Page 98 of A Bookish Story

“I’ll see you Monday,” he says, and then turns to go toward the hallway.

And far too easily, I’m dismissed.

When I arrive at Chef Chu’s, Chris is waiting for me. He reaches to give me a kiss but I sidestep it. I feel like I’m betraying Ryan just by being here. He’s already told me to give Chris another chance but I kissed Ryan this afternoon. It was no different than the first time when my heart nearly burst into flames. I don’t know why he keeps pushing me away.

Luci, it’s just a book.

But when you’re a woman who wants real life to be more like books, sometimes it isn’t easy to let go of the fantasy. I want to believe Ryan is that man, the one who will run after the one he loves. In an ideal world, me.

I’m standing next to Chris in the line at the entrance where the walls are filled on both sides with framed photographs of all the famous people who’ve been here. Heads of states have dined here. Also, Kareem Abdul-Jabar, John F. Kennedy, Jr., Justin Bieber. It’s a Wall of Fame.

“That could be you someday,” Chris says. “The famous Luci Santana, writer extraordinaire.”

But Ryan has the right idea. Obscurity isn’t half bad. Besides, I’ve never been interested in being a celebrity author.

“I don’t care about being famous,” I say even if Chris doesn’t seem to be listening anymore.

He’s now chatting with someone in line who he recognizes from the gym. They’re talking about how much they can bench press and other nonsensical things that don’t matter to anyone who lives in my world.

When we’re finally seated, I order my standard chicken salad and Chris orders nearly everything off the menu. He always does. Here’s the thing about Chris. He’s greedy.

“That’s going to be way too much food for you,” I tell him.

“Always good for leftovers.”

I’m not a fan of leftovers, or waste. Chris would often let the food go bad and we wound up pitching it. But he never listens to me. He still wants more, excess, and he can afford it. I’m sure his parents are still proud of him. He’s their little man.

“Where are you staying?” I ask.

“The rental on Middlefield. You know, the one my parents usually rent out to university students? It’s vacant this summer so I’m staying there until I get back on my feet.”

I know the house. It’s twice the size of my abuelita’s house and Chris has it all to himself.

“God, Luci, I can’t tell you how bad I feel that you couldn’t stay in the condo.” He runs a hand down his face. “It was one of those things I didn’t think all the way through.”

“Like your coffeehouse crush?”

I haven’t pressed him on this issue but it’s time. This is the new and improved Luci who doesn’t ignore problems. Get straight to the point and attack the plot hole, er, the problem. Working with Ryan taught me that.

“I told you,” he says, reaching for my hand. “It didn’t work out. We’re not good together.”

“You mentioned something about a fever dream, but that doesn’t make any sense to me.” I take my hand back and drum my fingers on the table.

“Babe, it was a mistake. I got all up in my head about the wedding. We already talked about this.”

But the thing is, I did all the planning. He just had to show up. Even this seemed to be too much for him. If he felt that way about the wedding, I shudder to think what our marriage would have been like.

“You mean when you thought marrying me sounded a lot like dying? So, you decided to join the Peace Corps where, if you died, at least you would die honorably instead of while tied to a ball and chain.”

He frowns and shakes his head. “That’s not what I said.”

“If things were good between us, if we loved each other, I don’t think someone else could have come between us. Ever. And you let Nadia come between us.”

“It was a fever⁠—”

“Stop with the fever dream!” I slap both hands on the table, shocking Chris. “There’s no such thing.”

“There is. It’s when someone turns your head and makes you believe things that aren’t real.” Chris, as always, doubles down when he thinks he might be wrong.