CHAPTER 1
Jane saw her husband, Seth, walk across the restaurant’s foyer. She sat at a table all the way across the restaurant. He had his back to her, but she was sure it was him. The self-conscious hunch in his shoulders from always being the tall one in the room. The too casual, mismatched clothes because he did not believe appearances mattered. The stiff wariness of his body, alert for movement coming at him from any direction, a holdover from his army days, and also his current occupation as leader of the Vanguard, a grassroots organization that put celebrities on trial for sins against family values.
As the hostess guided her husband into the restaurant, Jane twisted the silky cloth napkin in her lap. In a few moments, he would see her, would come tell her date she belonged with him, in the world of mismatched clothes and higher callings. She had lost track of the conversation at her table. Beneath the table, she moved her feet to one side of her chair, prepared to spring up and run.
Seth looked right at her as he took his seat. It wasn’t him.
Because he has no reason to be here, thought Jane. He doesn’t know where I am.
“Everything alright?” asked her date.
Jane turned her attention to the man across from her.
Online, he was the perfect man for the woman she hoped to become. Three of their four interest areas—travel, food, and the arts—had been perfect matches. The outlier had been fly fishing. Jane didn’t have any interest in fly fishing. But if it was something he really cared about she could learn. She was willing to learn about anything.
Her perfect man poured the wine and studied her over the tops of his horn-rimmed glasses. Sophistication oozed from his fingertips. Jane imagined how he might transform her into a chic column of a woman, magically taller and slimmer, without bowling balls for breasts, who went to gallery openings and opera galas. A woman who could hold a conversation with his coworkers in the art world, and knowingly critique auctions at Tiffany’s.
“You don’t look anything like your profile picture,” he said, not quite joking.
“Audrey Hepburn is my alter ego.”
“Is there a reason she didn’t come on this date?”
“Profiles are so public. You never know who’s watching. I like to be mysterious.” Jane wiggled her eyebrows in a way she imagined was sexy and mysterious.
“Visibility is kind of the point.”
“So … I went to that exhibit you did—The Impressionists? So beautiful. It was like being in a dream.”
He cringed, tastefully. “You’re one of ten people who saw that disaster, thank God.”
“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
Jane took a deep breath. Calm. You’re in a safe place. She had prepared these thoughts on art and his exhibit to impress him. Now, all the words felt jumbled. She found herself saying something a little too close to her truth. “We all want to create our version of reality, but those artists—Monet, Renoir—actually achieved it.”
The more enthusiasm she forced into her voice, the more distressed her date appeared.
The waiter brought their food. Both Jane and her date took advantage of the interruption to withdraw into their wine glasses and regroup. They surveyed the two identical orders of California rolls and some kind of cooked meat wrapped in rice covered in a sweet sauce that had been delivered to their table. Neither item was quite what Jane had imagined sushi to be, but she trusted his judgement. When she went on dates, she always deferred to her potential partner’s expertise.
“So, how do you eat this?”
He looked at her with that mild amusement that made her feel small. “However you like.”
“But Japan is such a ritualized culture. Aren’t there like … rules?”
Her date poured soy sauce over his entire plate and stabbed the first roll with his fork.
Jane considered the shiny silver chopsticks tucked beside her plate. She’d been looking forward to using them, had assumed her date would know how. Instead, she also picked up her fork, followed his example of the soy sauce deluge.
“I appreciate how invested you are in your work,” he said. “Nursing is such an important profession.”
“Actually, I’m looking to get out of nursing. Maybe go into something with the arts.” Jane took a bite of her first California roll and nearly choked. The saltiness was on par with swallowing a gallon of ocean.
“There’s nothing for you in the arts. It’s just trust fund sycophants arguing over things that don’t matter.”
“Is that how you got into it?” Too late, Jane snapped her mouth shut. A familiar sinking feeling followed the California roll down her gullet. Another failure. To punish herself, she watched the impatient expression flicker across her date’s gaze, saw it linger too long before he was able to smooth it back into polite solicitation.
“I think I’d be good at art,” said Jane. “I know what I want when I see it.” This time her eyebrows arched with immaculately clear suggestion. He was not the one she wanted. Perhaps she should’ve been more subtle, but her
disappointment was rising disproportionately to her self-control. The man who looked like Seth sitting three tables away wasn’t helping.
Her date stood to leave. “You could’ve cancelled and saved me a drive.”
Jane smiled her goodbye. She held it even after he’d turned the corner to the restaurant’s foyer. She held it even as she felt the inevitable burn pricking the corners of her eyes. The man who looked like Seth glanced in her direction. She wondered what the real Seth was doing that night. Maybe he was sitting in his recliner watching a game. Or he was out at the farm with Tommy, her youngest brother, hunched in a deer blind. No, it was the wrong season for that.
Or he’s out on a mission, she thought. The Vanguard had just finished a trial, but sometimes, to throw the FBI off their trail, they did two close together. A sharp pain twisted in Jane’s stomach. What they do doesn’t matter. I don’t belong to that world anymore.
She picked up her chopsticks. With discrete glances to the nearby tables, she tried to imitate the motions of her fellow diners’ hands with their chopsticks. She could make her hand look like theirs, but every time she pinched a roll her grip fell apart, the chopsticks slid. The roll fell and splattered soy sauce on her best dress.
“I’ve made an executive decision.” Jane pinched her phone against her shoulder so she could unzip the cardboard carton of her frozen dinner. Her best friend Alma, sci-fi geek extraordinaire, was on the other end of the line. “I’m going to date my lava lamp.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Like soggy bread bad.”
“Maybe it’s not realistic to think people are going to pour out their passions on a first date?”
“If they don’t, it’s not passion.” Jane stood over her dinner Psycho style with a knife. She couldn’t remember which sections she was supposed to ventilate.
“You mean, it’s not Daniel.”
“No one is ever going to be Daniel.” Jane let the knife fall. She stared into space with a desperate hunger the TV dinner wouldn’t come close to satisfying.
“I saw online that he’s in Italy. You could take all those vacation days you never use and go find him.”
“I can’t go to Italy. I know nothing about Italy.”
“Even Italians don’t know enough about Italy to satisfy you.”
Jane’s gaze turned dreamy. But only for a moment before she shook herself back into reality. “He won’t remember me.”
“And yet here we are.”
CHAPTER 1
Jane saw her husband, Seth, walk across the restaurant’s foyer. She sat at a table all the way across the restaurant. He had his back to her, but she was sure it was him. The self-conscious hunch in his shoulders from always being the tall one in the room. The too casual, mismatched clothes because he did not believe appearances mattered. The stiff wariness of his body, alert for movement coming at him from any direction, a holdover from his army days, and also his current occupation as leader of the Vanguard, a grassroots organization that put celebrities on trial for sins against family values.
As the hostess guided her husband into the restaurant, Jane twisted the silky cloth napkin in her lap. In a few moments, he would see her, would come tell her date she belonged with him, in the world of mismatched clothes and higher callings. She had lost track of the conversation at her table. Beneath the table, she moved her feet to one side of her chair, prepared to spring up and run.
Seth looked right at her as he took his seat. It wasn’t him.
Because he has no reason to be here, thought Jane. He doesn’t know where I am.
“Everything alright?” asked her date.
Jane turned her attention to the man across from her.
Online, he was the perfect man for the woman she hoped to become. Three of their four interest areas—travel, food, and the arts—had been perfect matches. The outlier had been fly fishing. Jane didn’t have any interest in fly fishing. But if it was something he really cared about she could learn. She was willing to learn about anything.
Her perfect man poured the wine and studied her over the tops of his horn-rimmed glasses. Sophistication oozed from his fingertips. Jane imagined how he might transform her into a chic column of a woman, magically taller and slimmer, without bowling balls for breasts, who went to gallery openings and opera galas. A woman who could hold a conversation with his coworkers in the art world, and knowingly critique auctions at Tiffany’s.
“You don’t look anything like your profile picture,” he said, not quite joking.
“Audrey Hepburn is my alter ego.”
“Is there a reason she didn’t come on this date?”
“Profiles are so public. You never know who’s watching. I like to be mysterious.” Jane wiggled her eyebrows in a way she imagined was sexy and mysterious.
“Visibility is kind of the point.”
“So … I went to that exhibit you did—The Impressionists? So beautiful. It was like being in a dream.”
He cringed, tastefully. “You’re one of ten people who saw that disaster, thank God.”
“I didn’t think it was that bad.”
Jane took a deep breath. Calm. You’re in a safe place. She had prepared these thoughts on art and his exhibit to impress him. Now, all the words felt jumbled. She found herself saying something a little too close to her truth. “We all want to create our version of reality, but those artists—Monet, Renoir—actually achieved it.”
The more enthusiasm she forced into her voice, the more distressed her date appeared.
The waiter brought their food. Both Jane and her date took advantage of the interruption to withdraw into their wine glasses and regroup. They surveyed the two identical orders of California rolls and some kind of cooked meat wrapped in rice covered in a sweet sauce that had been delivered to their table. Neither item was quite what Jane had imagined sushi to be, but she trusted his judgement. When she went on dates, she always deferred to her potential partner’s expertise.
“So, how do you eat this?”
He looked at her with that mild amusement that made her feel small. “However you like.”
“But Japan is such a ritualized culture. Aren’t there like … rules?”
Her date poured soy sauce over his entire plate and stabbed the first roll with his fork.
Jane considered the shiny silver chopsticks tucked beside her plate. She’d been looking forward to using them, had assumed her date would know how. Instead, she also picked up her fork, followed his example of the soy sauce deluge.
“I appreciate how invested you are in your work,” he said. “Nursing is such an important profession.”
“Actually, I’m looking to get out of nursing. Maybe go into something with the arts.” Jane took a bite of her first California roll and nearly choked. The saltiness was on par with swallowing a gallon of ocean.
“There’s nothing for you in the arts. It’s just trust fund sycophants arguing over things that don’t matter.”
“Is that how you got into it?” Too late, Jane snapped her mouth shut. A familiar sinking feeling followed the California roll down her gullet. Another failure. To punish herself, she watched the impatient expression flicker across her date’s gaze, saw it linger too long before he was able to smooth it back into polite solicitation.
“I think I’d be good at art,” said Jane. “I know what I want when I see it.” This time her eyebrows arched with immaculately clear suggestion. He was not the one she wanted. Perhaps she should’ve been more subtle, but her disappointment was rising disproportionately to her self-control. The man who looked like Seth sitting three tables away wasn’t helping.
Her date stood to leave. “You could’ve cancelled and saved me a drive.”
Jane smiled her goodbye. She held it even after he’d turned the corner to the restaurant’s foyer. She held it even as she felt the inevitable burn pricking the corners of her eyes. The man who looked like Seth glanced in her direction. She wondered what the real Seth was doing that night. Maybe he was sitting in his recliner watching a game. Or he was out at the farm with Tommy, her youngest brother, hunched in a deer blind. No, it was the wrong season for that.
Or he’s out on a mission, she thought. The Vanguard had just finished a trial, but sometimes, to throw the FBI off their trail, they did two close together. A sharp pain twisted in Jane’s stomach. What they do doesn’t matter. I don’t belong to that world anymore.
She picked up her chopsticks. With discrete glances to the nearby tables, she tried to imitate the motions of her fellow diners’ hands with their chopsticks. She could make her hand look like theirs, but every time she pinched a roll her grip fell apart, the chopsticks slid. The roll fell and splattered soy sauce on her best dress.
“I’ve made an executive decision.” Jane pinched her phone against her shoulder so she could unzip the cardboard carton of her frozen dinner. Her best friend Alma, sci-fi geek extraordinaire, was on the other end of the line. “I’m going to date my lava lamp.”
“It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Like soggy bread bad.”
“Maybe it’s not realistic to think people are going to pour out their passions on a first date?”
“If they don’t, it’s not passion.” Jane stood over her dinner Psycho style with a knife. She couldn’t remember which sections she was supposed to ventilate.
“You mean, it’s not Daniel.”
“No one is ever going to be Daniel.” Jane let the knife fall. She stared into space with a desperate hunger the TV dinner wouldn’t come close to satisfying.
“I saw online that he’s in Italy. You could take all those vacation days you never use and go find him.”
“I can’t go to Italy. I know nothing about Italy.”
“Even Italians don’t know enough about Italy to satisfy you.”
Jane’s gaze turned dreamy. But only for a moment before she shook herself back into reality. “He won’t remember me.”
“And yet here we are.”
“You can’t understand what it was like to have someone open up a world you had no idea existed and then never see them again.”
“Sure I do. You just don’t want to believe I have those skills. For example, last night Ben Browder came through his wormhole trying to find his lost love Claudia Black. He found me instead and decided to stay.”
“Is that the guy from the show with the big circle that takes people to other planets or the one where Earth is destroyed, and humanity is homeless and being chased around the galaxy by robots?”
“Neither. Seriously, I’m offended. You’re all about learning everything there is to know about everything else but it’s fine that sci-fi for you stops at Star Wars.”
“What I had with Daniel is not what you think you have with Ben Bower.”
“Browder.”
“Maybe Daniel knows him.”
“We could both go to Italy and find ourselves some B-list movie stars.”
“He’s probably become some self-entitled jerk who seduces a new woman every night just because he can.”
“Why would he stop at one?”
Jane hated this suggestion so much, she couldn’t think of a reply.
“Alright, forget Daniel, and forget soggy bread guy,” said Alma. “Speed dating has always been our density.”
“You still want to go? I thought things were going well with that guy you met online. The one who’s always asking personal questions?”
“I’m keeping my options open. Pick you up at eight?”
“For your sake, I will go. But I go under protest.” Jane accidentally on purpose stabbed her TV dinner so hard it flew off the counter.
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