“Do you miss him?”
“I do,”Do I miss Grant? Of course I do.
“You do?”
“Yeah. But it’s been a long time. I mostly miss having someone at all.”I’m finally admitting it aloud.It wasn’t that foreign a thought to me, but to say it aloud was something else entirely. While I knew I would certainly outlive Grant, and I grieved him a little while he was still alive, I did the majority of my grieving after he died.
I had convinced myself he was the only person I could ever have, but finally my heart is opening up to the possibility that that isn’t true. I miss having someone to love. Someone to hold, someone to kiss, someone to adore.
“I miss having someone to be with.” I say into the phone, unsure if Jae is still there.
“I’m with you,” Jae whispers, his voice light as a feather.
“Do you really mean that?” I ask, unsure whether or not to believe him.
“You know it.”
As Jae says that, I feel like I can really trust him. He’s been there for me since I met him. The fall in the kitchen. The tea. The panic attack.
“I miss having a person.”
“I’ll be your person if you want.”
“I’m not sure you wanna be my person.”
“Thanks for the story. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
This week of painting the mural has flown by, and as the day comes to a close, I’m getting antsier and antsier about my date. Jae and I have spent the last few days bickering by day in the restaurant, but calling each other before we fall asleep at night,talking about our lives—and every day I learn new things about him.
He almost flunked out of ninth grade, but went to The Culinary Institute of America on full scholarship for culinary science. He hates avocados. Nothing at The Red Kettle ever has avocado as an ingredient. The renovations at the apartment will begin next month. He’s keeping the french doors.
I tell him about group therapy. About the guys I match with on Tinder—but not about how they’re there to distract me from him. About how I’m working on some other paintings in my free time to sell. And when Friday rolls around, I’m wishing my date was with Jae, not Rishi.
I’ve put my hair in a half up, half down style and wear a royal blue sweater with light wash jeans. I meet Rishi outside the restaurant, and when we go in, I instantly spot Jae. He’s at the bar again, but this time he’s chatting with a tall, blonde woman dressed in a sparkly, pink miniskirt.
The hostess seats us at the same table as last time and delivers us towering glasses of iced water. Rishi and I do a proper cheers, and yet, all I can do is keep my eyes open for Jae. He doesn’t send any food to our table this time.
Rishi is sweet and charming, but all I can think about is Jae. Where is he? Who is he with? I try to shift my focus back to Rishi.
“So, where in the city do you live?” I ask Rishi, my feeble attempt to make conversation.
“Murray Hill.”
“Oh, so do you work in finance?”
“Why does everyone think that?” Rishi’s laughter is genuine, and my smile isn’t forced. “I’m an art therapist actually. I work at the Children’s Hospital.”
“No wonder Jae set us up—I’m a painter.”
“I knew that already!” Rishi takes a huge, heaping bite of his dinner.
I flash back to my practice date with Jae. Rishi doesn’t talk with his mouth full.
We chat throughout dinner. Rishi is twenty-seven, born in India, but moved here to attend NYU and medical school.
“How were you and Jae college roommates if Jae is a chef and you’re a therapist?” The question comes to me suddenly.
