I get to the bar in a daze, and for the next few hours only grow increasingly more detached. When Owen arrives it’s even more of a struggle to keep myself in the moment. Under his gaze, bunched up in a corner booth so close I feel his whole side pressing against me, I start to feel suffocated, trapped, like I’m gasping for air. Trivia’s normally my chance to kick major ass among my colleagues, but tonight I can hardly come up with decent guesses.
“What’s wrong? I know you knew the answer to that one,” Owen says, leaning over, concern showing in his furrowed brow.
“What? Oh…I’m just…not in the mood tonight.”
“Wow. Never thought I’d hear that phrase come out of you.” He laughs.
I just smile meekly. “It’s not anything to do with you. It’s just…personal stuff.”
“Like what? You know you can always vent to me.”
“I know. And I will. Just not here,” I say, glancing at the others around our table, laughing and shouting just inches away though it feels like I’m hearing them through a filter.
Owen nods, as if considering what to say next, then settles for simply squeezing my knee surreptitiously under the table.
“Suit yourself. I’m gonna run to the restroom real quick,” he says.
I slide out of the booth so he can go and give him a little wave as he leaves, then sigh with the complexity of being here, now, with him.
If Cassandra had offered me the job a few weeks ago I’d be looking at apartments in Brooklyn already. I’d be bouncing off the walls with excitement, already planning how I was going to shake her, the New York Month, and the whole damned city up with the best damned writing they’d ever seen. A lot has happened in these last few weeks, though, and now that I’ve actually got something to lose, I’m not sure of anything anymore.
How do you even choose between the thing you’ve wanted all your life, and the person who might be the one you’ve waited for all your life? I’d have missed Owen deeply even before we got together, but now I’m not even sure that a life without him in it could even work.
But so what? Should I give up everything I am, everything I’ve wanted for so long, for a relationship that’s not even technically official? I’ve been here before, so infatuated with a guy that I lost sight of my dreams, and it’s led me nowhere fast. Not only that, but if I said no to this job, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. And however things with Owen and I could end up, even it stayed as good as it is now for forever, I’d never be truly happy knowing I gave up this one chance for a guy, a guy who I know for a fact has no intention of ever settling down.
It was clear from the start—Owen made it clear himself—that this was just sex, just fun. Maybe it doesn’t always feel like that, and maybe we have years of friendship behind us, but that’s exactly what it is. Besides, am I really worried that Owen would miss me? I’d give him a week before he’s working his way through lingerie models again. He’ll probably be more disappointed about me leaving the dating videos than leaving him…
“Is that Owen’s phone?”
I look up at the voice directed toward me—it’s Mia, and she’s pointing at a lit-up phone beside me, vibrating its way almost off the table.
I catch it at the edge and accidentally hit the green button, answering the call by mistake. Shit. I look at the screen. Ron. After looking up to check if Owen’s on his way back, and realizing he’s not, I decide to just take a message for him.
“Hello?”
There’s a second’s pause before Ron speaks. “Is this Owen’s phone?”
“Yes. He just ran to the restroom. He should be back in a minute. Or if you want I can take a message?”
Ron chuckles on the other end of the line, the soft, easy laugh of an older man who loves his life. Something in my chest loosens at the sound. “And you are?” he asks.
“Margo,” I say, realizing that I’m smiling. “His coworker.”
“Oh? Are you working late with him?”
“No. We’re having after-work drinks. Not just us. Everyone from the office is here, I mean. So do you want me to pass on a message?”
“Yes. That would be very nice of you, Margo. I’m his father.”
“Oh.” Memories of Owen arguing with his dad go rushing through my brain, but I can’t seem to connect this nice-sounding man to the womanizing monster that Owen’s painted in the past. I wonder if the man has changed over time, if Owen’s view of his father has been tainted by the difficult childhood I know he had being raised by a single dad.
“Can you tell him the dinner on Sunday will be around seven? And let him know we’re both really excited about it.”
I think for a moment, still lost in thought. “Did you say Sunday? Meaning this Sunday?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Oh. Nothing…just making sure.”
“Is everything ok?” Ron says, and I can really hear the similarity now, the sincere care in his voice, the strength behind it, as if he’s not just checking whether I’m ok, but offering to do something about it.
“Yes. I’ll pass it on, don’t worry.”
“Thank you so much, Margo. It was lovely talking to you.”
“You too.”
I hang up and suddenly notice Owen squeezing back into his place beside me in the booth.
“Were you just on my phone?” he asks.
“Yeah. It was your dad. Your cell was vibrating off the table and when I grabbed it I hit the green button by mistake.” I smile sheepishly. “We only talked for a minute.”
Owen’s smile drops. “I’m sorry you had to deal with that.”
“It’s really fine. He said you’d arranged a dinner with him this Sunday…?”
Owen’s head drops, then he turns to look at me. “Shit. I completely forgot. Our plans are still on, though, ok? I’ll just tell him to forget the dinner since I have an important work meeting.”
“No! He said he was really excited about it. We can go out another time.”
Owen leans back in his seat and rubs a palm across his mouth. I can see the anxiety and frustration just below the surface.
“What’s the problem?” I ask gently. “It’s really no big deal.”
Owen looks around us at the cacophonous group before leaning over to direct his full attention at me. “Look, you already know that my dad and I have kind of a…strained relationship. I’ve told you how it goes. Every few months he meets a new girl, convinces himself she’s the one, and expects me to act the same. And he arranges these meetings and they’re always so cringeworthy. This has been his pattern my entire life. I’m surprised he stayed with my mom long enough to make me.”
I shrug. “He probably just wants your approval, you know? Wants to know that you like these women as much as he does. Or maybe he feels like he has something to prove, wants you to see he’s made a good choice.”
“They’re never a good choice,” Owen says, raising his drink to take a long swallow. “And they never last. He gets bored of them as quickly as I…”
I quirk a brow at him. “As quickly as you do?”
He looks down and clears his throat. “As quickly as I used to.”
I pull back and exhale deeply.
Owen continues, “Regardless, I’d much rather go out with you this weekend.”
“I think you should see your father. When was the last time you saw him?”
He shrugs. “I dunno. A few months ago? What’s it matter?”