Diverted

Marla toyed with the doily-shaped napkin, turning it over in her slim hands while she waited for the event bartender to mix her old-fashioned. To say it was an event was an understatement. It was the wedding of the year. She laid it flat on the bar counter, running her fingers over the edges that felt like Braille. In the center of the napkin were embossed the names of the bride and groom, a perfect flow of calligraphy, a time stamp of love and largesse. The bartender, Alex, set her drink on top of the future Burns' decorative napkin, giving her a wink which was meant to inspire a generous tip. She winked back halfheartedly, dejected by her circumstances of being solo. Fumbling for some errant dollar bills, she placed them in a fanned-out sprawl, reminiscent of a casino dealer but intended to highlight her generosity. All she really wanted was for him to keep pouring them, especially since the wedding hadn't started. One hour to go. She needed to be drunk to endure the nuptials.

She had met the groom, Dan, on a flight ten years earlier, a random encounter. Running through the concourse at Hartsfield, she had barely made it to the gate before the last call. She found her seat quickly, the only empty one, and fidgeted with the seatbelt. A flight attendant interrupted her boisterous wranglings with the latch, inviting her to move to the exit row. A passenger had decided they were ill-equipped to handle the responsibilities of extra leg room. It was the first win of that ill-fated day. The second win was seeing Dan, sitting erect in his seat, pretending to be all absorbed in his kindle. She noticed his averted gaze as he took a peek at her cleavage. A nondescript smile passed over his lips, fleeting but detectable. She liked the looks of him with his short cut brown hair, hints of freckles on his aging face, his slender nose and lips that were as inviting as they were alluring. She held her breath, scared to break the silence.

Knowing she couldn’t hold her breath the entire flight, she mustered the courage for a question, an innocent inquiry, “What are you reading?”

He glanced over, sitting up straighter, arranging his body in a more open stance, “Nothing now,” and he smiled, looking at her in a way that she had always wanted to be the recipient.

During their journey to Philadelphia, they touched on every subject, at least all of the forbidden ones. He cajoled her for her Marxist leanings. She responded with a vociferous shaking of her head, her blonde hair falling out of the soft upsweep she had contrived with a too big hairclip.

“No, no, I gave up all of my leftist ideology after my internship with the Democratic party. It was filled with intrigue, all kinds of sordid corruption and orgies,” and she laughed with her admission. “No, no, that came out wrong,” she backtracked embarrassingly, “I wasn’t a participant!”

He laughed with her, smitten with the brash naivete. She had a face full of wonder.

“Since we haven’t sorted out the politics, how about religion?” he looked at her knowingly, a quiet searching.

“Mmmmmm, that’s the heaviest question, isn’t it? You’re asking me, if I believe?” she looked toward the aisle, motioning the flight attendant for another round of Heinekens.

“I would like to believe in angels, protective forces that lead, and guide and provide comfort. Keep us safe. I have a harder time with the heaven and hell concepts; my mind perceives that we’re stuck in that balance now. Each day is its own heaven or hell, so I think we continue coming back, reliving the adventure, finding the people that complete our souls.”

Their eyes locked and they reflexively raised their fresh beers to the idea, to the unsaid acknowledgement that perhaps this meeting wasn’t a chance encounter.

“And you?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m Catholic,” and that smile flashed again.

“Such an easy one - you don’t believe in anything,” they laughed, a mirthful exchange within their shared connection.

“Okay,” she said, “Now we’re to the good stuff. S - E - X,” she spelled the word, a shyness emerging.

He leaned in closer, “Do I want it with you? The answer is yes.”

The skipping of her heart and the tightening of her chest returned. She wanted to kiss him right there in the middle of the plane, in front of everyone. Instead, she took a miscalculated sip of the beer, and the cold liquid slid down her chin, an opportunity for him to more longingly look at her cleavage as it fell in the perfect spot.

“I presume we’re both married,” she said.

“The rings are a dead giveaway.”

The banter entertained them as they hurled through time and space, the plane landing at its destination, the new found friends departing regretfully to their separate hotels. There were many times she replayed that last minute, changing history by getting into that cab with him. The history changed only in her mind; the reality, a constant gnaw of an anguished nostalgia.

It didn’t stop them from the occasional flirtatious conversation, a reconnection as they shared triumphs and losses, news of divorces, new jobs, relocations, and new loves. Marla had wistfully hoped that the fates would intervene. Her recent separation from her husband was prolonged and exacting. By the time she found herself in a single state, worthy of partnering, Dan had adoringly announced his engagement to Allie. He had pulled out all of the fanfare in the Hamptons, nonetheless. It was the fairytale, a real-life unfolding. Marla gulped down the old-fashioned alongside the inherent bitterness, beckoning Alex for a heavy refill.

She hadn’t seen Dan since arriving. At first, she thought it odd that he had invited her, but they had carried on as friends. It made sense, especially given that she was in the Charleston area for business. Alex promptly set her on the path of potential tailspin, the third drink in hand.

Twirling the orange peel in the rocks glass, she heard the voice, distant and approaching. She couldn’t turn her head. She was frozen in anticipation.

“I’m so glad you came. You look beautiful, Marla. Wow, what has it been? A decade?” the words tumbled out of his mouth.

She adjusted toward the left, watching him slide onto the bar stool next to her. They stared at each other, Marla biting her lip, Dan holding her in his mind’s eye. He hadn’t expected her to be more captivating than the original meeting. He was riveted by her eyes, the gentleness in her being, her taut body ready for the unclaimed action.

“I see you’re starting the reception before the wedding,” he gave her his magnanimous smile, “trust me, I’ve been doing the same.”

She lingered in his gaze, letting the words hang between them, resisting the urge to steal that overdue kiss.

“Oh yeah, I was just trying to find myself, gather my thoughts, unwind really. I’m speechless, Dan. You look great, happy….” she stabbed at the orange peel like she could beat back the remorse of inaction.

“Let’s talk more at the reception. I have to run now to get some photos with the groomsmen,” standing up, he placed his hand on her bare shoulder. “You really do look lovely.”

She watched him walk away, glancing back at her, as he fulfilled his obligations.

***

Seated on the third-row aisle, Marla sank into the light afterglow of the alcohol, watching the wedding procession, but seeing nothing. There were crisp colors, and lights and sounds of staid but hopeful music. Dan passed her in his dashing tuxedo, tall and fit. Allie flitted by, a white, blissful breeze. The vows were traditional and succinct, a reiteration of sentiments shared by innumerable couples. When it came to Dan’s turn, he recited back the lines, careful to enunciate. In the pivotal moment, he paused, scanning the crowd. Only a few guests saw their souls engage, as Marla mouthed for him the words, “I do.”