’re from completely different worlds. Tomorrow morning everything goes back to normal. And this was just one weird night. Probably. So, why does it feel important? I don’t know. They finished dinner in a silence that felt less awkward than thoughtful.
When the check came, Victoria didn’t even look at it, just handed over a black credit card. Noah tried not to think about what the meal cost. Outside the restaurant, the April Air was cool. Victoria’s driver pulled up immediately, a sleek black car that probably cost more than Noah would make in 5 years. “This is me,” Victoria said unnecessarily.
“Yeah,” she turned to face him. Noah, I this was unexpected in a good way, a confusing way, but good for me, too. I don’t know what happens now. Nothing has to happen. We had dinner. We were honest. That’s more than most people get. Victoria smiled, but it looked sad. I want to see you again. I know that’s crazy.
I know all the reasons it’s a terrible idea, but I do. Noah’s heart hammered. I want that, too. Thursday, there’s a coffee shop on Fifth in Maine, 7:30 in the morning. Can you make that work? I’ll make it work. Just coffee, just talking. Nothing complicated. Nothing complicated, Noah agreed, knowing it was already the most complicated thing in his life.
Victoria got into her car. Before the door closed, she looked back at him. Noah, thank you for staying, for being real. Thank you for the dinner and for the same. The car pulled away. Noah stood on the sidewalk watching until the tail lights disappeared into traffic. Then he pulled out his phone and called Marcus. So Marcus answered immediately.
How bad was it? It was Noah struggled to find words. Different. Different good or different bad? I honestly don’t know yet. You going to see her again? Noah thought about Thursday morning, about coffee and conversation and the dangerous hope building in his chest. Yeah, he said. Yeah, I think I am, Tom. The apartment was dark when he got home.
Tessa was on the couch scrolling her phone. She looked up when he walked in. How was it? Weird. Good. Weird. She grinned. That’s the best kind. Emma went down around 8:00. She made me promise to tell you she wants a full report in the morning. Noah paid her, thanked her, and locked the door behind her.
Then he walked to Emma’s room and stood in the doorway, watching his daughter sleep. She’d kicked off her blankets again. He pulled them back over her, kissed her forehead. “Love you, sweetheart,” he whispered. In his own room, Noah lay in the dark and thought about Victoria Hail, about the tears she’d tried to hide, about the loneliness that looked so much like his own, about the way she’d listened when he talked about Emma, about the impossibility of what he was feeling. His phone buzzed.
A text from an unknown number. Made it home safely. Thank you again for tonight. Looking forward to Thursday. Victoria. Noah stared at the message for a long time before responding. Me too. Sleep well. He set the phone on his nightstand and closed his eyes. For the first time in 3 years, falling asleep felt less like surrender and more like anticipation.
Tomorrow would bring all the same problems. The struggling finances, the stolen ideas at work, the exhaustion of single parenthood, all of it would still be there. But Thursday was coming. Coffee and conversation with a woman who understood loneliness, a woman who’d chosen to see him as Noah, not employee number whatever. It was crazy.
It was impossible. It was probably going to end badly. But right now, lying in the dark with hope flickering in his chest, Noah let himself believe that maybe, just maybe, something was about to change. Thursday morning came too fast and too slow at the same time. Noah woke at 5:30, which was stupid because the coffee shop wasn’t until 7:30, and Emma didn’t need to be up until 6:45.
