What He's Been Missing

“I’m learning.” He looked at me sharply.

“This is crazy.”

“Precisely.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want you to love me that way.”

“Is this some kind of competition?” I asked. “Who will she love more? I’m not trying to get involved in a pissing contest.”

“There is no competition,” Xavier said confidently. “I knew I won when you opened your hotel-room door that morning. You wanted to let me in. Admit it.”

The music in the restaurant stopped suddenly. We looked around. The piano player was getting up from his bench.

“Tell the truth.” Xavier turned back around and nudged me in the stomach playfully.

“You’re a player, X. Maybe I kind of thought you were fine, but it wasn’t like that. I was dealing with a lot. I think I wanted a shoulder to lean on.”

“I’ll be your shoulder to lean on,” he said. “And my playing days are behind me. I’m an old veteran now. And, by the way, I could turn all those question on you.”

“What?”

“You said you were in love with Ian. He’s your best friend. Is this just a sex thing?” He cupped his pecks like a girl whose bra had been snatched away. “Are you using me for my body?”

“You’re a mess!” I said. “I don’t really know what’s going on. I admit that I love Ian—that I was in love with him when I said what I said, but you . . . you came in and . . . I probably shouldn’t be saying all of this.”

“No. You probably should.”

“I really like you. It’s confusing the shit out of me, but you just . . . it’s like you’re whispering in my ear,” I said with the candle on the table between us flickering in Xavier’s eyes.

“Damn, girl”—Xavier leaned into the table toward me—“you just made me hard as hell!”

We both laughed so hard, we nearly knocked the drinks off the table.

“You’re a mess,” I joked. “But I mean what I said. You’ve got me feeling a whole lot of things. I’m just wondering what Ian will say.”

“Say?”

“Yeah. About us . . . hanging out. I haven’t spoken to him since the wedding. It’s been over a month.”

“I spoke to him yesterday,” Xavier said, taking a sip of water.

“What? You didn’t tell me that. He knows you’re here?”

“Of course.” He looked at me, surprised. “What, you thought me being here was some secret?” He chuckled. “I don’t get down like that. I don’t creep.”

“What did he say?” I was just stunned. My heart started beating faster. Suddenly the month I hadn’t spoken to Ian felt like years, and miles, and landfills of distance. I imagined him living his life with Scarlet. Eating at the table I was sitting at with Xavier. Not thinking about me. Not missing me. He hadn’t even called.

“Not much. He was shopping with his wife.” (Wife? Why had Xavier said that like I didn’t know Scarlet? Suddenly, she was to be referred to as “wife”?)

“That’s cool,” I said, taking a sip from my water then, too.

“Are you OK?” Xavier asked.

“I’m fine.”

I’ve always been happy that I can’t sing or dance or play the guitar or do a handstand. Those are all talents people like me are better off without. Like, if I could do a handstand or play guitar, I’d be doing it all day and every day. God forbid I had the skill to do both at the same time. I’d be in Vegas right now performing in Cirque du Soleil. If I could sing, anytime anyone needed a singer—say, at an open mic or funeral—I’d graciously decline all offers to bless the mic, but then, I’d hit the audience off with a wicked medley of “Amazing Grace,” “God Bless the Child,” and “Natural Woman.” I’d then fall out on the stage and arrange for random people in the audience to carry me out.