Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [102]
She hadn’t been lying when she told Martin to look for the pretty girl at the bar. In Martin’s opinion, no one in the bustling restaurant came close to Laura’s beauty. She was wearing a green sweater and blue skirt, and her hair was pinned up and away from her face, the way Martin would have her wear it every day if it were up to him. She spotted Martin almost immediately, walked over with a glass of seltzer water in her hand, and kissed him lightly on the cheek. He smiled and wondered if he should kiss her back in the same fashion but refrained, rejecting the mental image of such an attempt and feeling foolish for even considering it. The two were quickly seated by the window at a small table for two. As soon as he sat down, Martin’s thoughts returned to Sophie Pearl.
He tried to push them away.
“How is your day going?” he asked, attempting to fire off the first question to avoid being blindsided by Laura’s randomness.
“Better now. What were you going to have for lunch?”
“Huh?”
“You said you were about to have lunch when I spoke to you on the phone,” she reminded him. “What were you going to have?”
“Oh. A grilled cheese sandwich, but this is much better.” Though he liked the line (it had made Laura smile), Martin knew that the excitement and joy that he typically felt when speaking to her was gone. His hands were still shaking beneath the table when the menus arrived and drinks were ordered.
“Caesar salad with oysters for me,” she declared, pushing the menu aside. “It really is the best here.”
“I’m not a big oyster fan,” Martin admitted, hoping this news wouldn’t disappoint her too much. “But the French onion soup looks good.” He placed the menu down and returned his hands to his lap, where they continued their nearly imperceptible trembling.
“So … are you excited about tomorrow?”
“Of course. I mean, I still feel a little odd about going to your friend’s party. I didn’t really do anything. Just got lucky.”
“I’m the one who got lucky” Laura said, staring him directly in the eyes.
Martin blushed. “Yeah, well I feel the same way. And as long as I’m going with you, I’ll be fine.”
“Good,” she said, the shortness of the word signaling an end to this part of the conversation. “So how is the novel coming?”
In truth, Martin had continued to peck away at the thing over the last few days, but he still had only a couple of thousand words written. He had begun by writing about his own life, but he knew that if this were to be a successful novel, he would need to begin fabricating new characters, settings, and storylines soon, otherwise he’d end up with a tell-all memoir that might someday land him in prison. Besides, Martin knew that his life wouldn’t be interesting enough to carry a reader for three hundred pages, so fabrication would be essential.
“I’ve worked on it every day,” Martin answered truthfully. “Slow and steady. But you first. Any news on the interior design front?”
“Not since the other day. I’ve got a list of three schools that I like, but no way to pay for any of them. I’ll need to look into financial aid, I guess.”
“I’m going to stop writing if you don’t get a move on,” Martin chided, lifting a piece of bread from the basket. He loved pushing Laura this way, because he knew how much she appreciated it. Seemed to need it even. And yet it came so easily to Martin, a man who didn’t like to waste a moment.
“No, you won’t,” she said, laughing. “You’re not a quitter. You’re a writer, and someday your book will be sitting on one of the front tables of one of those bookstores around the block. Maybe you can even arrange to do a signing, and I’ll sit beside you and tell your readers that I am the Laura who the book is dedicated to. That would be great! Now please, can’t you tell me what the book is about? Please?”
Martin