He is not here because we are not a couple.
We are fake.
A dream.
One I thought was real.
Dummkopf, Dummkopf, Dummkopf.
A hand tugs at me, and when I glance down, my sister Annika is pulling me inside the restaurant. Her eyes are round and worried, and I hate it.
Does she know?
“It’s okay,” she murmurs, and maybe she does know.
I clench and unclench my fists.
Mateo
I am on the bus, heading back to Somerville, watching a video of Florian being bombarded by a paparazzo outside a restaurant. Well, now I know where he’s going to dinner.
I should be there.
I never should have let Florian go to dinner by himself. I shouldn’t have.
Florian might be assertive on the ice, but he’s a defenseman. He protects others. He knows that’s his role, and he’s incredible at it. I know how impressed Coach and the others are with how well he performed after he joined.
But Florian liked it when I was beside him. He said so repeatedly. And though part of it was that he thought we were in a romantic relationship, I’m not sure he would have asked me to come to the restaurant with him, even if he wanted me there.
Florian looked lost and sad and overwhelmed in the video. He looked nothing like the proud, composed man I’ve come to know and appreciate.
I press the button to stop the bus at the next stop before I can second-guess myself, and when the bus stops one block later, I hurry off.
The doors slamclose behind me.
I’m somewhere in Cambridge, and I take out my phone to figure out the best way to get to the North End.
I wish I’d insisted on coming. Florian is polite and old-fashioned, like he’s come from the nineteenth-century court and not just Germany.
He is sweet and wonderful, and I have made his life so difficult.
And though I have his forgiveness, though there was no argument, though I never really expected there would be after I got to know him, I don’t want him to feel alone.
Fortunately, there’s a T stop nearby, and I get on at Central Square, then zoom across the river into Boston.
I jog through Beacon Hill, ignoring the startled glances of designer-clad men and women walking puffy designer dogs in bright designer dog socks.
I find the restaurant, then enter it. The place is crowded, because of course Florian and his family have good taste, and would only pick good places.
I can change my mind. Maybe this is ridiculous. Florian told me not to come. I should be following his wishes, right?
But maybe Florian needs to be rescued. Maybe people in towers don’t always ask for what they need.
Maybe he’s already told his family how little we are to each other, and I am going to mortify myself in front of Florian’s nice family, a family that treated me like I was their own child, a family like…
Well, it doesn’t matter. My mother passed away years ago, and my father… well, I can always reach out to him for an awkward conversation. It’s just… we don’t have many of those.
I’m not grabbing hold of random nice German families as a replacement. No, I’m not.
