Date Night: Romantic Tales

by Liz Madrid

  “I don’t really know,” she replied softly, her brow furrowing, and this time, she didn’t look at him. “I haven’t thought that far ahead. I mean, it’s not like I planned this or anything - having you work hard, just to look at my art. They're just sketches, that’s all. It’s nothing so special that anyone has to work that hard just to-”

  “Hey,” Tom said, his voice softening, “I was just joking. Really, I was. I know how art can be so personal. It’s a part of us, and we just can’t open it up to just anyone. Especially not to arrogant strangers at airports.”

  She turned to look at him, unsure. “I never considered you arrogant. Nosy, maybe, but not arrogant.”

  “Thanks,” he said, lowering his head and Darby realized that he was blushing. “That I am. Nosy, I mean. Not exactly arrogant, although I can be if I need to be.”

  “Here,” Darby said, taking a deep breath and exhaling as she opened the portfolio, bringing it towards him, so it sat between them, one-half resting on her right leg and the other half resting on his left leg.

  “Promise me you won’t laugh,” she said. “I mean, art can make people react different ways, so I can see if people want to laugh, but -“

  “I promise I won’t laugh,” he said, and Darby could smell the scent of his cologne as he drew closer. She never really got a good look at him the entire time they talked, except for his eyes, but now that their heads were closer together, she saw that day-old stubble lined his jaw and what seemed boyish in the way that he smiled, was handsome. Dashing even. It was in the cut of his firm jaw, the high cheekbones and the line of his aquiline nose.

  Then she forced herself to look at her portfolio, deciding to be quiet and only speak if he asked her something. The only person she’d ever shown her private work to was her mentor, who died of a heart attack a month ago and whom she missed terribly. She had learned everything she could in school, he told her, and now it was time to let life teach her a few more tricks, and usually, he said, they were ones that came with experience. He’d been the one who told her to go to New York and meet with certain people. He had even emailed them, and out of eight gallery owners, two said they’d be willing to see the work in person.

  As Darby turned the page, she heard Tom take an intake of breath. His hand touched the surface of the watercolor paper carefully as if tracing the lines that she’d made, where the tears fell that made the colors fan out, reaching outwards to touch complimentary colors opposite it, and create new ones in its midst. Tom didn’t have to say anything, and for that, she was grateful. He quietly studied every piece she showed him, in silence that told her so much. Sometimes, he’d utter, wow, or this is just… only to fail to find the words he wanted to say.

  Her heart was in that portfolio, she wanted to tell him. And now he was holding it, studying it. When she flipped to the last page, closing the portfolio and returning it to her lap, he looked at her, his eyes studying her carefully.

  “Thank you,” he murmured. “I am very honored that you chose to share your art with me.”

  When he said the word art, Darby could have sworn he said, heart. But it didn’t matter what he said, she thought, for she’d probably never see him again after tonight. It was also late, and they needed to sleep. So she slipped her portfolio into her backpack and leaned her head back against the wall. The girl to her left was still looking at her phone although now she was watching some zombie movie, her ears still plugged into her ear phones.

  Darby closed her eyes then, surprised that she was feeling much better than she did when she first arrived at the airport, her vision clouded by the tears that fell down her face. She’d felt so worn out then, like a discarded shoe, replaced with something else, a brand name maybe.

  Still, she knew that tomorrow was another day, a time to start over without Jake - nor shedding any more tears named Jake - though if it did happen, she’d remind herself to go easy on herself. Healing always took time. Besides, maybe it was better that she found out now, six months into their relationship that he had been cheating on Darby with her best friend, instead of six years down the road, and not just one friend but with many more. She was young, and there would be more loves ahead of her, though secretly, she hoped for only one - the right one instead of the right-nows, the way Jake had started out then.

  As Darby drifted off to sleep, she thought of Tom in his gray sweatshirt which he now pulled the hood over his head as he closed his eyes next to her. He’d spread out his wool coat over both of them, which kept their legs warm and she loved how she could smell his cologne wafting from its folds again. It was much better than the stale air flowing through Gate 27.

  When Darby awoke, she found herself leaning her head on Tom’s shoulder and she feared that she might even have drooled, and worse, had morning breath. Embarrassed, she jumped up, apologized profusely, and gathered her things even as he said it was alright. But there was no time to worry about anything else for the plane bound for New York had arrived and already passengers were crowding along the walls in front of her, lining up based on their seating arrangements.

  By the time Darby emerged from the bathroom, the first class passengers had started to board, and she was among the last ones in line, heaving her backpack and holding her portfolio in front of her. Tom was gone, and she felt a pang of regret hit her deep in her belly. She never even got to say good-bye to him, or at least thank him for keeping her company, and for making her laugh. She had never even bothered to find out if they were sharing the same flight. He could have been waiting for the flight at the next gate, which was also bound for New York an hour later.

  By the time Darby got to her seat, there was hardly any space left in the overhead bin for her things and she was forced to stuff her bag under the seat in front of her. She was also stuck in the last row, where it was noisiest, and she’d forgotten her headphones. Oh well, she thought as she leaned back only to realize that the last seats couldn’t lean back because there was a solid wall behind it. Well, at least she had the window seat.

  Darby must have drifted off to sleep for when she awoke, Tom was sitting next to her. She had to do a double-take, trying to recall who had sat next to her, before remembering that it was an elderly lady who smelled of baby powder. Surely Darby hadn’t dreamed her, she thought as her gaze went from the top of Tom’s head down to his knees, which were touching the back of the seat in front of him.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “That lady next to you looked so uncomfortable that I traded my seat for hers,” he said.

  Darby raised her arms, as if in surrender. She had to put a stop to this, she thought then. If Tom thought that he’d get to second base with her, he was so wrong. She knew she’d forget Jake one day, but this was just too soon.

  “Look, that was fun talking to you back there, but if you think you’re going to get far with me because, you know, I’m on the rebound or something -“

  “Whoa, whoa!” he said, stopping her with his hands raised in front of him. “I had a wonderful time last night, and I’d like to be friends if that’s fine with you. Just friends.”

  Darby eyed him suspiciously. “Just friends?”

  “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that, is there? Besides, I was touched when you showed me your work, and not just a few, but all of them. It must have taken a lot for you to open yourself up like that to a nosy stranger, and I am grateful.”

  She stared at him still. “I just can’t believe you gave up a perfectly good seat for this.”

  “Nah,” he chuckled. “It wasn’t that great. The guy next to me snored like a train, and the old woman next to you was just about deaf, so the way I see it, we’re all happy. Though I hope you are - to an extent.”

  Darby found herself smiling, the memory of the night they spent together leaning against the wall of Gate 27 returning to her. “I hope I didn’t drool on you.”

  He chuckled. “Even if you did, I wouldn’t have noticed. You made my first night in Los Angeles a nice one,
even if it was spent on the floor of Gate 27.”

  For a few minutes, they didn’t say anything. It felt good just to sit without having to worry about what to say, something that calmed Darby. After discovering that her boyfriend and her best friend had been cheating on her, it felt good to have a friend, someone she could laugh with and just be herself for a while, without any armor that would have said, stay away.

  “It’s Darby.”

  “What is?” Tom asked, frowning.

  “My name. It’s Darby.”

  “Well, I'm very pleased to meet you, Darby,” Tom said, as he shook her hand just as the drink cart arrived and the flight attendant asked them what they wanted to drink.

  At least it was a start, Darby thought as Tom placed a cup of hot tea and honey on the tray in front of her, before deciding on coffee for himself. After all, one had to start somewhere, and whether it was Gate 27 or at 45,000 feet, it was as good a place as any to start over.

  A NEW BEGINNING

  Taylor and Jax

  It hit her so unlike how books claimed it would, a rush. No, this flowed through her veins, slow like warm honey. And as he makes his way towards her through the crowd, Taylor Kenneman knows it’s only because she’s been waiting for this moment forever. That’s the thing about unresolved partings—it clings to one’s soul, like a memory that yearns to be dug out, felt and remembered. But what she remembers the most and is grateful for are his eyes looking only at her. Blue, like the ocean and the sky combined, watching her, and keeping her safe.

  But that was five years ago. One day, he simply disappeared and her world hasn’t felt right since.

  “Taylor,” he whispers as he draws closer. “You look stunning.”

  He’s dressed in a nice suit, though it’s something that he’s probably picked off the rack in some department store. It doesn’t emphasize the best parts of him, the way a tailored suit would have. Broad shoulders, slim hips, and thighs like iron. But then, in her thoughts, he doesn’t need a suit. He only needs to wear what he wore when she last saw him. Tight t-shirt stretched across his chest, and tight jeans, of course. The memory makes her nostrils flare and she hopes he doesn’t notice.

  “It’s been a long time, Jax,” she says. “It’s been what, five years?”

  “High school graduation. You and I in our caps and gowns, and then over at your great big house where you threw the best party of the year,” he smiles, though it’s a sad smile. “You and I promised then we’d keep in touch.”

  “Only we didn’t,” she frowns, the memory of their parting intruding into her thoughts, and of how he simply disappeared from her life. “So, where’s your wife?”

  He chuckles. “I should ask you first. Where’s your husband? Someone as beautiful as you can’t be single too long. Any man with a brain would—”

  “I don’t have one. A husband, that is,” she says a little too quickly, annoyed. But again, they’re playing, testing the waters. She wishes that they just both came out with it, be done with the past and move on. But she’s never been one to be too rash. Reunions, after all, take time.

  He snags two champagne flutes from a passing a waiter and hands one to her. “Boyfriend then, or if he’s smart like Frank, your fiancé.”

  “Stop it with the smart thing, Jax. I wouldn’t be surprised if a woman with a brain snagged you before anyone else could. How many kids now? Two? Three?” She smiles, taking a sip though she makes a face as she draws the glass flute away from her lips. She hates champagne. Still, as long as the bride and the groom love it, at a hundred bucks a bottle, it isn’t bad. Not that she cares a whit about the bride and the groom at the moment. Right now, they’re waving their good-byes to their guests as they stand by the door, ready to leave the reception hall.

  “No wife, no girlfriend, and no fiancee, thank you very much,” he laughs, taking her glass flute from her hands deftly. He promptly hands both their flutes to another passing waiter. “Would you like something else to drink? Maybe something stronger?”

  “I actually just want a glass of water, thanks,” she says. “I wasn’t planning on staying long anyway. There’s much to do back in the office.”

  “Too bad,” Jax says. “Where is the office nowadays?”

  “Still L.A. Where else?” she replies. She doesn’t really have to leave, but she doesn’t know what else to say or do. So she lies, making this chance meeting seem like it isn’t important to her at all. She’s going to pretend her heart isn’t racing at the mere sound of his voice and the faint scent of his cologne.

  Funny that Natasha had assured her that Jax wasn’t going to be at the wedding. She told Taylor he wasn’t even invited.

  What do you want from him anyway? Natasha had asked her just that morning, as they were checking their makeup in front of the mirror. I can’t believe, after all these years, you’re still asking about him. I mean, he’s so out of our league, Tay. You deserve someone better, not some poor kid who was only your playmate because he was the son of the groundskeeper. What would people think?

  They wouldn’t think anything of it, Taylor had replied. I was just curious as to how he looked like these days.

  Probably fat and ugly, laughs Natasha. Five years can do that to a guy.

  At twenty-three? I doubt it, she had replied then, hoping that Natasha, as always, was wrong. But what did Natasha care? She was too rich to care about anything else but herself.

  But then, wasn’t Taylor rich, too? Except for Jax, she, Natasha and just about every guest at this wedding party grew up in fancy houses with personal maids and butlers, drivers and groundskeepers. They attended private schools and went to the private club afterward where they kept themselves busy playing tennis, basketball, swimming, and even golf, returning home just in time for dinner where their parents still believed in five courses served on warmed plates by uniformed servants.

  Yes, they still existed—and still exist.

  Like right now, here they were congregating at a friend’s wedding at some exclusive resort with the view of the Monterey coast before them just outside the window. There had been activities throughout the week, from massages to body wraps, even personalized yoga sessions, and short hikes. Tomorrow, there were more activities planned, this time just for the remaining guests for the bride and the groom would be on their way to Europe by then, off for a month-long trip that included the Alps and maybe some yodeling. Their friend Greg had married a Swiss woman after all, and he would do anything she wanted. Even yodel.

  But for some reason, Taylor just wants to go home. She’s tired of all the pampering and all the talk about European vacations and everyone’s latest real estate acquisitions. She’s tired of hearing Frank talk about the latest sports car he just purchased, hoping she’d be impressed as he casually mentions the price as if it would make her jump for joy. She knows he’s merely trying to impress her. But he’s yet to read the memo that she’s not.

  Instead, she remembers how she took Greg, the groom, aside and asked him if her eyes were fooling her when she saw the one name on the guest log book that made her heart leap. Even though the wedding and the reception were being held at the same location, she had arrived late for the reception after Frank, carried away by all the apparent love in the air that must have accompanied the rice grains and the doves set free from their cages, reached for her and planted a sloppy kiss on her mouth that left her feeling sick to her stomach. So she hid inside her cabin for almost half an hour, waiting for her heart to stop racing, and for her mouth to feel clean. Get a grip, she told herself then. It’s just Frank, already wasted before the first toast. He’d be screwing some girl senseless before the night was over. Maybe even two.

  But then what did she care? Frank was a friend from her childhood days, a match her father had made with his business partner, believing Taylor deserved to marry only someone from America’s richest families. No point in marrying down, you see, her father told her. He doesn’t even care that she can’t stand Frank, and neither can he stan
d her though he considers her sexy enough and can’t wait to get in her pants. Frank thinks she’s too smart for her own good, and he’s made it clear many times that he couldn’t care less for smart girls. He wants someone who’s good in the sack and never talks back to him, someone to indulge his kinks in the bedroom and beyond. Someone who’ll raise his kids well and be quiet, get manicures and do lunches with the ladies, just like his mother does with Taylor’s mother and the rest of their friends.

  Just the thought of being Franks’ wife makes her feel sick all over again and she forces herself to think of something else—like Jax Logan who’s apparently a guest to Gary’s wedding. His signature on the guest log book proves it.

  He’s here.

  You really invited him? She had asked Greg when she pulled him aside. But Natasha told me—

  Of course, I invited him! At least he and I are friends. Besides, what does Natasha know? Greg had retorted. She’s been angry at him ever since he said no to her, and she’s never forgiven him since..

  When she stared at Greg in surprise, he laughed. You didn’t know? Oh, that’s right. How could you have known? You only had eyes for your grade point average. But yes, your precious Jax said no to her.

  I was trying to get into Harvard.

  You would have gotten in anyway, he grinned. Your dad gives that damn school enough money as it is.

  She almost told him that she wanted to get in on her own merit, but there was no use. At least she had her answer. Jax Logan was at the party.

  And now here he is, standing in front of her, his eyes as always, leaving her riveted. They’re still the dark blue eyes she remembers, taking her to many soul-places she’s never been before. Soul-place. That was the word he’d made up five years ago, just before he disappeared from her life.

  “Care to dance?” Jax says when the music slows down, and he shrugs off his coat jacket, draping it on the nearest chair. It’s a ballad that gets everyone hurrying to the dance floor—at least, the ones still standing. After all, the reception started at two in the afternoon, and it’s now almost nine at night. The party’s winding down and Taylor realizes that she hasn’t danced at all, even though Frank and other men have asked her. She did dance with the ring bearer.