All characters are above the age of 18 unless otherwise specified.
***
Author's note: Oh boy. It has been a looong time since I've come out with a story. For all my followers, I'm really sorry for the radio silence; I started a new job and moved to a new city two years ago and writing took a backseat. This is a story that was sitting unfinished for a while and with life normalizing now post-pandemic, I figured there was never a better time to finish it up. I have a few more stories in the works, but I have no idea how regularly I'll be able to publish. Ideally I can keep putting out quality works that you guys enjoy, the only question is how frequent those would be published. Regardless, thank you all so much for your understanding and patience, as well as the continued support! Hopefully this one is at least partially worth the wait.
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"Maam, I'm extremely sorry, but we really can't allow you to sit at a table any longer."
"Please, just like 15 more minutes?"
I felt like I was living out that scene from
New Girl
, except this time my three guy roommates wouldn't come in to rescue me. It was mortifying.
The scruffy-haired & likely over-worked waiter looked down at his watch. It was a high-brow establishment; the waiter having a watch didn't necessarily surprise me.
"Alright maam, but I'm going to need you to order a drink or something at least."
"Okay, that's fine," I responded. "Give me, uh... a vodka tonic. Absolut," I stuttered, put on the spot. Vodka tonic was my go-to for nicer places, especially clubs, if I wasn't in a wine mood. They were basically upscale Whiteclaws.
"Sounds good maam, I'll have that right over for you."
"Perfect."
The waiter started to walk away before turning on his heel and doubling back to me. I had just started to check my phone again before looking up and returning my attention to the waiter.
"May I just see your ID first, maam?"
"Oh yeah, of course," I replied disinterestedly. I was 25, but I still looked college-aged. Living in a city like Nashville where there were multiple colleges plus a ton of spring-breakers from other schools, getting carded was still a regular occurrence.
I handed the waiter my driver's license, and he returned it after scanning the plastic card briefly.
"Thank you, and as I said, I'll be right back with your drink."
"Thanks," I replied in kind, resting an elbow on the table (eschewing the etiquette my mom had tried to teach me as a little girl) and opening my phone.
No unread messages.
I set my phone back down. I don't know why I had expected it to change in the last 5 minutes. My fingers started tapping on the table, fingering the nice linen tablecloth. My heels click-clacked on the quartz floor as my legs started bouncing.
There was an older couple, mid-50s to my left; the woman shot me a side-eye glance. I became more cognizant of the fact that I was jittery. Probably my ADHD acting up again, plus the nerves. God, I needed a drink in me to calm me down.
"How the fuck could he do this again?" I whispered to myself, shaking my head slightly in disbelief. "You're a fucking moron, Aria, I don't know why you let yourself put up with this."
The diamond engagement ring on my left hand glimmered briefly while it caught light, as if it were forcing the situation down my throat.
My fists balled up, partly in rage and partly so I could dig a fingernail into the middle of my palms. My mom's therapist had taught her that as a way to suppress crying. And I really didn't want to break down in tears in the middle of a swanky restaurant at 9 pm on a Friday night.
This was not the first time my fiancee Brett had stood me up. His inescapable charm that had me coming back over and over told me it wouldn't be the last time either.
We'd been together on-and-off at this point for about three years, since senior year of college. He had been at Vandy, and I had met him on a girls trip over to Nashville from UTK during my last semester. He had managed to sneak his claws (and something else) inside me, and here I was, having moved to a new city and uprooted my whole life for him.
That was the way it always was, I was always the one making sacrifices. Never the other way around. I had to come to Nashville, he couldn't move to Knoxville. I had to get a separate apartment because Brett wasn't sure he was okay living with someone else. That was our.... third(?) breakup. And I still had to take care of
his
fucking dogs (at his apartment!) because his consulting job had 70-80 hour work weeks. What the fuck even is consulting?!
Not that I didn't love his dogs, Mr. Pibb (the corgi) especially. And not that I didn't love Brett too, for better or worse.
But tonight really pissed me off. I was considering turning it into our sixth breakup, because I was not happy.
"This is bullshit," I muttered to myself through clenched teeth. "I'm gonna down this drink and fucking hit the town without him."
The third anniversary of our first date had been two weeks earlier. Brett had to work all that weekend, and then had to fly out to Colorado for some business trip the week after that, so we hadn't celebrated.
Now I don't like to think of myself as being particularly basic, or needy; I would consider myself a strong and independent woman (outside of the bedroom). But every girl needs to be pampered and doted on every once in a while. All I wanted was to have him celebrate our anniversary with me and be a cute, normal couple just for a little while. A nice dinner, have a fun night on Broadway, maybe walk by the river or go somewhere with a nice view, and end the night alone together at his apartment. Is that too much to ask for?
But here I was, sitting alone at a restaurant I certainly couldn't afford on my kindergarten teacher's salary, with radio silence from him.
"They fucked up the reservation, but I should have a table in like 10-15," was the last thing I had texted him.
"
Read 7:45 PM
."
