Page 29 of The One I Need
I take another sip of my Manhattan, running through that list one more time to see if I forgot anything. Nope. That about sums it up.
“Wow,” he says, almost as if he’s in disbelief. “That’s quite a list.”
“What about you? What’s the belief system of Oliver Price?”
He shakes his head and looks away to take a sip of his drink, some sort of specialty cocktail that had one too many uses of the word “infused” for me. “I’d rather not.”
“Oh no,” I say, taking his chin in my fingers and turning his head toward me. “I told you mine; it’s only fair that you tell me yours. Rule of the night: neither of us are allowed to deflect, though we both do it so well.”
This gets him to let out a small smile. “Promise you’re not going to laugh?”
I take my fingers off his chin to give his hand a squeeze. “I would never.”
“Okay,” he begins. “I believe in love. I believe in soulmates. I believe that people are stronger together than separate. I believe in family, both blood and chosen. And I believe in hope. Because if you don’t have hope, then what do you have?”
“Wow,” I whisper. I knew he was going to say something that dove into love and marriage and all that jazz, but I didn’t expect all that. For a second, my cold, dead heart actually felt something.
I want to say more, but I’m stopped by the lights dimming. Good. I don’t know if I could have said anything after that.
I look over to Oliver, whose bright smile has returned as he watches the magician enter the stage. I remember when I was like that. Hopeful. Not jaded by the world. Sometimes—not often, but sometimes—I wish I still had some of that spark. Then I remember I’m better off. Because what Oliver just listed? It’s nice in theory. But all of those things are enough to break someone.
And I prefer to be whole, thank you very much.
“Now I know there are some skeptics in the house tonight,” the magician says as he starts making his way through the crowd. “And I can always spot them a mile away.”
I swear to God, if this man comes over this way I’m going to punch him in the junk.
“I can always tell who the nonbelievers are,” he says as he continues to walk through the audience. “They always have the same look on their faces. Bored. Disbelieving. Wondering when the waitress is going to come over to get them another drink.”
This makes the audience laugh, and I laugh as well. Not because it’s funny. But because I have a feeling if I don’t that this asshole is going to call me out. And I’m not going to be singled out in front of strangers as a nonbeliever. He’d probably do something like bring me on stage and make me part of the show. No, thank you.
“Well, this is interesting,” the magician says as he approaches me and Oliver. “It seems here we have a bit of an opposite attraction.”
He positions himself behind us, and just as he does, I’m blinded by the spotlight shining in my eyes.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Here we have a prime example of a nonbeliever!” I shoot this David Blaine wannabe a look that I hope can kill. He doesn’t seem to notice. But you know who does? My date, who is currently snickering next to me. “And it seems she is here with a believer! What a match!”
I do my best not to roll my eyes, though it’s a struggle.
“Sir, may I ask you your name?”
“Oliver,” he says into the microphone.
“Well hello, Oliver. And may I ask who this beautiful woman is that you’re here with tonight?”
If my look earlier could kill, this one could detonate the city of Nashville. Except it doesn’t faze Oliver one bit. No, this motherfucker just wags his eyebrows at me, clearly loving this.
“This is the beautiful Izzy, who’s with me on our first official date.”
Of course, this gets a round of applause from the audience. I love that Oliver is eating this up right now. And when I say love, I mean loathe. I’m hiding behind my hands while he’s waving to the audience in thanks for their enthusiasm.
Also, this isn’t a date.
“So, Izzy,” the magician says as he shifts over next to me. “Am I right to say that you’re a nonbeliever?”
Talk about a pick-your-poison situation. I can either lie, which I hate doing, or tell the audience that just gave me a round of applause that, yes, I think all of this is a crock of shit.
“You’re right. I am a bit of a skeptic.”
