"Maybe under Sarah Cole or Viven. " The hostess's smile returned colder this time. "I'm sorry, sir. We have a dress code. " Right. Yeah, but I'm late and she's probably been waiting and I'm afraid I can't seat you in your current state. She glanced pointedly at his boots, which were leaving small puddles on the floor.
Perhaps you'd like to reschedule. Heat crawled up Ethan's neck. Not anger exactly, just the familiar exhausting weight of not belonging, of being the wrong kind of person in the wrong kind of place. Can you at least tell her I'm here? Just tell her Ethan is here and I'm sorry I'm late.
The hostess picked up the phone with the kind of exaggerated patience usually reserved for children and difficult customers. What name is the reservation under? I don't know. Viven. First name Vivien.
A pause. We don't have any reservations under that name. Are you sure? Maybe it's under a different sir. The hostess set down the phone.
We don't have anyone by that name waiting. And I'm going to have to ask you to leave if you're not a guest. " Ethan stood there dripping water, feeling the eyes of well-dressed diners turning toward him with the kind of casual disdain reserved for people who didn't understand that you needed reservations made 3 months in advance. His phone buzzed. He pulled it out. Screen cracked, case held together with electrical tape, and saw a text from Sarah.
She left. She said, "You never showed. " "What happened? "," he muttered. The hostess cleared her throat. "Sir, yeah, I'm leaving. " Ethan turned toward the door, boots squatchching, and walked back out into the rain. He sat in his truck for a long time, engine off, staring at the restaurant through the rain streaked windshield.
Somewhere in there, at some table he'd never see, a woman named Vivien had waited for him. Had checked her watch, had ordered a drink, had eventually given up and left. And he'd been on the side of the road fixing a stranger's car, getting soaked to the bone for someone who didn't even say thank you properly. His phone rang. Sarah, he answered.
I know what happened. I stopped to help someone. Car broke down. I fixed it and then I was late and he dragged a hand through his wet hair. It doesn't matter.
She left. Ethan. Sarah's voice was gentle, which somehow made it worse. You can't keep doing this. Doing what?
Putting everyone else first. You stopped for a stranger instead of showing up for yourself. She was stranded, Sarah. What was I supposed to do? Show up on time.
Just once. Show up for something that's about you, not about fixing someone else's problem. The words hit harder than they should have. Ethan closed his eyes. Listening to the rain hammer the roof.
I'm tired, he said finally. I know. I don't know how to do this. The dating thing, the trying thing. I know.
A pause. But Sophie needs to see you try. Even when it's hard. Especially when it's hard. He thought about his daughter asleep at Sarah's house right now, wearing her favorite dinosaur pajamas and probably clutching the stuffed elephant she'd had since she was three.
Sophie, who asked him every morning if he was happy like an eight-year-old should have to monitor her father's emotional state. I'll try, he said. Good. Now, go home, take a hot shower, and tomorrow you're going to text Viven and apologize. I don't have her number.
I'll send it to you. Text her. Explain what happened. Maybe she'll give you another shot. Sarah, uh, text her, Ethan.