On days when I’m working, Dwight is outside the restaurant, sat in his car with the engine purring away, waiting to drive me home, and on my days off we spend hours in my apartment talking, watching movies and making out until our lips are swollen and numb.
Despite the fact that we can’t actually go out on a date, or even be seen walking down the street together, we’ve made it work.
My stomach still flutters the second I see him, and when he kisses me, even the slightest brush of his mouth against mine turns my legs to jelly, so much so I’m almost afraid they’ll collapse from under me. Every kiss has me feeling like it’s my very first kiss. I feel like a silly schoolgirl with a crush. But it’s the best feeling. A feeling that reminds me that I’m alive, that in spite of everything that's happened, I can still be happy.
I often lie awake at night and wonder what my parents would think of Dwight. Would they care that he’s twelve years older than me? That he's my professor? Would they be happy that I’m happy?
I like to think they would be.
My mom was always a hopeless romantic, she believed that there is one person that we’re destined to be with, someone out there waiting for us and when we find them, it will come unexpected, and unanticipated, but we’ll know. I never believed in it growing up, but now I’m starting to think she was right.
After quitting the club, I’ve managed to catch up some much needed sleep and all of my overdue assignments, which is like a weight being removed from my shoulders that’s been weighing on me for a while.
∞∞∞
My shift tonight at the restaurant is busy, and by the time I step outside into the cool, crisp air after it ends, my feet are throbbing, and a dull ache spreads the width of my shoulders. I round the corner to a familiar sight, Dwight sat in his car that’s idling on the curb. I pick up my pace, all but skipping down the sidewalk, and jump into his car. I lean over and capture his mouth with mine. He reaches up and brushes my hair away from my face as he takes control of the kiss as he always does. He kisses me like he hasn’t seen me in a week, deep and earnest.
He pulls back and smiles. “How was work?”
“Busy, and I ache all over, all the better for seeing you.”
I sit back in my seat and pull on my seatbelt as Dwight drives me home, all the while keeping one hand on the steering wheel, and one on my thigh which he gives the occasional squeeze.
Once outside my building he switches off the engine and gets out, rounding the car and pulling open my door, offering me a hand. I take it, and we walk hand in hand until we enter my apartment.
“Would you like something to drink?” I ask over my shoulder as I make my way towards the kitchen.
“Coffee, thanks,” Dwight replies, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over the back of the couch.
When I return to the living room a few minutes later with our coffees, I find Dwight studying one of the books from the pile that’s stacked in the corner of the room. I’ve been having a tidy up, and I haven’t managed to find a suitable place for all my books yet.
“That was my favourite book when I was a kid,” I point out, noticing the one that he picked up wasThe Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe.
He smiles fondly. “It’s a great book. It was always Grace’s favourite…” he trails off, his smile slowly fading at the mention of Grace.
I can tell from his face that the mention of her name still causes him pain, or was it the fact that it slipped through his lips so easily in my presence that has upset him? Whichever it is, I don’t press.
Dwight still wears his wedding ring, and I haven’t mentioned it because I don’t want to make him uncomfortable. It’s clear he’s still not one-hundred percent over Grace, and I’m fine with that, it’s going to take time to get used to being with someone else.
What would it make me if I demand he take off the ring before he’s ready to?
A jealous, insecure bitch, that’s what.
He places the book back down and takes his coffee from my hands, taking a sip and setting it down on the sideboard and quickly turning his attention to something else.
He shifts his stance, the toe of his shoe catching on a small grey box on the floor. It tips onto its side, causing the lid to loosen and the contents to spill out. “Shit,” he curses.
My heart rate spikes as my eyes drift over the photographs that lay scattered across the floor. Photographs that I haven’t been able to bring myself to look through in over a year.
Dwight drops to a crouch, and begins to gather up the photographs into a neat pile. He picks one in particular and studies it, letting out a low chuckle before glancing up to meet my eye. “Is this you?” he asks, angling the photo towards me.
I lower myself onto my knees beside him, leaning in close to look at the photo better. “Yeah, that’s me.” I look at myself in the photo, memories that I thought I’d forgotten slowly resurfacing. “I was seven, I think. We went to Niagara Falls that day. I was so excited. I’d seen it on TV one day and begged my parents to take me.”
“Did you and your parents travel a lot?”
“Yeah. My parents tried to take us on vacation at least once a year, usually over summer break. Every year we’d each put a couple of names of places we’d like to visit into a bowl, and whichever one got pulled out is where we’d go. Most of the places were in America, my dad hated flying, the furthest we ever got him to go was Mexico, four hours on a plane was enough for him,andfor us, four hours of nonstop complaining was exhausting.”
I reach down to another photograph. “This one was taken in Miami when I was fifteen,” I explain, a smile tugging at my mouth as I study it. My dad and me on the harbour, a sea of huge white yachts floating on the water behind us. “Miami was my dad’s choice. His favourite TV show wasMiami Vice, and he always liked to picture himself as Don Johnson.”
