And yet again...

10:30 pm. Almost ready.

I debate on whether I want to put on lipstick. I shouldn’t want him. I could do better.

I decide to put some on anyway. Glancing at the dishes I should take care of, the painting I should be working on tonight, I wonder if I’m making the best choice.

Sighing, I put away my things, grab my coat and totebag. Wait.

I go to my bedroom, where Mittens is napping on my chair. I pet her and smile to myself before leaving. At least she’ll be here if this goes to shit.

I check the time–10:50 pm– and sprint down the road to catch the train at the subway.

__________________________________

I find him before he realizes I’m there. “Well, I can’t believe you’re here earlier than me for once.”

He grins from the seat in the two-person booth, the only one in this pub from the past ten years. “Well, it’s pretty late in the evening and I already finished everything I needed to, so I didn’t have much else to do.”

I hummed in response. Once again, I was feeling a pit beginning to form in my stomach. Guess his tendency to give me time and attention only when convenient for him hasn’t changed. I should never think otherwise.

Not everything about him has remained unchanged though.

“Decided to throw out those damn contacts, huh?” Along with his new glasses, he also has light, neat-looking facial hair. Guess he finally figured out how to groom it. And unfortunately, those two together have been a lethal combination for me if I found the person sporting them to be attractive. Let alone him. I am royally screwed.

Still smiling, he nods. “I feel like I’m too old-”

The bartender shouts from the bar as he’s reaching for a liquor bottle in the underneath cabinets. “Oi! What’re you two getting tonight?”

“The chicken tacos! And make them spicy, Mitch!” He shouts back.

“Mitch, none for me! Give me the chicken salad.” I add.

My companion eyes me and chuckles. “You don’t want to have the taco-eating contest with me? You’re really going to break our little tradition?”

I shrug. “No, not really in the mood tonight.”

“Oh come on, I was really looking forward to it.”

I look at his face properly for the first time since I sat down. His eyes are so full of hope, his face tender. I feel my cheeks flush. “Ha. Alright, you’ve persuaded me. Great job.”

“Eh, can it really be a true skill of persuasion if your opponent is very, very susceptible?” He smirks.

11:10 pm. And we don’t even start catching up on stuff from the last five years. We talk so much about nothing important, about how the pub and its menu has changed so much since 10 years ago. I mention how I think all restaurants are losing their uniqueness in trying to become modernized and “trendy” – he agrees. Which leads us to talk about Sunny’s diner, to wonder if it’s still around, to agreeing that their big breakfast deal for $5 is either definitely not around or definitely not $5 anymore…

The tacos come, and he, unsurprisingly, eats more than me, but comments how much closer I got to eating the same amount as him.

We continue on our journey of talking about the mundane things as though they were the most important topics concerning everyone in our locale. The sudden start of rain reminds me to mention how the it makes every red and green pop out more.

“You say this every time we meet.” He mentions, his eyes holding mischief, mirth, and no malice.

“And every time, it remains true.” I retort.

11:45pm. More banter, more nothing, and I remember just how good it felt to have his attention when I did. He chooses this time to get us each a Rum and Coke.

“I can’t believe they killed her off. She was everything that made the show good.”

“Hey weren’t you the one that didn’t like her character for the first few seasons?” I ask.

“I mean I thought she was just always unlikeable. And grumpy.” He strokes the surface of his glass. “But then you can see why she became that way. And how she’s the most genuine of them all. And kind.” He looks at me. “Which reminds me, how’s Mittens? Does she still hiss and hide in the corner every time someone comes over?”

“She’s not a kitten anymore.” I hold his gaze. “But yeah, correct. I think I’ll let it slide that you just compared my cat to one of the most unlikable anime characters ever.” I point a fork at him. “But you’re on thin ice. ”

He wheezes. His laugh is contagious and I follow, finding any hesitation I had giving myself to the moment eroding away.

He eyes me with a smile on his face. “I really love your hair. I guess you finally cut it short the way you wanted.”

“Hmm..”

His face gets serious, no humor or mischief for the first time tonight. “It really suits you though. You look like you were born for it. Looks more you than any other haircut I’ve seen you have.”

“Thanks.”

“And the piercings and tattoos.” He pauses and then continues casually. “A lot has changed in the past 5 years, hasn’t it?”

“In some ways, yeah, of course, in some ways, no.” Silence. “But I’m old enough to not be, I don’t know, fascinated by that? That pattern of things… I’ve seen it so many times. It’s all boring now.”

“I’d have to disagree with you there.”

I huff. “What do you mean?”

“Life can always be fresh if you just go for what you want.”

I feel my forehead tense and my face burn. “So why didn’t you?”

“..wha-“

“Why didn’t you?” I hiss. “You know how I felt about you all that time ago, and you said you wanted it too, but you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“Hey, I-“

“What excuse are you going to bring up this time?”

He pauses. “You know I was going through shit, I had to leave—“

“Yeah and you married Anya when you were gone. After dating for, what, half a year?”

“Things just were never set for us to get together, y’know.” He responds, with no humility, but rather audaciously.

“Y’know, maybe the clouds didn’t have to be aligned for you to grow a fucking spine.”

I stand up, give Mitch a twenty, and leave.

The rain has stopped, and I assumed earlier in the night that there would be haze all around right about now. There isn't.

The church’s bell rings. I don't need to check the time. I already know what it would say.

12.am.