But right now I want to wipe anything Anders-related from my memory.
Scott comes tofind me after dinner, when I’ve had a few drinks and have warmed up enough to do small talk withSabrina’s friends from university. They’re a lovely bunch and I’m having a nice time. I’d really be enjoying myself if it weren’t for that bastard back in Indianapolis.
Oh God, he’s not a bastard. I don’t mean that. I asked for a day; he gave me a day. He never gave less than he promised.
These thoughts are dangerous so I try to stop thinking them.
“Hey,” Scott says, his hand on my shoulder.
I look up at him, at his open, smiling face, and I think, what a lovely, uncomplicated man you are.
“Hey,” I reply, my voice softening as I get up to give him a hug.
His embrace is oddly familiar, yet utterly alien.
The girl who was sitting next to me heads to the bar with her friend, so Scott takes her seat.
“How are you?” he asks, his brown eyes searching mine.
“I’m fine, how are you?”
“I’m good.” He nods.
“I see you’ve had a haircut.” His dark brown curls are closer to his scalp than they used to be. They’re barely curls at all.
I used to trim his hair for him occasionally. I remember once describing it as the rich, dark color of peat, to which he jokily replied,Are you calling me a bog monster?
Got to say, I preferred it longer.
“Had to find myself another hairdresser,” he replies with an awkward half laugh.
“Ha. Serves you right.” How I’ve got the strength to tease him, I do not know.
“You look nice,” he says.
I shrug. “This old thing? You too.”
He’s wearing a navy suit with a white shirt, unbuttonedat the top. He was wearing a tie earlier—that was navy too. Unwittingly, we match.
“Are you here with anyone?” he asks.
“Nope.”
I don’t ask him if he is. I can see that he’s not.
“How was America?”
“Good.”
“Did you finish the Airstream?”
“I did.”
“I hoped you might send me some more pictures.”
“Sorry, I meant to.” I really did. “Do you want to see some now?” I offer.
“I’d love to.”
