Immediately upon entering Crave, I find myself in a sleek room with mahogany ceilings, marble floors, and a fireplace in the corner. People of all ages are clustered into groups and scattered around the room.
The conversation is so boisterous and loud it fills the space in the private dining room. Waiters deliver sushi to the people seated at round tables covered in slate-gray material that probably costs more than my dress did its first time around. Afton takes me by the hand and we migrate between the high standing tables where mostly men are drinking liquor in short squat glasses and discussing people by names and labels. I don’t recognize many, but I’d bet a year’s worth of tips that Dallas would.
After my date says a few obligatory hellos and makes the necessary introductions, calling me “the Very Beautiful and Talented Dixie Lark” as if they’re supposed to know or care who I am enough times that I want to jump out one of the ceiling to floor-length windows that make up one wall of the room, we make our way to the bar and Afton orders himself a scotch before turning to me.
“Um, sweet tea is fine.”
He grins. “Trust me, another hour of this and you’re going to wish you’d ordered something much stronger.”
Little does he know, I don’t plan on staying another hour. He orders me a Long Island iced tea instead and I go with it.
Turns out, he was right about things getting pretty bland pretty fast. After hearing him have the same conversation with four different groups of people, I’m ready to tell the bartender to line up shots on the bar and keep them coming.
I sip my second Long Island iced tea and pick at the spicy tuna roll with my chopsticks. Thank goodness I have a toothbrush in my bag. Several times throughout the evening I check my phone, as if I expect Gavin to be texting me a countdown. T-minus twenty-six minutes until Operation Free Deadbeat Mom commences.
He doesn’t, and I’m annoyed at myself for expecting him to and being disappointed. That’s not his style and he made it clear this wasn’t something he wanted me along for.
Hope is a funny thing, though. It continues to build in my chest even after being deflated time and time again. So maybe it’s a stupid brain-dead thing that refuses to learn from experience.
At a quarter to midnight, I excuse myself to the ladies’ room to empty my bladder and brush my teeth before the top-secret road trip to Potter County. Afton stands as I leave and I can’t help but think that one day, he is going to make some girl very happy. He’s charming, sweet, attentive, polite, and not overly full of himself even if he has every reason to be. But try as I may, my heart remains utterly unaffected unless in the presence of a certain drummer who will be here in a few short minutes.
I can’t contain the smile that fills my face as I walk to the ladies’ room. I’m still smiling when I step out of the stall and am caught like a deer in headlights in front of my own reflection. My eyes widen and my mouth opens slightly, as does the woman’s in the mirror. But I barely recognize her.
Her skin is glowing and her eyes are gleaming brightly under the merciless glare of the lights. Her cheeks are flushed and her hair is nearly perfect, a few loose strands falling beside her face in a way that looks effortlessly intentional.
She looks so much older and wiser than I feel. So much so that I want to ask her what the future holds. If Gavin will ever see her this way. If this trip is doomed, if the band is, if I’m going to ruin everything. But before I can, two women enter the small room practically holding each other up as their laughter bounces off the walls and into me.
They appear oblivious to my presence as each of them takes a place at the available sinks and begin touching up their makeup. I wash my hands slowly, knowing I need to brush my teeth but realizing it will be an odd thing to do in front of them.