Page 1 of A Me and Him Thing
PART ONE
She Is Alone
Chapter One
One month before the epilogue inA Me and You Thing
IHATE DININGalone.
I feel like there’s a flashing neon sign above me announcing:Yes, folks, she’s dining alone.All by herself. Solo. Unaccompanied.
But I’d rather be out among the living than home alone in the deafening silence.
In need of a little self-pampering, I made a reservation for one at Portland’s sky-high restaurant, Exodus.
Get away. Take flight. Dine amid the clouds.
Their advertising is spot on. The restaurant is located on the twenty-first floor of an architecturally modern high-rise that towers over downtown Portland. I’d heard it was an amazing dining experience—and I needed something amazing. Nursing a broken heart is a tricky endeavor. Try as I might, nothing soothes the ache.
My life consists of working, jogging, eating, and sleeping. Last time I checked, that’s just living. Not being alive.
I’m wearing a white satin blouse with a draped neckline, a silver pearl necklace, black slacks, and my favorite Louboutins. A perfect French tip highlights my nails; my auburn hair is long and straight. At least I feel like I look good. It’s a confidence booster.
My mom taught me to always look put-together. Hair done, make-up on, nails painted, dressed to impress. By eight a.m. every day. I rarely slack off. I used to wear my hair in a professional low bun, but these days I’m wearing it long and loose. I like it that way.
I wish I could be as good on the inside as I look on the outside.
Sitting at my table for one while surrounded by the sharp angles and smooth tiles of the contemporary interior, I should feel cold and uncomfortable. The soft whispers of the patrons echo off the stark décor, and women’s heels click loudly against the marble floors as they make their way to the ladies’ room to powder their noses.
Yet the elegant room doesn’t feel sterile. On the contrary, it feels luxurious, warm, and welcoming. Several recessed electric fireplaces are strategically placed around the area, the main lights are low, and stylish battery-operated candles flicker on the dining tables, looking so real, I was surprised when I realized they were fake. Muted modern-music-turned-classical plays overhead. All in all, the atmosphere is highly intimate. I call it classy-cozy. My overstuffed dining chair has engulfed my body in a way that makes me never want to get up. It gives new meaning to the lap of luxury.
There’s a small dance floor where couples are romantically mingling together to the music. I avoid looking in that direction.
In spite of sitting in a fancy restaurant, soaking up life energy from those around me, I happen to be absorbed in a book. I need something to do when dining solo. “Embrace the awkward” should be my new mantra.
I abandon my best friend of late—my trusty Kindle—and stare at the stunning view of the city lights at night. The window next to me gives me a bird’s-eye perspective of a peaceful Oregon evening in July.
Except the tranquility I hoped for with this outing feels as though it’s slipping through my fingers, sifting away. Like trying to hold a fistful of sand.
I breathe in and out deeply, catching my reflection in the dark window beside me. My long red hair and large blue eyes stand out, like I’m slowly disappearing, and they’re the only features I have left. Besides the worry line marring the spot between my eyebrows. That deep crevice commands more attention than it should be allowed.
I release a heavy sigh. I’m much too young to feel so defeated. So why do I? I landed myself a six-figure job one week after returning to Portland. I bought myself a modern and stylish townhome shortly thereafter. I’m no longer jobless and homeless.
Just manless and loveless.
I’ve never felt so alone.
It’s been two long months since my life did a one-eighty on the day I left Sawyer and Quinn. I’m still reeling. I needed to let them move forward with their happily-ever-after without interference. Even though it still hurts, I suppose I have a semblance of peace. Everyone is back where they belong, and it feels right.
They’ve moved on. I need to too. Currently I’m in limbo. It’s not exactly a fun place to hang out—more like a wild ride on the struggle bus.
After losing Sawyer, I made the decision to not date for one year. I need a breather, time to heal, time to rebuild. It’s time to learn to be happy with my own company before bringing someone else into the picture. It’s the right decision for my mental health.
I used to be proud of my inner Scarlett. Not so much anymore. I’m trying to change, to be a better person.
Frankly, it’s not easy. Sometimes I wonder if I’m a bad apple waiting on the ground for someone to pick me up and throw my rottenness in the garbage.
After I release a heavy sigh, I take a final bite of the boneless Peking duck with mandarin pancake and close my eyes as my taste buds tingle with joy. My heart might be heavy, but my stomach is singing. I appreciate gourmet food. I just can’t cook it myself because I’m a disaster in the kitchen.
