smiled, his grin looking satisfied, confident. He
seemed to have loosened up a bit.
“We’re working on a
big project on the water front.” Hunter gestured towards the water.
“I know,” I said,
“Ryan told me.” I opened my mouth to speak again, but I noticed
Hunter’s face grow hard at the mention of Ryan’s name.
“Ryan,” he
repeated, his tone clipped. “How do you know him?” His voice
laced with anger like poison. I’d thought the animosity between
them was just something that happened that day at the party—a
spilled drink, a toe stepped on—not some long lasting feud. The way
he was asking, it felt like we were back in high school, and he was
furiously jealous of some other guy.
“I met him at your
party, remember?” I replied, “Not that it’s any of your
business.”
Before either of us
could say any more, the server returned, asking for our drink orders.
Hunter ordered a bottle of wine. Good thing I didn’t say
anything about the fundraiser, I thought. Not that I’d ever
tell him what actually happened there, under the table. Or after. But
who knew Hunter would make such a big deal of me even mentioning
Ryan’s name?
“Oh right, well let’s
not talk about work tonight. I’ve been meaning to tell you, you
look amazing. It’s been too long, Ames. You still are the Cherry on
Top.” I blushed. It was cheesy, but he always used to call to me
that when we were dating in high school. It was an inside joke—we
used to go to have ice cream sundaes at a diner near school, very
1950s, and he always asked for the unmanly maraschino cherry on his
ice cream. I teased him about it. Thus the nickname.
But I had to admit, for
all his moodiness, it was comfortable to be sitting across from him
again. Our shared history, the fact that he knew my family, had known
them even before everything went to shit. He’d even been like a big
brother to Luke for a while, playing football in the front yard and
teasing him about girls.
His phone rang. “Oh
Amy, I have to get this. I’ll be right back.” He walked to the
other corner of the patio. I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it
seemed sort of rude for him to answer the phone during dinner.
Couldn’t it wait?
When Hunter returned to
the table and went back to talking about living in Texas, and how he
was glad to be back in California, near the ocean, close to his
friends from growing up, I thought about what would have happened if
we’d stayed together. What if he hadn’t broken up with me that
night, six years ago? What would my life look like today? I really
couldn’t imagine it.
There was so much about
my life right now that had come from a lot of hard work and
sacrifice. With him maybe I wouldn’t have spent so much time
thinking about what I wanted to do with myself. Who knows? Well it
doesn’t matter, I reminded myself. That’s not what
happened. I pulled myself back to the present. Hunter hadn’t
even noticed that I wasn’t paying full attention to him, so I let
my mind wander once more. If we hadn’t broken up, I also wouldn’t
have had the opportunity to try things out with Ryan. I knew it was
still really early days, but the way I felt when I was with him had
to mean something.
After a delicious
dinner of spicy pasta arrabiata, roasted peppers, and a totally
overwhelming and decadent tiramisu, we were super full and ready to
go. As we walked back through the restaurant, Hunter put his hand on
my lower back, guiding me towards the front door. Just in front of us
stood a couple waiting to be seated. The man was handsome, looked
like a cool surfer turned entrepreneur, and his date had the most
gorgeous chestnut hair, framing her face in perfect loose curls.
“Craig, hey,”
Hunter said, dropping his hand from my back, but not before lingering
briefly on my backside. It was a light touch, probably accidental, I
told myself. He had a few quick words with Craig, something about a
recent poker game, while I stood off to the side.
seemed to have loosened up a bit.
“We’re working on a
big project on the water front.” Hunter gestured towards the water.
“I know,” I said,
“Ryan told me.” I opened my mouth to speak again, but I noticed
Hunter’s face grow hard at the mention of Ryan’s name.
“Ryan,” he
repeated, his tone clipped. “How do you know him?” His voice
laced with anger like poison. I’d thought the animosity between
them was just something that happened that day at the party—a
spilled drink, a toe stepped on—not some long lasting feud. The way
he was asking, it felt like we were back in high school, and he was
furiously jealous of some other guy.
“I met him at your
party, remember?” I replied, “Not that it’s any of your
business.”
Before either of us
could say any more, the server returned, asking for our drink orders.
Hunter ordered a bottle of wine. Good thing I didn’t say
anything about the fundraiser, I thought. Not that I’d ever
tell him what actually happened there, under the table. Or after. But
who knew Hunter would make such a big deal of me even mentioning
Ryan’s name?
“Oh right, well let’s
not talk about work tonight. I’ve been meaning to tell you, you
look amazing. It’s been too long, Ames. You still are the Cherry on
Top.” I blushed. It was cheesy, but he always used to call to me
that when we were dating in high school. It was an inside joke—we
used to go to have ice cream sundaes at a diner near school, very
1950s, and he always asked for the unmanly maraschino cherry on his
ice cream. I teased him about it. Thus the nickname.
But I had to admit, for
all his moodiness, it was comfortable to be sitting across from him
again. Our shared history, the fact that he knew my family, had known
them even before everything went to shit. He’d even been like a big
brother to Luke for a while, playing football in the front yard and
teasing him about girls.
His phone rang. “Oh
Amy, I have to get this. I’ll be right back.” He walked to the
other corner of the patio. I know it shouldn’t bother me, but it
seemed sort of rude for him to answer the phone during dinner.
Couldn’t it wait?
When Hunter returned to
the table and went back to talking about living in Texas, and how he
was glad to be back in California, near the ocean, close to his
friends from growing up, I thought about what would have happened if
we’d stayed together. What if he hadn’t broken up with me that
night, six years ago? What would my life look like today? I really
couldn’t imagine it.
There was so much about
my life right now that had come from a lot of hard work and
sacrifice. With him maybe I wouldn’t have spent so much time
thinking about what I wanted to do with myself. Who knows? Well it
doesn’t matter, I reminded myself. That’s not what
happened. I pulled myself back to the present. Hunter hadn’t
even noticed that I wasn’t paying full attention to him, so I let
my mind wander once more. If we hadn’t broken up, I also wouldn’t
have had the opportunity to try things out with Ryan. I knew it was
still really early days, but the way I felt when I was with him had
to mean something.
After a delicious
dinner of spicy pasta arrabiata, roasted peppers, and a totally
overwhelming and decadent tiramisu, we were super full and ready to
go. As we walked back through the restaurant, Hunter put his hand on
my lower back, guiding me towards the front door. Just in front of us
stood a couple waiting to be seated. The man was handsome, looked
like a cool surfer turned entrepreneur, and his date had the most
gorgeous chestnut hair, framing her face in perfect loose curls.
“Craig, hey,”
Hunter said, dropping his hand from my back, but not before lingering
briefly on my backside. It was a light touch, probably accidental, I
told myself. He had a few quick words with Craig, something about a
recent poker game, while I stood off to the side.
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