Waiting on You

“Michael!” I wave over my head. Due to his tall stature, he stands out among the rest on the crowded sidewalk. The lights from the marquee give his gelled back hair a pinkish gleam.“Hi! I hope you weren’t waiting long. The train was delayed.” I explain and stretch my neck with my mouth puckered. He obliges with a light touch of his lips on mine and points to the phone pressed to his ear.

He covers the receiver and whispers, “Honey, go put our name in…I’ll be a minute.”

“Of course.” I move around him and through the door. The thick smell of garlic and tomatoes fills my nose. My shoes slip easily across the black and white penny tiles. I hang my coat on the hook and smooth my pencil skirt before weaving my way to the hostess desk. “Hello!”

Two young women in their early twenties hovering over a computer screen lift their eyes. One seems smug while the other looks at me with pity. “It’s a 45 minute wait.”

“My husband and I, this place is special to us and it’s the anniversary of our first date.”

“Great.” The smug one answers with no emotion. “Table for two?”

“Yes, please.” I nod.

“Name?”

“Juliet Cooper.”

The kind one smiles, “You’re welcome to wait at the bar or there.” She gestures toward the leather bench extending from the front door along the mahogany wall separating us from the dining area.

“Thank you.” I adjust my bag over my shoulder. The bench is full, and the bar is too. I take a step to the right and wedge myself next to a mother and her child. The little girl twirls while flapping a balloon animal wildly in the air. I lean back to stay out of her way, “Was there some sort of festival today? Quite crowded on a Thursday.”

The mother unwinds her scarf and fans herself. She replies, “The flower show is at the convention center.”

"I forgot. I heard the displays are phenomenal.”

“We all need a touch of spring after this snowy winter.” she adds as her shoulders slump.

“We certainly do.” I relax when I see Michael enter and wave to get his attention. The hostess calls back the woman next to me.

“How long’s the wait, Jules?” He questions as he wraps one arm around me, squeezes me close, and kisses my temple.

“45 minutes.” I dig in my bottomless bag and add, “Or sooner. It’s already been 5. It gives us time to plan our trip.”

“Trip?” he sniffs.

I wave my favorite magazine. “The Cherry Blossom Festival in DC. There’s an itinerary and a full list of hotels. We’re cutting it close, but if we could decide on one, I’m sure I can book something.” I open to the dog eared page, so worn I’m afraid it might disintegrate. “Let’s make this our year.”

“When is this again?” He slips his phone out of his pocket and taps on the calendar. “I’ll look at my schedule, but it’s doubtful I can get away. I’m starving. Their food isn’t that great. Should we go somewhere else?”

“I’d like to stick it out…since we had our first date here. Isn’t that why you picked it?” I ask.

He replies, “No, I was nearby, and the train station is right there.”

“Oh.” Feeling deflated, I scroll through my phone looking for other options.

"Are you sure this was our first date? Wasn’t it Dante’s on South?” His phone vibrates and he answers it without hesitation.

Another man enters as Michael pushes past him without waiting. The man’s long navy wool coat brushes me as he passes, and he apologizes. The hostesses look up and their eyes widen as he approaches the stand. I can’t see his face from this angle, but from their blushing, I can only assume he is attractive. He certainly smells good.

“Hello, how are you tonight?” He greets them politely. They gush a warm welcome in return. He continues. “I have a reservation for two for 6:30 for Weston. Although it seems my friend hasn’t arrived yet.”

“I apologize, Mr. Weston, due to the long wait times, we’re not able to seat you until the rest of your party arrives.”

“I understand. She’ll be here any minute.” he answers.

The other hostess announces a name, and the family by the door follows her. When the area clears, I finally see a chance to get off my aching feet and cross the room to the empty bench. Unfortunately, Mr. Weston and I attempt to sit at the same time. My bottom lands firmly in his hand as my bag spills onto his lap. My magazine flies in the air, landing on the floor. I scramble to get to my feet and only make it worse when my high heel causes my ankle to roll. He drops my bag and catches me by the waist.

“Ma’am, I’m so sorry!” Now I see why they made a fuss; he is more than attractive. He’s stunning with strong features and steel blue eyes. “Are you ok? Did you hurt yourself?”

“No. I’m alright. I should have looked where I was sitting.” A giggle escapes when I remember the shape of his hand pressing into me and the look of shock on his face. His mouth twitches before he laughs too. I crouch onto the floor and shuffle my papers into a pile.

“Let me help you.” He quickly hangs up his coat and squats next to me.

“Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do. Are you sure you’re ok?” As he stretches and collects my odds and ends, he appears younger than he carries himself.

“I’m fine. This night isn’t turning out as I planned.” I shrug.

“Have you been waiting long for a table?” He asks.

I look at my watch. “15 minutes now.”

“I’ve never seen it this crowded.” He comments.

“The flower show.” I answer simply and eye the empty bench.

“Please, you first, Juliet.” He hands me my badge with my name in bold, large letters. “I’m Nick.”

“Lovely to meet you, Nick.”

Before I sit, I stretch my neck to look out the window, and he does too. Michael paces back and forth, shouting into his phone and waving his other arm. I’m better off with him out there.

Nick grunts. “Hmmph.”

“I overheard you earlier…are you waiting on a friend?” I settle down with him next to me.

“I am. A work colleague. I’m worried about her.” He rubs his face. “I just hope she hasn’t done anything rash…”

"Oh God! Should you go find her? I don’t mean to overstep, but I’m a therapist at Penn. And…”

“No, no. She wouldn’t harm herself. She recently ended a complicated relationship and plans to confront…or may have already…I…” He stutters as a red heat rises up his neck. “She asked my advice since I was in a similar situation…when my ex-wife was unfaithful to me…”

“Please, say no more!” I interrupt him. “I’ll mind my business.”

He questions, “That’s your husband? Out there on the sidewalk?”

“Yes. He’s on a work call. He seems to have forgotten me.”

“Impossible,” he points to the magazine on my lap. “Can I see that?” I hand it to him and check my watch again. My stomach growls. The bar crowd is now three rows deep, and the restaurant patrons are in no rush to leave. He folds it back and offers it to me. “I wrote that four years ago.”

“This? ‘The Capital in Bloom' by Nicholas Weston. You’re the Nicholas Weston. Travel guru?”

“Why are you carrying around a ratty old magazine?” He asks.

“Because of you, and your description of the Cherry Blossom Festival! Every time I imagine it through your writing, you take me there. I’m drawn to it as if it holds all the answers for me…sounds silly.”

"I understand. Places can do that to people. It’s the unfathomable desire to travel somewhere you’ve never been in the hopes you find that’s where you belong even for a moment.”

“Exactly.” I giggle. “Wow, you are a writer.”

“That article was easy to write because I love it so much. My mom and I went every year. I still do. It’s filled with tons of fond memories of walks along the basin, petals floating through the air.” He rests back and his head hits the wood window frame with a soft thud. “How long would you wait before you consider yourself stood up by a friend?”

“Maybe she’s caught in traffic. Stay a little longer.”

“You’ve convinced me since the company is so nice.” His eyes crinkle in the corners. “You haven’t seen the cherry blossoms?”

“I’ve been trying to plan a trip since Michael and I met. He promises every year to go with me, but his schedule never matches up. Then there’s March Madness…if his favorite team advances that far…forget it.”

“Go without him. I travel by myself all the time.”

“For work?” I question.

“Yes, work, but sometimes for pleasure.” He shifts his body to face me. His expensive looking sweater folds nicely against his torso.

“Don’t you think it would be better with someone?” I ask.

With the right person, sure, but you can’t let that hold you back. You need to do what makes you happy. You only get one life, Juliet.”

“You’re right. Has anything changed since you wrote the article?” I kick off my heels and tuck my legs beneath me, making myself comfortable.

I jump when Michael leans in the door frame. He raises his voice. “Jules, they didn’t call us yet? It’s been 25 minutes!”

“No, not yet. Come in and sit. I’m sure it won’t be much longer.” I offer him a seat by patting the soft leather next to me. “Michael, this is Nick Weston. He wrote the cherry blossoms article. The one I fell in love with…”

“Nice to meet you.” He shakes Nick’s hand and chuckles, “My wife and these damn cherry blossoms.”

“You should take her. It’s 2 hours from here.” Nick replies with no humor.

I bristle, knowing no one can tell Michael what to do and get away with it. Still, I can’t help but appreciate Nick in this moment. Michael looks confused by the stranger, but his stern advice makes everything so clear to me. It’s not about the cherry blossoms. Michael doesn’t love me enough to care about my happiness. We sit in silence for a moment before the door swings open and a woman appears. Her blonde hair swirls in the drafty air as she clutches her coat around her body. Her red rimmed eyes fall on Nick and she brightens.

Nick greets her, “Jane, you made it! Perfect.”

Instead of responding, her smile drops and all the color drains from her face as she looks past me and mouths, “Michael.” And she repeats it louder to be heard above the music. “Michael!”

He tears his eyes away from his phone. “Jane?”

“How do you know her, Michael?” I ask even though the look on his face gives it away.

“You’re Juliet.” Jane answers, “I ended it when I found out he was married and wanted to tell you.”

I glance at my husband. His mouth hangs open like a fish. I’ve never hated him more.

“Juliet! Party of 2!” the hostess calls.

I stand and turn to Nick. “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Yes, of course.” He offers me his arm.

A mixed of emotions cloud my mind, but I feel free. “This was worth the wait.”

The End.