the road not taken

I'm early to dinner, but the longer he takes to arrive, the more anxious I get. I've practiced what it is I want to say in the mirror since the moment I called him to meet, but every word I prepared goes out the door when he comes through it. He's dressed in a nice suit. I haven't seen him in a suit since prom, and he's only grown up even more handsome.

The host asks how many in his party, and he explains he is meeting someone, but before he can say my name, his eyes meet mine, and my breath catches in my throat. You can do this, Dora. I tell myself, trembling in my hands. His face lights up, and the host seems to try to stop him until he sees I stand and open my arms for him.

"Noah," I say in one breath, and before I know it, we're hugging, and it's like no time at all has passed. He's the same boy I left behind all those years ago. No. He's a man now, but he hasn't changed. He's become more like the man I always knew he would be. He smells like cedarwood and I don't want to let him go.

"How've you been Dora?" He asks, with a massive smile, pulling back far too soon.

I don't have the capacity to put into words how I really am, so I just say, "I'm so... happy to see you." Noah knows me well enough that he must sense the anguish I've been in.

"Come, sit," he pulls out my chair for me and sits across from me, resting his coat on the back of his chair, and I find myself staring at him. I've seen and worked with some gorgeous men (and women) in my life, and none of them hold a candle to Noah in my mind. And in a moment, I imagine the life I could have if I hadn't gone to New York. If I hadn't ever stepped foot on the stage, or put on a costume that I wouldn't take off for seven years. Noah and I could have the future we always joked about. 

A wedding by the water, a home in the country. A home filled with children and animals and messes in the kitchen, giggles and puddles, fingerpaintings and gingerbread, and joy bursting at the seams of the house. When he speaks again, he pulls me from my fantasy, back into our reality. Six feet of distance across an empty table, a half-empty restaurant, and a few stares and whispers in my direction that I pretend not to notice.

"I had the chance to see your last show before it closed. It was magnificent. You were magnificent." He looks at his lap when he says that last part. Is it possible for a heart to lift and sink at the same time?

"You didn't come to the stage door. Why?" I ask, trying to be nonchalant, but he knows me better than that.

He shakes his head and shrugs. "I didn't think you'd want me to."

If he'd come to the stage door, maybe I could have left so much sooner. Maybe he would have pulled me out so I wouldn't have to do it myself. Maybe he would've told me he loves me so I could save myself time worrying.

"Of course I would've," I say quietly and play with my napkin in my lap. 

There's awkward quiet for a while until the waiter brings us two glasses of champagne. I find myself sitting up straighter and taking the champagne in one hand while resting my other palm open on the table for him to take. Fingerpaintings and gingerbread, doggies, and Christmas lights. It's all within reach, and there's only one person I'd want it with, and it's now or never.

"Noah, there is something I must tell you." I blurt, and there's no going back now. He raises his eyebrows and leans forward, listening. Suddenly we're kids again, on the playground sharing a first kiss that we would never speak of again. I fear I'll give up my resolve, but one look at his beautiful eyes brings me back.

I blow out a breath and say, "I want to come back. I don't want to be in New York anymore. I was wrong to leave in the first place, because I want to be with you, Noah. It's always been you, and there'll never be anybody else that I love the way I love you." I stop talking and look at him. An intangible look crosses his face, but I'm not immediately certain it's reciprocation. He clicks his tongue in his mouth and looks at the table.

"Isadora..." he says. He never says my full name, and I know I'm in trouble. My heart turns to cement, dragging me down while a lump forms in my throat.

"Please," I whisper. My voice cracks, giving me away.

"Dora, you know I've always loved you," he whispers and leans closer, to keep prying ears from listening. "But I'm engaged." I can only focus on my breaths and making sure I don't cry until I'm alone again. His eyes are so soft and apologetic that I can't even be mad at him. This is on me. There's nobody to blame but me. "I loved you that way once, but I love her now, and I want to marry her. You... you're some big actress with a life on the stage, in front of people. You're this ethereal being. Everyone wants you. I couldn't make you happy, Dora."

The room seems to chill and I can't meet his eyes. If he can't make me happy, nobody can; he's the only person who ever could. 

"Dora, look at me, please," he reaches out and touches me, and an electric ache spreads from my heart, into my shoulders and neck and down my arms, and he gets blurry through the tears in my eyes. "Please, look at me."

The fantasy seems to crumble around me, and I'm left six feet apart from a man I love in a suit meant for someone else.

"I can't," I whisper. "I'm sorry." I gather my things and stand from the table, accidentally bumping into a vase and the chair before I start for the door.

"Dora!" Noah calls as I'm out the door, wiping at my cheeks. I don't want to wait around for a cab, so I start walking back to my hotel in the rain. Noah comes out a minute later, yelling after me, and he at least deserves the dignity of a proper goodbye, so I stop.

"Noah, I'm so sorry," I turn around and say to him. "Please forget I said anything."

"I can't forget that, Dora," he says. The look in his eyes gives me hope. If this was a movie, he'd say to hell with her and pull me close in a sweeping embrace and kiss me the way I've wished for ten years, the way he did when we were just kids on a playground who never spoke of it again. But as he stands there, six feet away, his new suit getting wet with the rain and his stupid apologetic eyes that I must forgive, I know this isn't a movie. This isn't a fantasy.

And I must let him go.

I kiss him on the cheek, whisper, "I hope she'll love you how I always have." He swallows hard and smiles sadly, and then he lets me go.