Page 3 of A Night to Remember

“She’s seeing someone else, Dad,” I told him delicately. The fact was that she’d been screwing some junior partner from the law firm she interned with the previous summer. It had been going on behind my back for almost seven months, but I’d been clueless until I caught them in the act.

“Women only cheat when we neglect them, son,” he replied. “I think you’d better examine your conscience.”

I’d defended myself at the time, but he was right: my conscience is far from clear. I would never cheat on anyone, yet for the past eight years—including the five I spent with Gretchen—I’ve been unable to shake the memory of another woman, someone I’ve never mentioned to Paul or discussed with my parents, let alone Gretchen. I can’t help but feel partly responsible for the way our engagement ended. And thanks to the greasy tangle of guilt and anger that took up permanent residence in my chest, my grades tanked during my last semester of law school, ruining my job prospects.

After a very tense Christmas—every carol was punctuated by demands that I “get my act together” and “stop wasting my potential”—I finally let my parents persuade me to come back to my hometown in the new year. I leave tomorrow.

Sensing that I’m starting to brood, Paul shouts, “What about her?” and gestures to a curvy brunette in tight jeans. As I watch her cross the room, I realize that I have no idea what I’m doing. Gretchen and I had been together for five years, and we practically grew up together. I dated a few women after her—pretty much everyone in my year knew what happened, and a couple of classmates had tried, on different occasions, to cheerme up—but they had come on tome. I haven’t tried to approach a woman in a bar since my sophomore year of college.

“What do I even say?” I ask Paul. “Hi, how are you, do you want to have sex later?”

“That usually works for me.” Paul grins at me and shrugs.

“Yeah, well, guys are different. I’m not sure women evenlikebeing approached by strangers in bars.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. You’re rich. You’re tall. It’s not as hard as you think.”

I hope he’s right. Obviously I can’t start dating anyone since I’m leaving Chicago in the morning, but I wouldn’t mind some company tonight. The curvy woman having walked into the arms of a square-jawed guy in a suit, I scan the room for someone else. My heart stops when I think I seeherout of the corner of my eye. A tall woman with thick straight hair falling past her shoulders, full lips, and a simple black sweater that hugs her lithe figure. I do an actual double take before I realize that no, it’s not her. This woman is a redhead, for one thing. I run a shaky hand through my hair. This happens to me all the time—at stores, restaurants, or even, in the past, on dates with Gretchen. Either The Girl has hundreds of doppelgangers in the Chicago area, or I’ve got a serious problem.

“What’s wrong, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Paul says with concern.

“I’m fine,” I reply with my best attempt at a smile. “Let’s go talk to those women over there.” I gesture toward the redhead and the curly-haired woman sitting across from her.

“Sure thing.” Paul starts to saunter over. I walk a little too fast to catch up. My palms are sweating and my heart is pounding, and I know it has nothing to do with the charms of the redhead or her friend.

“So are you guys Chiefs fans?” is the only thing I can think of to say when we reach their table. I nod towards the TVs, wherethe Kansas City Chiefs are facing off against the Denver Broncos. Both women look startled for a second, as if they’d forgotten that this is, in fact, a sports bar, then the curly-haired friend gives me a big smile.

“We can be. Are you?” she says flirtatiously. I can sense Paul giving me an “I told you so” eyebrow raise.

“Well, sure,” I reply earnestly. “I mean, they’ve won the Super Bowl twice in the past five years, and Patrick Mahomes?—”

“—is smoking hot. So what’syourname?” Now she’s twisting her hair around her finger. The redhead is more my type, but this woman is making things awfully easy. As her eyes travel from my face to my chest, I begin to feel more self-assured.

“Gabe,” I reply, with a big smile of my own. “And this is Paul.”

“I’m Alyssa. This is Lauren,” she says, gesturing to the redhead, who looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here. She glances my way reluctantly at the mention of her name. Alyssa gives her a sharp jab to the ribs.

“What do you guys do for a living?” she asks, trying to rally.

The confidence Alyssa’s interest has given me instantly dissolves. I feel like I’ve taken a quick punch to the gut. I stammer, “I, uh, well, I went to law school, but…” But I’ve been doing home repairs and heavy lifting for Task Rabbit for the past ten months? I really need to rehearse an answer to this question. Luckily Paul comes to the rescue.

“You’ll have to forgive my buddy here. His last year of law school was rough. He’s a small-town boy, and his big-city fiancée dumped him for another guy.” I shoot him a “What the hell?” look, but his words have an immediate effect.

“Oooh, you poorbaby,” Alyssa coos, laying a hand on my arm. “The same thing happened to Lauren.”

“’Lyssa,hush,” Lauren hisses. She gives her friend a look like the one I just gave Paul and turns bright red. “I’m sorry that happened to you,” she says, looking up at me shyly.

“I’m sorry that happened toyou,”I reply, and mean it. She may not be The Girl, but she’s awfully pretty, and already I’d like to give the guy who broke her heart a piece of my mind.

“Thank you,” she replies with a small smile. “It’s nice to know I’m not alone.” She glances at the stool next to her, which I take as an invitation to sit down. The gesture endears her to me. Alyssa gives her a huge grin and draws Paul slightly away from us.

“I just felt like such an idiot, you know?” she continues. “Like I should have seen all the signs, but was just too blinded by love.” She rolls her eyes.

“What, did he start taking better care of himself, bring you flowers more often, things like that?”

She laughs. “Yes! It was such a cliché! I mean, he couldn’t even becreativeabout it!”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I had no idea either. I came home early from classes one day and found my fiancée and her coworker making out topless in our kitchen.”

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