Forgotten Yesterday

by Renee Ericson

  Brian tries to get my attention between the chrome shelving as my hands move each entree to the tray. Waggling his brows and making flirty gestures, he sets up the plates for the next table.

  “So Ruby,” he starts. “Do you think I can get your number, so we can plan on going out later?”

  Pulling the tray up to my shoulder, I say, “Yeah, remind me later,” and basically run out of the kitchen.

  I serve my table and then make my way back to the bar, finding Brent’s beer waiting to be served. Pat is at the tap, pouring another one.

  “You could have taken this out,” I tell Pat, referring to the beer.

  “I was busy,” he winks, waving to the nearly empty bar.

  Giving him a mocking “whatever” look, I pick up the beer.

  On my way to Brent’s booth, I notice that one side of his mouth keeps twitching. Placing a small square napkin on the table, I set his drink in front of him.

  “So,” he begins casually, grabbing the glass of dark liquid. “I guess this is the awkward conversation part?”

  Jerking my head in his direction, I laugh. “What do you mean?”

  “You know.” He shrugs one shoulder. “I ask you how you’ve been and you tell me fine, and then you ask the same of me and I tell you things are good. All the while neither one of saying anything of importance.”

  Pursing my lips, I try not to smile.

  “Yeah. Sounds good to me,” I say sarcastically. “Let’s do this not saying anything of importance thing. Do you want to go first?”

  “No,” he chuckles. “Not really. I don’t want to pretend at all.”

  “Damn, and I was already working on an interesting comeback which could mean nothing or absolutely everything.”

  “Oh, yeah? What were you going to say that was so interesting?”

  “I was thinking about going for something like awesome, rad, fantabulous, or possibly fantastic-o.”

  “Would it be true? Are things fantastic-o?”

  “Who knows?” I shrug. “It’s all relative, right?”

  I can feel us sliding right back into comfortable and easy conversation. Is this backpedalling? No, this is just talking to someone I know. He’s just here for a visit, that’s it.

  Brent shifts in his seat, resting his forearms on the table. “Can I just be up front?”

  “Like I can stop you.” I cross my arms over my chest. My heart pounds everywhere. The blood is pulsating even in my toes.

  “I’m not going to lie. I was really surprised to run into you last night and I know you may be mad at me—”

  “I’m not mad at you at all,” I interrupt.

  Brent observes me, unblinking.

  “Honest, it was a long time ago.”

  “For what it’s worth.” He rubs his jaw. “Even though it may be a little late, I want you to know I’m really sorry about what happened.”

  “I know. So am I.”

  My toes wiggle inside my shoes. It’s the only part of me that I can hide and still move. I need to move. I shift my weight a few times, not sure what to say.

  “Can I ask you something?” he probes gently with an underlying hopeful tone.

  I inhale acutely, praying he doesn’t want to bring up everything that tore us apart.

  “Sure,” I answer cautiously.

  “Do you think...maybe...you’d like to have brunch with me tomorrow morning? If you aren’t busy of course.”

  What? I gawk at him. No words can be found.

  “Just to catch up?” he adds.

  My head moves up and down in the affirmative, my body answering what my mind cannot process fully.

  “So, you’re not busy?”

  “No,” I say, finding my voice. “I’m not busy. We can catch up.”

  “And you’re available tomorrow?”

  “Yeah.” I blink a few times. It’s like I’m responding without any thought. Something has taken over and I’m nothing but involuntary actions. “I can do tomorrow.”

  He pulls out his phone and I tell him my digits as he punches them into his contact list. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I cover it with my hand, so the buzzing isn’t noticeable in the stillness of the bar.

  “Aren’t you going to see who it is?” he asks, eyeing the hand on my leg.

  “Not right now. Not while I’m at work.”

  Boldly, he reaches into the front pocket of my apron and pulls out my phone. He proudly grins and then shows me the screen.

  “That’s me,” he states, referring to the flashing digits. “I was just making sure you didn’t give me a fake number.”

  I laugh. “You get that often?”

  “No, but I know you.” He hands the phone back to me.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing,” he chuckles. “Maybe I don’t know you. What do I know?”

  “Exactly.”

  My cheeks are hurting. I’ve been smiling too much and I didn’t even know it.

  “I’ll call you.” He scoots out of the booth, dropping a bill on the table.

  “Aren’t you going to finish your drink?” I ask, referring to the almost full beer.

  “Nah.” He stands up, towering almost a foot taller than me. The scent of his cologne blissfully invades my senses as his chest stops a few mere inches from my nose. “I don’t really drink much. Game night and all.”

  Brent’s dimples flash quickly. He raises his right hand, hovering it near my elbow, but never connecting. Sorrow flickers across his face and he stuffs both of his hands into his pockets.

  “I’ll call you in the morning so we can figure out where to go,” he says methodically. “Does ten o’clock for brunch, work for you?”

  “Sure, but it will be cutting into my beauty sleep.”

  “If you say so,” he replies humorously. With a half smile, his eyes trace the length of my physique. “You look good, Ruby.”

  “Thanks.” I check the knot on my apron. “So do you.”

  “Glad we got that out of the way.” Brent takes a step backwards and then turns to exit. I immediately zone in on his ass, which is accentuated oh-so-nicely since his hands are in his pockets, pulling the fabric tight. “Good to see you,” he calls over his shoulder, startling me.

  I’ve been caught ogling.

  “You too,” I reply, embarrassed.

  Brent nods his head and then disappears behind the bar room’s partition.

  Every part of my being suddenly feels heavy and weighted to the floor. I’m a statue adhering to his parting words and the sound of his voice. Him.

  Seven

  It’s almost ten o’clock and my shift is officially over. I change out of my uniform in the downstairs break room and then climb back up the steps, ready to leave. Even though it’s early for a Saturday, there’s nowhere I want to go other than home. I’m done.

  Walking through the kitchen, I say goodbye to everyone in passing as they continue with the evening’s service. When I see Brian, I’m reminded that he wanted my number and I’m at a loss. My apprehension has everything to do with seeing Brent again and the old memories being stirred within me. But I need to push those aside. We may have plans for tomorrow, but like Astrid said, backpedalling in a relationship isn’t real—it’s comfortable.

  “Hey, Ruby?” Brian inquires, coming out from behind the pass.

  “Hey, Brian.”

  “So,” he says smoothly. “I was wondering if I could get your number, since I won’t see you again until next weekend.”

  I bite the inside of my cheek. I’ve become a number slut tonight. Brent and now Brian. Although, I’m not sure if I should count Brent, since we’re just going to be catching up like two friends. Keep telling yourself that. Brent could never be just a friend. And now…I have no idea what he could be.

  “Sure.”

  He pulls out his phone from his back pocket and I recite my number. A tinkling giggle escapes as I think about how Brent dialed my digits ensure the number wasn’t fake.

 
; “What’s so funny?” Brian asks, amused.

  “Oh nothing.” I tap my lip with my forefinger. “I was just thinking about something a customer said tonight.”

  “Oh, like a joke?”

  “No. Not really. I think you had to be there.”

  “Right.” He stuffs his phone back into his pocket and straightens his hat. “So, I’ll give you a call sometime. I work tomorrow, but maybe we can do something during the week?”

  “Sure. I can do during the week.”

  “Cool.” He rubs his chin. “It’ll be fun.”

  “Yeah,” I say, shrugging my bag higher up onto my shoulder. “You guys have a good night,”

  “Thanks.”

  Parting, I make my way through the rest of the kitchen and out of the restaurant. It’s not too late, so I decide to save a little money and take the bus home. It takes twice as long as a cab ride, but I’m not in a hurry.

  Entering my small studio apartment, I welcome the stillness. Everything has gotten messy and I need to take a step back. Brent’s unexpected visits have thrown me for a bit of a loop, and yes, made me a little “off.” I decidedly don’t like surprises from him. I used to love them, but they don’t make my heart flutter like they used to. Instead, I’m left confused and questioning too much.

  I take a quick shower, grab the ice cream from the freezer that I promised to myself, and take a seat on my bed. Watching a movie was the original plan, but I’m no longer in the mood. I open the pint of Mint Chocolate Chip and dig in while staring vacantly out the window. It’s not much to ponder over, especially at night. A few tree branches and brick from the adjacent building, but it’s a constant.

  Halfway through the pint, my phone dings with a text. It’s nearing midnight and a little late for casual conversations.

  Can we meet at The Drake? I have a thing I need to do there at noon that I forgot about.

  Again, another confusing surprise from Brent—late night texting. I’m amazed he’s still up, since he seemed so adamant about leaving earlier. I assumed it was because he was tired and jet lagged. I add his number to my contacts and then text him back.

  I thought you were going to call in the morning? But sure. No problem. There’s a place near there we can go.

  Brent: You still at work?

  No. Got off early. Home now.

  Brent: You sleeping?

  Thinking about it. Ice cream is distracting the process. What about you?

  Brent: Can’t sleep.

  Time change can be hard to adjust to, I’m sure.

  Brent: That must be it.

  I put the phone down on the bed, unsure of what to say next—if anything at all. Part of me wants to ask if anything is on his mind. Find out what hotel he’s staying at. See if maybe he wants to meet for a drink. Then the logical part of my brain tells me he’s leaving in a few days and meeting with him tomorrow is just enough. Plus, he likely has a girlfriend to go back to in L.A. I shouldn’t think about seeing him more than just as an old acquaintance, despite the fact that all I want to do is touch him everywhere. I want to touch him everywhere? Ugh. He needs to leave soon because his presence is really messing with me.

  My phone dings again.

  Brent: Looking forward to catching up. Sleep well. See you tomorrow at 10.

  You too. See you then.

  Tomorrow is going to be so strenuous. Agreeing to meet with him is something I want to do, but will no doubt confuse the hell out of me even more. My best hope is that he’ll act like a total asshole and I’ll want nothing to do with him. That’s highly unlikely.

  Deciding I’ve had enough ice cream, I put the lid back on and return the pint to the freezer. I shut off the lights, tuck myself into bed and blink at the ceiling. Watching small shadows, created by the tree branches, sway above in the faint light. Before I let myself think of Brent any further, I fall asleep.

  ~~~*~~~

  It was a beautiful afternoon as Brent and I walked hand in hand through Lincoln Park Zoo, basking in the unseasonal warmth from the sun. Not many animals were out this time of year, so we headed into the ape house where the halls were dark. There weren’t many people here. Actually, we were the only ones in the building.

  I followed Brent as he came to stand in front of the chimpanzees. Two of the apes were resting on the branches of a tree and another was swinging happily across the entire space.

  Stopping to stand next to Brent, I watched the happy tree dwelling family behind the glass.

  “They’re cute,” I said, crinkling my nose, taking in their habitat of twigs and hay. “Sort of.”

  “I guess.” His arm reached around me, rested on my shoulder, and he pointed to the two apes sitting in the tree. One was significantly smaller than the other. “Do you think that’s a mama and her baby?”

  “Yep. It looks that way.” My attention was pulled away when the other chimpanzee flew in front of them. “What about that one?”

  “The other one?”

  “Yeah. The crazy one.”

  “Likely the father.” Brent tightened his embrace around my shoulder. “They’re all a bunch of goofballs.”

  “You think so?”

  “I hope so.”

  ~~~*~~~

  Wake up! My consciousness screams.

  Gasping, I wake, thrusting upright.

  No! I will not go back to this. I will not allow this back into my head.

  “No, no, no,” I utter, massaging my temples.

  I remind myself over and over that it’s not real, and just a dream.

  Wiping a falling tear with the back of one hand, I use the other to fling the comforter from my legs. I race to the bathroom and run the water in the sink, splashing my skin to cool the heat bubbling from within. Grabbing the towel behind me, I dry off a little, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

  “Wasn’t expecting that,” I say to myself, noticing my bloodshot brown eyes.

  The clock on the wall reads six in the morning and the sun hasn’t even risen, yet. I let out a heavy sigh and face the mirror again.

  “Time for a run.”

  I need to get out of here.

  I hang the towel back on the rack and enter the dressing area to change for an outdoor trek. It always helps to clear my mind and with that dream creeping around the edges of my subconscious, a run is most definitely in order.

  Eight

  After a long jaunt along Lake Michigan, I come home and take a really hot shower. I may have pushed myself a little more than usual and my muscles are already aching. Or maybe it’s left over tension from the dream, or anxiety about meeting Brent in a few hours. Either way, the shower is needed to help me relax.

  Once I’m clean and in a towel, I stop in front of my closet searching for something to wear.

  I’m having a “girl” moment.

  None of my clothes seem right for my brunch date. Did I just call it a date?

  Rummaging through my hangers, I decide on a long sleeve green dress and a brown belt that coordinates with my boots. I hang it on the door, making the decision final, and then take a long time drying and curling my hair to give it a little volume. One side of me is inclined to the do the minimal, but I truly do want to look my best. He’s only seen me in my work clothes and that’s not who I am, it’s where I work.

  Once primped, I dress, making sure everything is in place. Zipping up my knee-high brown boots, I set my feet on the ground and pull out my long, camel-colored, wool coat from the closet. This is Chicago so it’s kind of a necessity. Tying off and tucking my scarf beneath the warm fabric of my jacket, I grab my gloves and bag and exit out the door.

  It’s the last weekend in October and the air is bitter, carrying the smell of soon-to-be fallen snow. I wrap my arms around my waist to help shield myself from the whipping wind, which quickly shoos away my foggy exhales. My high-heeled boots clack along the damp sidewalk for five blocks until I reach the bus stop.

  I only have to wait ten minutes before the bus arrives. Getting on, I make
my way to an empty seat not too close to the door in an attempt to stay warm. Luckily, I won’t have to transfer and this will drop me off about a block from The Drake. I ponder out the window, getting glimpses of the Lake along the way as the morning sun glares off of the calm waters through a clear sky.

  It’s been some time since I’ve been to The Drake. Actually, I’ve only been to that hotel once before. It was only one night, on Brent’s birthday, almost five years ago to the date. He had turned nineteen.

  ~Past~

  We had the cab drop us off at the front of the hotel right after dinner. The doorman opened the door and we entered the luxurious lobby of the hotel. I had never been in such an opulent styled building or stayed at a hotel like this ever before. For some reason, celebrating Brent’s birthday with him, at this place, felt more like a gift to me than him. We didn’t need a room, since we lived in the city, but this was what he wanted so here we were. When I asked him why, he simply stated that he thought it would be nice. Like we were on a vacation together.

  Hand in hand we made our way through the lobby and to the elevator. There was a ding, signifying that the car had arrived, and we got in when the doors opened. The instant the reflecting metal slid closed, Brent caged me against the wall as we ascended to the sixth floor. His mouth feverishly connected to mine.

  “Brent,” I gasped, as his hand threaded through my hair at the base of my neck. “What are you doing?”

  “I think it’s obvious.” His other hand unbuttoned my jacket. He reached into its interior and rested his grip on the curve of my hip as he continued to kiss me. “I’m coming in for my birthday present.”

  “Didn’t…you…like,” I heaved between each kiss. “The Bears tickets?”

  “Yes.” His mouthed moved to my neck. “But I’m not thinking about football right now.”