Page 31 of One Hotlanta Night
Shit!
How the hell did I do that? What did he say his number was again?
I begin to panic, trying to recall the digits, before remembering the caller ID feature. Grabbing a pen and QuikTrip napkin, I quickly jot the numbers down.
Then I sit back, napkin still clutched in my hand, looking at it and questioning everything.
Is this a sign? If I didn’t have caller ID, this would be the perfect out. I wouldn’t have a way to contact him again, unless he called. We never got around to discussing jobs, so it’s not like he knows where I work.
Should I just let this go? I don’t know if I’ve been single “long enough” or whatever that means.
As long as I’m single, there’s no risk to my heart.
It’s safe. If lonely.
And then a Voice pops into my head. In full stereo surround sound.
“If you miss out on this, you’re going to miss out on something big.”
I’m plastered to my seat, lungs frozen. Where the hell did that come from?
Seconds pass, minutes maybe, as I stay absolutely still, trying to comprehend what just happened.
And just as quickly, my muscles unclench, and I take slow breaths. I feel like I’m wrapped up in that warm cloud again. My mind clears, and a small thrill of excitement runs through me.
Peace. This is what peace feels like. Along with a smidge of anticipation.
I don’t know where that Voice came from, but I’m open and willing to listen.
I clutch the napkin to my heart. I’ll call Michael back.
Tomorrow. It’s late, and I’m sure he wouldn’t mind, but I want to wait till we have more time to talk.
He’ll be waiting for me. I just know it.
Michael
the following morning
“See you Friday, mi amor.”
Letting the receiver finally rest in its cradle, I sit back in my rolling desk chair and close my eyes shielding the grey cubicle walls surrounding me. My ear burns, an imprint of the hard plastic office phone pressed to it for the past three hours, and my stomach rumbles, reminding me I skipped lunch. My legs are stiff and cramped as I stretch them out under the desk.
The discomfort is totally worth it.
From the minute my future wife’s number (of course I already had it memorized) popped up on my Motorola, all my work responsibilities ceased to exist. The only thing that mattered was hearing her sweet, sexy voice on the other line and getting to know my soulmate.
“Hello, beautiful,” I greeted her, and had I imagined that quick catch in her breath? For a moment she was silent, so I swept in, not wanting to give her a chance to overthink like shedid at the club. Asking if she wanted to play an easy game of twenty questions was all it took to get the conversation going.
Plus, it would give me insight on how to spoil her later.
We covered the basics like sweet or savory (she was sweet; naturally, she was), beach or mountains (both), and dining out or eating in (I reminded her of my promise to cook for her and her giggle brought the biggest smile to my face).
Minutes turned into hours as our conversation flowed from favorite things to the state of the economy and the dot-com bubble burst. We exchanged nightmare customer stories in our respective industries, along with what we loved about our jobs (I loved fixing problems, and she loved making a person’s day). We both agreed that the challenge of the unknown was what motivated us every day. And talked about our hopes, desires. Aspirations and goals, and what we wanted from life. We weren’t exact matches on everything; of course not, that would be boring. But we were in alignment on all the things that mattered.
We both valued family, doing work we were passionate about, and giving it our all. We wanted to travel, experience new sights, new foods, and new cultures. I shared with her the overwhelming and sometimes smothering love of being in a big family, and she laughed and said that must be nice. She was less forthcoming about her own home life, only mentioning her best friend Claire and her daughter. I didn’t press the issue. She could open up to me in her own time.
For her, I was an open book. When she asked what brought me down to Atlanta, I hesitated a fraction of a second. If Vivian was going to be in my life, she needed to know all of me. I just hoped it didn’t make her view me any differently. “You want to know the truth, or what I told everyone in the office?”
