Inevitably You

by Abby Brooks

  “I don’t usually buy into any of that mystical crap, but you should let me take you to dinner." I give her my best smile. "I'd hate to suffer under the wrath of the universe."

  Michelle drops her gaze to her hands which are balled into tight little fists in her lap. "The wrath of the universe sounds pretty terrible." Even though her words sound relatively positive, the look in her eyes makes it clear she's going to turn me down anyway. Disappointment sits bitterly at the back of my throat, but maybe it's for the best.

  "Who's incurring the wrath of the universe?" asks someone behind us. We spin in our seats and find Lexi with a sweaty Claire holding one hand and a red-faced little boy holding the other.

  "It looks like we are." I gesture back and forth between Michelle and me. "I asked her out and she's going to turn me down."

  "I never said no," Michelle replies, looking appalled.

  "You never said yes, either."

  Lexi shakes her head. "She most definitely says yes. In fact, she's free tonight because I'm going to have Claire over for an overnight."

  Claire's eyes light up. "Really? Yay!" She pulls out of Lexi's grasp and clasps her hands together, pleading with her mom. "Please say yes. Please!"

  Michelle looks first at Lexi, then at Claire, and then at me before a shy smile lights up her face. "As long as David is free tonight."

  "Nope," I say. "I am most definitely not free. I've got plans with a beautiful woman."

  Four pairs of eyes blink in silent confusion.

  “You, silly." I hold up my palms and smile at Michelle. "I have plans with you. You just said yes, right?"

  She laughs nervously as she wraps her arms around her stomach. "You can't do that to me. I take things way too seriously."

  "Or maybe," I say, reaching out and tapping the tip of her nose. "Maybe I need to joke around with you more often so you don't take things so seriously."

  "Good luck with that." Lexi wraps an arm around Michelle's shoulders. "This one takes serious to an Olympic level."

  "Looks like I've got my work cut out for me, then." I lift my chin. "Good thing I'm up to the challenge."

  I make plans to pick her up at seven and we say our goodbyes. After they leave, heading off towards the picnic tables to enjoy the rest of the afternoon with the kids, Pogo puts his head into my lap and wiggles his barely-there tail.

  "I know." I scratch him behind the ears. "I swore it would always just be you and me, but I can't ignore that woman." I stand and start towards the parking lot, wondering if it might be better for all of us if I tried harder to keep my promise to Pogo.

  MICHELLE

  "What are you going to wear?" asks Lexi the moment we pull into my driveway.

  "I don't have a clue." I unbuckle my seatbelt and swing open the door as Claire and Gabe launch themselves out of the car and towards the backyard, arms and legs pumping as hard as they can.

  Lexi hauls our picnic bag out of the car and swings it over her shoulder. "Never fear, Lexi is here." She grins at me over the roof of her car. "You will be sexified from top to bottom in no time." Her door thumps closed and she adjusts the bag on her shoulder.

  "Why does that scare the hell out of me?"

  "Because you have shriveled up into nothing more than Michelle the Mom." Lexi leads me towards the front door of my house. "And have forgotten what it means to be Michelle the Woman."

  "Shriveled up?" I shake my head as I dig for my keys. "Thanks a lot," I mutter.

  "Hey, don't shoot the messenger." Lexi steps aside so I can work the lock. "But don't you worry. You will be so un-shriveled by the time I'm done with you, you'll be one-thousand percent woman. David won't know what to do when he sees you."

  Two hours later I'm shaved, showered, and not complaining at all over what I see in the mirror. Lexi talked me into a white sundress that she found buried in the back of my closet and paired it with my favorite beaded sandals. I added a long necklace and a pair of matching earrings, and she gave me her official seal of approval before piling the kids in the car and leaving me to fend for myself. Now that my hair is curled and my eyes are done up with a smoky eye-shadow and liner, I must admit that I approve of the woman in my reflection. Maybe Lexi's right. Maybe it has been too long since I've taken enough time for myself.

  I pace from the kitchen to the living room and back again, tidying the already clean space. I can't remember a time when a man actually came to my door to pick me up for a date. My class and rehearsal schedule at the Cincinnati Ballet made dating impossible in high school, and Russell was more of the hey, can you pick me up because I don't have a car type. What do I do when David gets here? Invite him in? Show him around? Duck down behind a window and pretend I'm not here? No. That last one is all wrong. I'm too excited about tonight to hide. I smooth my hair as a whole barrage of questions go off in my head.

  What if he stands me up?

  What if he doesn't like my outfit?

  What if he thinks I'm weird?

  Or worse, what if we hit it off? What then?

  "Stop it," I say to myself. I spend too much time worrying and not enough time living. No more what ifs. I look good, I feel good, and I'm just going to let loose and enjoy myself tonight.

  Just after seven o'clock, David knocks on my door and I swing it open to find him standing on my doorstep, looking jaw-dropping in a dark blue Henley and khaki pants. He has a large bouquet of flowers in his hand and a wide grin stretched across his face.

  His gaze travels across my body. "You look amazing.” The appreciation in his eyes lights a fire in my belly. Lexi was right. I like being Michelle the Woman again.

  "I brought you these." He hands me the flowers. "And this, too," he adds, reaching into his back pocket as I bring the flowers to my face and breathe them in.

  David hands me a gift card for Homegrown, the coffee shop I love to pretend I can afford. The gesture tightens my throat and I swallow against the sting of tears.

  "I can't take this," I say, handing the card back to him.

  "Of course you can." David shows me his palms, refusing to take the card.

  "But..." I stammer as I search for a reason strong enough for him to take the card back.

  David leans against the wall, closing the distance between us. "Please accept my gift. I like doing nice things for good people."

  After a few seconds, my manners kick in and I press the card into my fist. "Thank you," I say. "But you didn't have to do that."

  "I know. But you didn't have to agree to go out with me either, so consider us even." David slides his hands into his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

  "I suppose." Embarrassment twines with gratitude and lands in a rosy ball of color on my cheeks. "Would you like to come in while I put these in water?" I step out of the doorway and gesture for him to enter.

  He studies my living room, his thoughtful eyes landing on all the details of the space, making me feel exposed. Like he's learning more about me by staring at the hand-me-down couch and handmade throw pillows than I'm ready to uncover. Like the torn and tattered covers on my favorite books arranged lovingly on a shelf are whispering my lifelong secrets, presenting me for his judgment before I'm ready.

  "Do you have any thoughts on where you'd like to go tonight?" he asks as I lead him into the kitchen where I keep the one vase I own.

  I reach into a cabinet and then fill the vase with water. "What about Smitty's?"

  David makes a face. "You deserve better than Smitty's."

  "But I love that place," I reply. And I'm very comfortable with their menu and what I can and can't afford.

  "I do, too. As I'm sure you've learned, thanks to your many stalking expeditions." He lifts his eyebrows and grins, showing off his strong, white teeth. "But I am not taking a beautiful woman like you to a dive bar on our first date. It's just not happening."

  That's a one-eighty from my first date with Russell. The one where I picked him up in my car and he decreed that we were going to a dive bar for drinks because he di
dn't want to inflate my ego, and I was naïve enough to find this statement cute.

  David looks thoughtful while I arrange the flowers. Try as I might, I can't remember if anyone has ever brought me flowers before. Up until now, I considered it a trivial gesture. I was wrong.

  "I know where we're going," he says after a few minutes.

  "Oh yeah?" I lower my face into the arrangement and breathe them in again. "Are you going to enlighten me?" I ask, facing him and fighting a colossally goofy grin.

  David licks his lips. "Nope. But I promise you'll love it." He waits while I lock up and then leads me to a sleek silver car that looks as out of place in my driveway as a debutante in a boxing ring.

  "This doesn't look like a farmer's car," I say, as he opens the passenger door and waits for me to climb in.

  "You have some very distinct preconceived notions about what a farmer and his things should and shouldn't look like." David shuts the door and crosses in front of the car, giving me a chance to appreciate just how well that Henley hugs his arms and shoulders. Since when am I the kind of woman who gets to go out with a man who looks like that?

  He lowers himself into the driver's seat before turning to me. "In all honesty, preconceived notions or not, this car is not at all practical around the farm. I have a truck for that." He brings the engine to life and backs out of the driveway. "This thing is just pure fun."

  I try to guess where we're going based on the roads he chooses, but I'm lost after ten minutes on a series of long country roads. Just as I start to wonder if he's lost and trying not to admit it, he pulls into a long driveway that leads us towards a wooded area. We round a corner and pull up in front of a food truck parked at the edge of a small parking lot hidden from the road. Christmas lights arc from branches, connecting the trees in a series of graceful twinkling swoops and a few picnic tables sit under them, overlooking a lake.

  "The menu doesn't have a lot of variety," David says as he parks. "But whatever you order will blow your mind, and the ambience more than makes up for the limited choices."

  I gape at the setting. "It's gorgeous. I didn’t even know this place existed."

  "That's probably because they're just now getting started. I got early access because I supply a good portion of their produce."

  We climb out of the car and David leads me towards the food truck with a firm hand on my lower back. He's right, the menu is simple—just burgers, fries, and chicken sandwiches. We place our order and choose a seat and I stare across the table at the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. The more we talk, the more familiar he becomes, a little glimmer of a memory trying to make itself known like the worst kind of deja vu. I can’t shake the feeling that we’ve met before, except I am positive I would remember meeting a man like David. Maybe the familiarity is a sign of how comfortable I am with him, more than anything else.

  "I'm assuming you didn't grow up around here." David swipes a fry from his plate and tosses it into his mouth. "Brookside, Ohio isn't known for being a mecca for the arts. I can't imagine you found the right kind of training around here to end up as a professional ballerina."

  "Actually, I was born and raised in Brookside. My mom was a dancer herself and recognized my potential pretty early. She signed me up for classes with Cincinnati Ballet when I was ten."

  Surprise plays across David's face. "But Cincinnati is almost two hours away from here," he says, leaning his elbows onto the table.

  I take a bite of my chicken sandwich and groan. "This is so good," I say around a mouthful of food. "And yep. More like two and a half hours. And Mom drove the two of us downtown almost every day of the week plus weekends. She's always gone above and beyond for me."

  "Wow." David looks impressed.

  "Yeah. She's a good one. I'm blessed to have her in my life."

  David bobs his head. "A supportive family is worth its weight in gold." He swipes his finger through the condensation on his glass. "Is that where you danced professionally? Cinci?" He leans even closer.

  "Nope, I got a job in Pittsburgh but it didn't last long." I shrug. "We were just a few months into my first season when my Achilles tore." And all my plans for my future went flying out the window, sending my life into a tailspin of uncertainty until my mom offered me a job teaching for her at her studio.

  David pinches his eyebrows together and studies me. "So, if you grew up here, that means you went to school around here, right?"

  "Yep. Class of '05, baby. Go Hawks." I raise my fist in a tiny salute to the Brookside High mascot.

  "No way." David sits back and shakes his head, looking damn near perplexed. "You graduated in '05? My sister was in your class. Do you remember Sarah Carmichael?"

  Suddenly, a bunch of things line up and everything makes sense, and I know exactly who is sitting across the table from me and why he looks familiar. "Are you kidding me right now?" I shake my head and study his face, searching for the boy I kind of knew once upon a time. “You're Davey Carmichael? How did I not notice this before? Now that I've figured it out, that's all I can see."

  David cringes. "I stopped going by Davey as soon as I could talk everyone into calling me David."

  "I just can't believe this." I stare at him, dumbfounded. "Sarah and I were good friends in second grade. I even spent the night at your house a couple times." I sit back in my chair, shocked. "That's the farm you were talking about? Carmichael Farms?"

  Almost every single good memory I have from my pre-ballet years happened on that farm. I loved it there, with the wide expanse of sky stretching out across the orchards. The bleating goats and clucking chickens. And the farmhouse, stately and picturesque, with its well-tended flowerbeds and generations of additions. The love and tradition housed inside was palpable the moment you stepped through the squeaky front door.

  David looks just as surprised as I feel, his eyes roving my face as if he could erase the years and see me for who I used to be. "I'm trying so hard to remember you, but I got nothin'." He bites his lip like he's not sure if he should apologize or not.

  "Don't worry. Braces and contacts were definitely a blessing for me. I'd be offended if you suddenly realized that I look just like my second-grade self. Plus, you were just enough older than me and your sister to find us about as appealing as rotten fruit. And I was shy enough to never make much of an impression on anyone."

  "I find that hard to believe." David leans his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his fist, his eyes still trying to track memories off my face. "How long where you and Sarah friends? I feel like I should remember you."

  "We stopped hanging out right after second grade, when my mom enrolled me in classes at Cincinnati Ballet. I lived my life in that studio from that point forward and pretty much stopped existing at school." I run a hand through my hair, lost in my memories of sunshine, fresh air, and the best homemade cookies I've had in my life, curtesy of Mrs. Annabelle Carmichael. "Wow. How is your sister?"

  It all feels so long ago, so disconnected from the life I lead now. I can't believe the girl in my memories and the woman I've become are the same person.

  David waves off the question. "She's doing her own thing, just like she always has." He squints at me. "It's driving me crazy that I can't place you."

  I shrug. "Don't feel bad. Like I said, I pretty much stopped existing at school. I'd be surprised to find out anyone remembered me."

  I keep my face light to hide how much I hated feeling invisible. How much I still hate feeling invisible. When I came home after my injury, I had all these grand intentions of reconnecting with people from my past, but then Russell stepped in and prevented me from connecting with anyone but him.

  My phone chimes from my purse and I dig for it, afraid Lexi is having a problem with Claire. Disappointment sits heavy on my stomach when I see a message that had to come from Russell, instead.

  Unknown number: gonna want claire soon

  I grimace at the phone and chew on the inside of my bottom lip. How in the world did he find t
his number? I flip the thing closed and look up to find David staring at me.

  "Is everything okay?" David sits back in his chair, tension darkening his eyes.

  I am not going anywhere near the drama that is my ex-husband with anyone, let alone with David Carmichael, and certainly not on a first date. I put the phone back in my purse and stir my iced tea with my straw, ever more aware of how messed up my life is. What am I thinking, going out with someone right now?

  David studies me. "It was your ex, wasn't it? Claire's dad?"

  "Wow. Is it that obvious?" I take a deep breath. "Yeah, it was him, but it's not a big deal." I search for something, anything to switch the topic to and come up with a big blank nothing.

  "I have a crazy ex, too. I get it. Nothing more needs to be said." David lifts his glass, dips his chin, and takes a drink—a silent salute to our mutual struggles. "So, admit it," he says as he puts his drink back on the table, twisting it back and forth with his fingers while his eyes glimmer with mischief. "You had a crush on me when we were kids."

  My jaw drops and I try my best to look exasperated. "Wow. Humble much?" I roll my eyes even though the blush that's burning its way across my cheeks is sure to give away the fact that I did have a bit of a crush on him when we were kids.

  David picks at the fries left on his plate. "Just playing the odds. I think about one-hundred percent of Sarah's friends had the hots for me at some point in our life."

  "Well, you can drop your average down to ninety-nine because I never thought twice about you." I try—and fail—to hold back a smile.

  David's eyes light up and he points at me with a fry. "You are a terrible liar," he says before popping the fry into his mouth.

  "I am not."

  "Are too. You can't even look me in the eyes."

  Just to prove a point, I do my best to hold his gaze but end up closing my eyes and laughing to myself. "Okay. Fine. My seven-year-old self had a monstrous crush on Davey Carmichael."

  "Yes." David pumps his fist. "Maintaining my perfect average."