Time of My Life_ A Novel - Allison Winn Scotch [35]
Too soon, and finally, he is here.
“You’re the girl from the bus, right?” he says, smiling and extending his free hand. The band has stopped playing, and a buzz of electric silence fills the dead space.
“What are you doing here?” I reply. It’s out too fast for me to take it back. But of course, Henry’s not supposed to be here. This isn’t where we meet. This isn’t how it all plays out. In a flash, I wonder how many near misses I’ve had with Henry in my former life . . . if he were someone whom I’d see around my neighborhood, at the grocery store, in the gym, on the bus, who just went unnoticed or to whom I’d occasionally nod, but who wasn’t meant to play any significant role in my life other than a familiar face with whom I would exchange glances from time to time in passing.
“Uh, excuse me?” He tries to take a step back, but instead, just elbow jousts with someone behind him, and finds himself on the losing end.
“I . . . just . . .” I find that I’m unable to speak. Henry. Henry! This is what he looked like when we met, I think. His eyes are still drowned with hope. His teeth seem whiter, his posture taller. No fine lines creaking into his forehead or around his eyes. Everything about his veneer seems glossier, more vibrant. Was I the reason you lost that? I wonder. Or do I simply not notice anymore?
“Should I not be here?” he asks, perplexed.
“Er, no. I’m sorry.” My tongue feels scrambled. “It came out wrong.” It came out exactly right! What are you doing here?
“Well, to answer your question, my company is a major shareholder in Coke, so, that’s why I’m here. And you?”
It occurs to me suddenly that Henry has every right to be here. He might have even been here seven years ago. It’s me; I’m the one who has changed things, who has inserted herself into places I haven’t previously been. I’m the one who is new here.
“I, uh, I do their advertising.” I stare at my hands rather than into his eyes, which feel like phantoms bearing down on me.
At this exact moment, Jack reappears, squeezing his way between two women who appear to be as bored as I am frantic.
“Finally!” he says. “I’ve been circling this place forever looking for you.” He pauses to assess the situation. “Oh, sorry to interrupt. Introductions are in order.”
“This is Henry,” I say before I realize my mistake.
Confusion floods his face. “How did you know my name?”
Shit. “You told me a few minutes ago!” I bleat, my voice ringing like a siren. I feel sweat pool underneath my arms, and my blood pressure is exploding like a firework. “When you walked up! How can you not remember? And I said, ‘Yes, I’m Jillian, from the bus the other day.’ ”
He brushes back his hair and tries to rattle his brain. I can see him thinking, because I know him too well, how could I have forgotten a moment from just a few minutes earlier, but then deciding that he doesn’t want to be rude and acknowledge that he’s already misplaced my name, so he goes with it, just as I knew that he would because Henry is too proper to create a minimelee with a new acquaintance.
“It must be these drinks!” he answers, raising his martini and spilling it on his wrist. “I should obviously lay off—”
“I say that too much is never enough,” Jackson interrupts, shaking Henry’s free hand with vigor, as a way of introduction.
“It’s true,” I say. “He does say that.” Jack’s nights out with his editorial crew are legendary and, most often, regretted the morning following.
“Well, with that, I should get back to my friends.” Henry smiles, though it looks more like a wince. “Nice to meet you, Jillian. Or nice to remeet you, I should say. And I hope to see you around again soon.” He nods, then pushes past through the cluster of the crowd. Not if I can help it, I think, ignoring the palpable longing that sits like a bruise over me. But then I realize, what if I can’t?
HENRY
Henry and I married at a white-shuttered, black-shingled church in