Page 65 of I Love My Mistake

A surprised smile drifts throughout my whole body. I don’t say anything though, because I’m having a hard time believing he’s real. There must be something wrong with him. Nothing in my life is this easy or makes me this happy. Then I remember – there is something wrong with him. A major flaw called distance. This amazing man lives a very sad and lonely three thousand miles away from me. Suddenly I realize that may be exactly why that girl – the one he met on his last trip – ditched him for another guy. I couldn’t understand it before, but now I know she probably got scared. That’s probably why I’m here and she isn’t.

Mark’s brow creases as he searches my eyes. “Hey hey hey. What was that?”

A little puff of disbelief escapes my lungs. “You see everything.”

He nods slowly, his eyes warm and kind. “It feels good.”

Easy for you to say, I think. For me, it feels terrifying.

A heavy Lithuanian accent booms out of nowhere: “HERE YOU GO!”

Mark and I look over at him. Letting go of me, Mark reaches for his wallet to pay the man.

I silently watch him ask for a couple bottles of water. He’s so comfortable in his own skin, and even better, I feel comfortable in mine when I’m around him. So what if he lives far away? Maybe long distance can work. I choose to make the opposite decision she made. I’m not going to let him go. I don’t care what happens. I’m not going to be an idiot – because that’s what I think she must be. I hope I never meet her, because I will tell her to her face what she lost… and that’s just mean.

“Can we have some chips, too?” I call over.

“The lady wants chips!”

The vendor nods without expression.

Mark whispers, “He loved us,” as we walk back into the park.

I laugh. “Our biggest fan, for sure.”

“Want to sit on the grass?” He points to a dry patch as we walk up to the lawn. “Here good?”

“Perfect.”

We sit down and start munching, looking at each other. It’s weird to have a man watch you while you eat a hot dog. From the amused look on his face, Mark’s thinking all kinds of sophomorically sexual things. I cover my mouth with my hand, eyes doing a jig as I try not to laugh with my mouth full.

“You look amazing.”

Choking from the giggles, I say, “I bet!”

He’s in between messy bites of hot dog. “No really. You do.” Then, without missing a beat, he lights a match to the fuse of a bomb I don’t see coming. “So, it turns out… they don’t just hand you a wad of money the first day you meet ‘em.”

Mouth stuffed, I shake my head wordlessly asking, no?

“No. Turns out they need more time. Get to know you a bit, see everything in the package presented, etcetera.” He takes a big swig from a water bottle and opens the other one to hand it to me, cap off.

“Thank you,” I mumble, swallowing. “So what do they do? Check references? Things like that?”

“Mmmhmm.” He nods… fuse disappearing fast as sparks creep treacherously close to my emotional gunpowder.

I adjust my position so my legs don’t fall asleep. “And what do they need to see? What’s the package?”

He takes another gulp of water. 5…4…3…2…1. “Your paintings. They’re coming to see your show.”

KABOOM.

I choke on the hot dog; spitting, coughing, having a nervous breakdown. He reaches over and pats my back. As soon as I’m able to talk, I yelp, “What??!! They’re WHAT??!”

He leans forward. “They’re coming to see your show. Surprise.”

I gulp and blink a million times. My stomach fills with a swarm of hula-dancing bees. His dream depends on my show???!! He puts his hands on my knees, saying my name several times, but I can’t hear him because my mind, the bees, and my mouth repeat over and over, I can’tI can’t I can’tyou can’t you can’t I can’tI can’t you can’t no wayI can’t I can’t I can’t. He pulls me onto his lap, rocking me until I eventually fall into silence. My thumping heart slows and the bees quiet to a low, deep hum… from shock.

He whispers into my hair, “How’re you doin’? All good now?”

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