Dream On: A Rom Com

Permutation

DEON

Deon manages to snare a corner table on the deck, thanks to his reservation. Made the moment Lucy agreed to the shopping spree he cooked up.

The rambunctious dinner crowd is in full swing––high-wattage garlic, onion and oregano goodness wafting from the various plates, carried by the faint wind. He loves Permutation, loves the way it overhangs the water, lights blink, sailboats berthed a few hundred yards away.

Once they're seated, relief washes over him much as it did when Lucy appeared earlier without Phoebe in tow. Things are changing because he's changing them. He takes a longing look at Lucy, head bent over her phone, scrolling, curly hair with glints of natural red tousled like curly fries. The difference is he's responsible for his own happiness. The evening is morphing into the intimate, romantic outing he was hoping for.

Lucy raises her head from the phone and smiles, continues swiping, the glow from her red blouse reflecting on her face. He wants to stretch out a hand, cup her face, refocus her attention from the phone to himself.

She's animated, electric, talking while she swipes. "One sec while I find...it's here somewhere." She's always busy, fidgeting, talking. Miles away from his Melinda, who was more on the quiet side in temperament and in taste. For once, his thoughts don't make him feel disloyal, and he sighs deep inside, relieved at the lack of guilt. Melinda would welcome his moving on. He's sure of it. And that is a huge difference. Huge and new.

"Found it. All of my students will be on Instagram next fall," says Lucy, looking up. "Videos. IGTV. All our experiments and projects." She holds the phone up and he crans his neck, checks out the photos and nods.

"A few of them sent me stuff today. Can you believe it?"

"Great," he says, putting energy behind his praise. "They're into it." He wants to talk about other things, put aside Instagram, students, talk about them.

He calls over the server and orders a bottle of wine. Extra courage is indeed on the menu.

Lucy's nails match her red blouse which matches her lipstick. Flamboyance is her middle name. He savors the sound of that sentence in his head and opens his mouth to tell her, but she brandishes the phone, her shiny red lips curving in a smile.

She leans in, as if she's sharing a secret. "I'm already planning lessons," she says, matter of factly, "for the coming year."

"Lessons? You're kidding." His spirit deflates along with the belief that he can inject even a hint of romance into the conversation.

"I know it's annoying hearing about this stuff all the time. But see, I'm really into...it's the great motivator." Lucy breaks off a piece of popover and smoothes butter on it, takes an enthusiastic bite. She looks around the deck. "This place is lovely. You've brought me to a lovely place. Did you used to come here with Melinda?"

The question startles Deon, but he recovers, asks Lucy how she knew.

"I didn't really, but it's a romantic spot and we don't usually...well, we three hit the more down-home eateries, don't we?"

"Well, tonight I thought––" Before Deon responds, the wine comes, and grateful for the waiter's generous pour, Deon nods and tilts his glass toward Lucy, takes a long drink. A sense of well-being swims through him. Why, he's not sure. He's never been much of a drinker. Nor, unlike Lucy, has he given next year a thought, barely shrugged off the stress of the last few months. The private clients, mostly adults, are a welcome change from the intense scrutiny of the school year.