Starting Over

            I wake up surprisingly optimistic on Friday morning.  I do everything right: healthy breakfast of homemade banana oatmeal, perfect winged eyeliner, and I even floss before getting ready to leave my apartment ten minutes early.  My roommate slash live-in best friend Emma eyes me suspiciously as I shove my phone into my navy Kate Spade handbag (thanks, Nordstrom Rack). 

            “You’re pretty chipper this morning,” she says, crossing her arms.  She’s still in reindeer fleece pajamas, her eyeliner smudged from the night before.  As a manager at a hip new restaurant and bar, she mostly works nights, especially on weekends.  Usually she is still fast asleep when I leave for work. 

            I give her the most dazzling smile I can muster and hoist my bag over my shoulder.  “I decided I should actually try to make it look like I put in some effort every morning,” I say breezily.  I unlock our front door and wave.  “Look good, feel good, right?  Byeee, have a great day!”  Before the door swung shut I catch a glimpse of Emma watching me leave. 

            Em and I have been good friends since freshmen year, when we lived two doors down from each other in the dorms.  Both of our respective roommates were nightmares, so halfway through the year we switched rooms and have been pretty much inseparable ever since.  We lived together all through college, so it was only natural that we kept the tradition alive once we entered the real world. 

            I hadn’t told her about Cam’s text and am feeling pretty guilty about it now.  I’m sure she knew something was up, and I’m just glad I left the apartment before she could weasel it out of me.  Emma isn’t the biggest Cam fan, and it’s no surprise why; she’s seen me cry and get drunk over him maybe one too many times.  She’s a great friend, but I don’t want to worry her over my little dinner date.  If you can even call it a date. 

            I get to work before Abby does and start answering my emails.  When she arrives twenty minutes later, she looks surprised to see me there. 

            “Wow, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you here before me,” she says.  It’s not meant as an insult—I’m much more likely to stay at work late than arrive early.  I shrug. 

            “What can I say, it’s Friday!  I figure if I put in a little extra effort at work the weekend gods will grant me a few good nights.”  This isn’t even entirely a lie—I believe wholeheartedly in karma and am hoping that my hard work today will earn me a good date tonight. 

            Abby nods.  “Maybe that means you won’t lose your new ID,” she says with a smirk.  I roll my eyes at her and get back to work. 

            By the time 5 PM comes around I’ve lost all enthusiasm for work and am impatiently waiting to leave.  I think Abby can sense my anxiousness and strolls over as I’m packing up. 

            “What’s gotten into you?” she asks, resting her chin on her hands.  “You barely stopped to take a breath at lunch today and I swear I could hear you sighing every five minutes around all the way from my cubicle.” 

            “Hey, maybe I was hungry,” I retort, pretending to be offended.  In reality, I’m barely paying attention to her and instead am mentally going through my closet.  Shoving my arms into my puffy winter coat—it’s been too cold lately to care about a fashionable winter jacket—I gather my things and get ready to leave. 

            I’m so lost in my own train of thought that I don’t see her walk up to me.  Placing one hand on my shoulder, Abby says “What’s going on?” 

            I sigh and decide to give her part of the truth, just so she stops thinking that something is actually wrong.  “I have a date tonight,” I tell her. 

            “Oh wow!  That’s great, Ryan!”  Abby’s all smiles and I suddenly feel guilty about not telling her about Cam.  Just because she’s in a happy, stable relationship doesn’t mean that she wouldn’t have listened to me. 

            “Yeah.”  I nod slowly, and we start walking out of the office together.  “It’s actually with my ex.” 

            Abby glances at me out of the corner of her eyes, gauging the situation.  “How do you feel about that?” she asks, holding the door open for me.  A gust of frigid air hits us with full force and I shiver. 

            “You know,” I say slowly, “I think I’m okay.  I think I’m actually looking forward to it.”  And as soon as I say those words out loud, I know it’s true.  I smile.  “Have a good weekend, Abby.” 

            “You too!” Abby starts walking away.  “Text me if anything exciting happens!” she calls. 

            I’d be lying if I said I didn’t speed all the way home.  CFC offices is only a ten-minute drive from my apartment in the Short North area of Columbus and my date with Cam isn’t til eight, but I couldn’t calm my nerves. 

            I walk into my apartment expecting it to be empty, but Emma’s still there.  She’s in the bathroom we share doing her makeup.  This poses a slight problem, since I was planning on taking a shower. 

            “Hey Em,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual.  “What’s up?” 

            “Hey hey hey,” she responds.  She’s artfully applying blush to her cheeks; I watch her enviously.  Emma’s got model cheekbones, high and prominent. 

            “You almost done?  I wanted to take a shower.”  I walk to my room, which is right next to the bathroom, and set my handbag down on my desk.  “No rush,” I call to her.  “I’m just meeting up with Abby at eight.”  The lie comes out so easily that I don’t even question it myself.    

            I hear the water running, and Emma’s voice carries over the sound easily.  “Why?  She knows what you look like so no need to wash up.”  The water shuts off and her next sentence is clearer.  “And besides, you look cute.” 

            I walk back to the bathroom and rest my shoulder against the doorframe.  “Thanks, but it’s been a long day and I feel gross.  I just want to wash my hair and start over fresh.”  Ten minutes later the bathroom is mine. 

            By 7:15 I’m running around the apartment in a robe with a different shoe on each foot.  Luckily Emma is at work, because she certainly wouldn’t believe that I was going to all this trouble just for a meeting with a friend.  Because it’s the dead of winter, I’ve ruled out dresses but want to wear heels to fancy up my jeans a little. They’re blue with a strip of black leather running from hip to ankle, and they call for some cool black ankle booties.  I have the perfect pair, four inches tall with cutouts, but they’re dangerous in this snow and ice.  Not that the cold has stopped me before, but I’m nervous about slipping and falling in front of Cam.  On my other foot is another black heel, lower, chunkier, and without the cutouts.  Definitely safer to walk in but without the wow factor.  I give in to my inner fashion diva and go for the taller heels. 

            Thirty-five minutes later I’m dressed and my makeup is done.  I’m rocking a hint of dark red lipstick to discourage Cam from coming on too strong or going in for a kiss too soon.  I slide on my puffer coat, grab my wallet (with my new ID safely tucked away) and walk out the door. 

            My heels click on the pavement and I don’t lose my footing once.  Bodega, a trendy restaurant and bar about five minutes from my apartment, is usually packed on Fridays but Cam said he got a reservation.  Before I know it I’m there, and I see him sitting by a window as I walk by.  I pretend not to see him but my breath catches in my throat. 

            Once inside, I walk straight to his table and sit down without warning.  Cam looks startled but his expression quickly becomes neutral again.  I’m happy to see he’s drinking water, not beer.  “Hi,” I say, and wiggle out of my coat. 

            “Hey!”  Cam smiles.  His hair has gotten longer, almost too long.  It curls at the ends and I try not to stare.  Yes, he looks different, but good nonetheless.  “Wow, you look amazing,” he offers.  I see his eyes focus on my chest area and I quickly become embarrassed and a little angry.  My hands cross over my chest and I stare him down coldly. 

            Cam recognizes his mistake and says “You’ve got something on your collar.”  I look down.  He’s right—there’s a little red on my crisp white collar.  Lipstick.  I know if I try to brush it off it’ll smear. 

            “Oh,” I force myself to laugh and then explain the situation.  Looks like wearing lipstick backfired. 

            “That’s my Ryan,” Cam says with a grin.  “Always so pretty but so damn clumsy.”  I frown.  My Ryan?  He’s acting too familiar too fast.  He seems to notice my discomfort and clears his throat, changing the subject.  “So I already ordered the artichoke dip.  I know you love it here.” 

            It’s true.  I can’t resist a good spin-artichoke dip, and Bodega has the best.  “Perfect,” I say.  “I hope you weren’t waiting too long.” 

            He shakes his head.  We’re quiet for a moment, and I sip my water.  “Look, Ryan, I can’t act like I didn’t ask you here for a reason.”  I wait.  “I’ve really enjoyed talking with you these past few weeks.  I know things didn’t exactly work out before, but I’ve changed.” 

            I don’t move and just watch him.  I hate that line: “I’ve changed.”  It has always seemed like a cop-out to me. 

            Cam continues.  “We’re out of college now and I want things to be different.  I’m trying not to drink so much,” and he must see my look of surprise and disbelief, because he quickly adds “not cold turkey of course.  I just know I screwed up, okay?  I can’t be that crazy party kid anymore.  I have a job—“ 

            He’s interrupted as the waiter brings us our spinach and artichoke dip.  I’m asked if I want a drink and order a lager.  Cam may want to be sober for this date but I welcome the alcohol. 

            After my beer is set on the table and we’ve both eaten a little of the appetizer—as good as always—the conversation turns back to us.  Whatever “us” is. 

            “I’m not asking for you to be with me forever and ever.  Can we just try to be normal and start over again?” 

            Finally I look at Cam in the eyes.  They’re brown, darker than mine, and I’m surprised to hear the sincerity in his voice.  He looks so good in his flannel button-down shirt—so hipster, so typical graduated-frat-guy—and I want to believe him.  Dysfunctional as it is, we have a history together, and I was so excited about this date.  He gets to me somehow, and maybe it’s the beer or the nerves that encourage me, but I reach out and grab his hand. 

            He seems surprised but says nothing, waiting for me to speak.  Well, if he wants us to start over, that’s what he’ll get. 

            “Hi,” I say.  “I’m Ryan.”

            “Cam,” he says without missing a beat. 

            “Nice to meet you.”  I look down at my plate.  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to finish off this dip.”  And I do. 

We talk about his job—he works at a bank—and my new apartment, and I’m struck by how easy it is with him.  We’ve known each other for a while, so there’s no lack of conversation, but we can both sense something new and different in the midst of that comfort.  I’m not sure if that’s dangerous or not. 

            At ten-thirty he helps me put my coat back on.  I catch a whiff of his cologne, so familiar, and I’m not sure who leans in first but we’re kissing.  Someone at the table behind us whistles, and I can feel Cam smile as we kiss.  It only makes me want him more.  Disappointingly, he pulls away, still smiling, and holds the door open for me. 

            We step into the frigid night and both glance up at the clear sky.  “Check out the stars,” Cam says in awe.  They are breathtaking—the cold air makes for a clear night, and the stars are bright and inviting.  Cam grabs my hand and we start walking.  It’s a true testament to a good night that I do not wobble in my heels the entire way back to my apartment. 

            I want to invite him in, and I know that he wants the same thing.  But we settle for a few more kisses (okay, more than a few) and then he squeezes my hand and lets go for the first time since we left the restaurant. I watch him walk away, his breath leaving a trail of mist behind, and wonder if it’s possible to start over with someone you already know.