Page 133 of Damaged

But it’s that same danger that was the relationship’s unraveling. I can’t idolize James. As tender as his kiss was. As mind-blowing of a fuck…

Stop, I tell myself and shake my head as if to dislodge my unwanted thoughts. It’s getting close to when I should leave to meet Michael at the bar. I picked a place Michael suggested that is across the bridge. Mainly because I wanted the odds of running into James to be zero.

I go to my closet and pick out a floral sundress. White and peach. Cute but nothing crazy.

I curl my hair and add a dash of extra makeup, and then I’m asking Steve for good luck as I lock the apartment door behind me.

The dive bar I’m meeting him at is in Dumbo, quite literally right across the bridge in Brooklyn. It’s so close I decide to walk the twenty-five minutes it takes to get there.

New York is at its best today. It’s just the right temperature to be warm but still not reek of garbage. And we’re still in the sweet spot of good weather but not peak tourist season. Everybody is in a good mood from the beautiful May we’re having. I swear I hear half as many horns.

When I get to the dive bar, I can tell just from its weathered sign and neon beer signs from the nineties that this isn’t a new hipster Brooklynite bar.

It’s a real dive, whose clients probably still include sanitation workers and longshoremen and not just software developers who make six figures and want to pretend to be poorer than they are.

Sure enough, that’s the vibe. Older men with gray goatees turn to look at me when I enter. Three of them sport the same look. It’s eerie. They look like clones.

The place still smells like cigarettes. Like maybe after close, the bartender and some regulars still light up. I see Michael in a booth, and he stands and smiles when I get close.

He has a nice smile. It’s cute and a little shy. He’s a little over average height, 5’11” or so.

So far so good.

“Hi!” I say brightly. I think about a hug but go with a handshake. I play with it and tilt my head, grinning. I pretend to be very businesslike and shake his hand vigorously since we’ll be coworkers. But two people who are attracted to each other and working on a boat for months at a time won’t stay just coworkers for long.

“You come here a lot?” I ask.

“Oh yeah. I grew up three blocks from here. I used to come here with a fake ID when I was nineteen. You look really nice, by the way,” he says, and I smile.

“Thank you. You do, too.” He’s wearing a beige wool sweater with the sleeves rolled up and what look like raw denim jeans. “I’m going to run to the bathroom real quick,” I say.

“Sure thing.”

The place is designed with the booths and pool tables first. The bar is farther back, and presumably so are bathrooms. I walk down the hall and start to pass the bar.

It’s still early and a weeknight, so it’s not packed. There are two men in matching windbreakers that readWayne’s Windowson one end, and only one other person is at the far end of the bar.

But I freeze midway there.

I suddenly feel weightless, and the light in the bar looks all wrong. I want to think it’s because I’m dreaming, but it’s the adrenaline that is surging into my blood like a racing tide.

It’s James. He’s bringing a glass of whiskey up to his lips.

He’s not in a suit. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and blue jeans. His hair is a little longer, and so is his facial hair. I don’t think he’s cut either since we broke up.

“No way,” I say aloud. For a moment, I think he stalked my movements, that he was content letting me go but somehow heard about this date and changed his mind. But when his eyes rotate to see me, the shock in them is genuine.

His mouth hangs open, his whiskey glass stops in midair. “Sophia.”

My heartbeat hammers in my ears. I don’t know what to say. I only know what I feel. Love.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. I can see from the hope in his eyes that not only is he happy to see me, but he thinks I intentionally came to find him.

“Um… pee” is all I manage to say, pointing a weak finger towards the ladies’ room. “I’m here with someone.”

The hope collapses from his face. He comes to the same realization as me—this is a coincidence.

He starts shaking his head. “I picked this bar to avoid you.”

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