Every Wrong Reason

I collected their papers as they left the room and listened to their excuses and complaints with the patience of Gandhi.

I glanced at the clock in the room and calculated traffic, a shower and some time to down a bottle of wine. Maybe two. I needed to get moving if I was going to be on time for Nick.

Did I care if I was on time?

I decided not to answer that question.

I closed up my classroom in record time, threw the tests in my bag as I locked the door and skipped checking my mailbox. Whatever was in there could wait until tomorrow.

I passed Kara in the hall, but she was already involved in a conversation with our principal, Mr. Kellar, a balding middle-age man that was so tall, he made Kara look like a dwarf. But like a hot dwarf.

I waved to both of them, ignored Kara’s penetrating curiosity and dove into the freezing December afternoon.

Scraping my windshield and waiting for my dated car to heat up had never been more irritating. But finally, I was on the road to my house.

By the time I pulled into the driveway, I was a jittery bundle of nerves and it had nothing to do with the fact that my heater hadn’t gotten remotely warm on the commute.

I kept replaying our text conversation in my head and checking my phone every two minutes. Why had I agreed to di

Or at least run him over with my car.

Wait, was that better or worse than punching him?

He had been so rude to me, so hurtful.

But maybe part of me thought if we could have a civil conversation, I could talk him out of wanting the house. I could reassure him that I wasn’t pregnant and maybe that would ease his mind a little bit.

Maybe his unrealistic demands stemmed from a fear of losing a child?

His child.

Our child…

He had nothing to worry about, though. I was definitely not pregnant. And when my period had come four days after our failed mediation, I had hated him all over again.

As impossible as I knew it was, Nick’s small flicker of concern about a potential child had ignited hope in me.

For those few days, I had wondered if maybe it was a possibility… if maybe my womb wasn’t shriveled or wilted.

If maybe motherhood wasn’t an unreachable pipe dream.

But then my period had come… stronger and more uncomfortable than ever- like it was on a rampage of righteous vengeance- and it was like fate was playing some kind of sick joke on me.

See? my mind whispered. You’ll never be pregnant. You’ll never have a baby of your own.

You’ll never be a mother.

I had been furious with Nick all over again. I had written him a dozen hateful texts that never got sent. I’d even composed an email that vomited every vile thought I could think of.

But in the end I hadn’t sent it. Not because I’d changed my mind, but because I didn’t want him to feel as awful as I did. Even after everything we’d been through, even after his behavior during mediation, I couldn’t deliver that news again.

I couldn’t disappoint him again.

I assumed he’d figured it out by now.

I showered and dressed in a simple black wrap dress. It wasn’t the nicest thing I owned, but it gave me the illusion of curves and I knew he liked it.

I would be freezing in this weather and I would hate myself for wearing heels when I would have to walk at least a block from the parking garage to the restaurant. But I couldn’t not look nice tonight.

I didn’t know if it was to impress him or punish him.

And I didn’t examine my feelings long enough to figure it out.

When I walked into the trendy wine bar, the crush of people surprised me. I wasn’t expecting this kind of crowd for a Wednesday night.

I pushed through bodies to find the hostess stand, but Nick caught my attention before I could ask her if he had arrived yet. He sat at the bar in stylish gray jeans and a black sweater that fit him well. His jaw had been trimmed and he’d recently had a haircut. His chestnut hair lay over his forehead just right, a little mussed and perfectly sun-kissed, even though it was the dead of winter.

He was gorgeous.

He was too gorgeous.

The corners of his mouth lifted when our gazes collided and he raised his hand in a small hello. I didn’t smile back. Or wave.

I spent every ounce of energy composing myself before I had to speak to him.

When would it stop being such a lightning strike when I saw him? When would it stop feeling like the earth had come to a screeching halt and I had been pushed forward from momentum and propulsion and impetus and all other scientific terms until he became my entire world? Until he became everything I saw and heard and smelled and breathed?

When would this attraction to him die?

God, I was a mess.

He leaned in when I placed my hands on the high-backed bar chair. “Hey,” he murmured. “Was parking a pain?”

I licked dry lips. “Parking is always a pain down here.”

He shifted nervously and tugged on his damn earlobe. “Do you, uh, want to take a seat? I made a reservation earlier today, but they said it would be a while yet. I can ask them again if you’d rather-”

“This is fine,” I interrupted. This was actually better. Sitting at the bar would feel infinitely less intimate than a table against the wall.

I hung my purse on a hook under the bar and slipped my coat off, hanging it on the back of my chair. After I’d climbed up and situated myself, Nick slid me a drink menu.

“What are you drinking?” I asked him while I studied wines.

“Manhattan.”

I wrinkled my nose and saw him smile in my peripheral vision. “They have a cab franc,” he murmured.

Instantly I perked up. My favorite.

I told that to the bartender who deadpa

“Oh.” My eyes fell back to the menu, perusing it for something different.

“We’ll take the bottle,” Nick a

The bartender immediately gave us his back and I swung my head to face my ex-husband.

Soon to be ex-husband.

“Are you trying to get me drunk? Do you think that I’ll be easier to deal with after I’m three sheets to the wind?”

He chuckled lightly, “I know you won’t be easier to deal with. I’ve seen you drunk.” I glared at him because I didn’t want to laugh. Seeing that he wasn’t going to get a reaction out of me, he explained, “It’s your favorite. Besides, they can cork it for you at the end of di

Buying the wife you were separated from a bottle of her favorite wine just because it was her favorite wine was, in fact, a very big deal. But I decided not to point that out.

Instead, I nodded once and said, “Thank you.”

He leaned in and I caught the tantalizing scent of his cologne and skin. “You’re welcome.”

The bartender reappeared with my wine. It took him a few minutes to uncork it in front of us and go through the tedious process of letting me taste it before pouring my full glass.

As if I was going to turn it down.

Clearly, he did not know me.

After he finally disappeared again, I examined the food menu.

“You can’t stare at your menu the entire night,” Nick teased. “This isn’t just a free meal. You have to work for your di

He was being nice to me and I had no idea what to do with it. Was he just trying to soften me up so he could get what he wanted? Or was he being genuine?

I set my menu down. “I didn’t think it was a free meal.”

“I was just teasing you, Kate.”

“Oh.”

“Do you know what you want?” His tone was less playful.

I hated that I’d chased it away. “I think so.”

“Me too.”

“Okay, good.”

He fidgeted with the corners of his menu for a minute and I suddenly had a hard time swallowing. I could feel him building up to something, feel the energy inside him expand and contract until it pushed at mine… until it invaded every ounce of my space, every inch of my body.