The point is that Hayden doesn’t care about me. He’s never even noticed me.
He won’t, either, not just because I’m nineteen.
He’s wild, and he’s forty-five years old. He’s handsome and hot and successful and everything any woman would tear her eyes out to have, or experience, or be near.
He’d laugh – most people would – if I told him about my crush.
If I took a photo of Hayden and one of me out onto the street, surveyed a hundred people, and then checked the results, my gut would drop. My world would spin over.
Nobody would say we look like a match.
This isn’t self-pity or low self-esteem or anything like that. At least, I hope it isn’t.
No – it’s an accurate reflection of the circumstances.
It’s a good thing he’d never want me. It means I don’t have to break dad’s heart.
Dad has been talking this entire time about Hayden, and here I am, so obsessed I can’t even listen.
“He’s not a psychopath,” Dad says, with the air of a conclusion. “He cares. About people. About his work.”
“He’s never been married,” Lila points out with one of her wicked grins.
She’s in her final year of a psychology course at college, and she enjoys using her tools. But I think she enjoys twisting her tools to lightly tease us a whole lot more.
“So every unmarried person is a psychopath,” Mom says, rolling her eyes. “Ah, now I see. You’ve cracked the code, Lila.”
Lila laughs. “Okay, fair. But why has he never been married?”
I’m unsure if Lila’s trying to help or torture me. Or maybe she’s just asking questions, and it’s my bad for constantly connecting Hayden to me.
Whenever I think about him, talk about him, or listen to others talk about him….
I’m always there, in the fantasy, with impossible things happening.
His arms are around me. He’s holding me tight. He’s pushing his firm body against my back, so I can feel his muscular torso's outline between my shoulder blades.
“I don’t know,” Dad says after a pause.
“Has he ever come close?” I ask, studying my meatballs, making my voice as innocent as possible.
“No,” Dad says. “He’s never been much of a dater. He’s had girlfriends….”
“Not for a long time,” Mom says. “The last was when Lila was little.”
“Maybe he gave up,” Dad says, shrugging. “It doesn’t matter. A person can be single and happy. Look at him, traveling the world, getting his stories, and all for his own business – his website. I’m proud of him. Sorry.”
Dad chuckles, shaking his head.
Mom smiles lovingly. “Why are you sorry?”
“I’m going on like a hyperactive teenager.”
Mom reaches over and touches his hand. “I think it’s lovely. He’s your best friend. You don’t need to explain or apologize, you big macho man.”
Dad laughs again. “Where would I be without you, Janine?”
“I don’t know, Graham.”
She uses a high-pitched voice on his name, imitating one of their patients, a recurring character at the dinner table.
“Probably screwed,” Lila says. “What’d you think, Hal?”
“Definitely screwed,” I reply, and we all laugh.
It’s almost like I can pretend Hayden isn’t bouncing around my mind. It’s just a regular family dinner. No reason to obsess, no reason to second-guess my every word just in case dad somehow finds out his best friend is all I can think about.
Maybe – I think as we laugh – I can forget about the fact he’ll be here tomorrow for dinner.
He’ll look at me, all grown up, and he’ll….
Here’s when reality becomes my fantasy.
He’ll kiss me, grab me, and make all my steamy dreams come true.
“It could be a patient,” Dad says, waving a hand as he leaves the room.
It takes me a second to realize what he’s talking about. My thoughts keep swallowing me up. Dad’s cell phone is ringing in the hallway.
Tomorrow.
Maybe I could tell them I’ve got a sudden video-editing gig. It would be a lie, but maybe that would convince them I made the right choice, forgoing college to study online and attempt to get a freelance career off the ground.
Tomorrow.
I’ve got time to think of an excuse, a way not to see Hayden.
“That’s great.” Dad’s voice rises from the hallway. “No, not at all. Hayden, no. You’re not inconveniencing us. I’d love to see you. I’ve got some of those cigars….” He chuckles. “Well, don’t tell my patients then. See you soon.”
Tomorrow, I think, but clearly, that’s changed.
Dad walks in, beaming, as I struggle not to let my hopeless need show on my face…a need to run, a need to be here, both at the same time.
My head is rushing. I can hardly think.
“He got an earlier flight,” Dad says. “I hope you don’t mind, but he’ll be here in an hour.”
Lila looks at me, her expression complicated. It’s like she’s happy and terrified for me at the same time.
I get to see him.
But that also means he’ll see me.