Five Minute Read: It Was You

Miranda looked down at the cocktail beside her on the bar countertop. The heavy layer of condensation on the glass spoke for itself: she wasn’t actually interested in drinking it. Glancing around at the smattering of other bar patrons, she wasn’t even sure she wanted to be here.

            But then again, there was really nowhere else to go.

            “It’ll get better. I know the words are trite, but they’re true.”

            Glancing up at the words, Miranda tried to smile at Sam. Sam wasn’t just the bartender of The Oasis Bar, where she currently found herself, though he was certainly happiest when he was allowed to play the part–snug in a pair of black slacks with a fitted t-shirt cloaked around his body. Sam owned the establishment and was just as frequently found crunching numbers in the back office as he was up in the public view, slinging drinks and cracking jokes.

            Friends almost all their lives, when he’d found out what happened…well, he’d all but insisted that Miranda come down for a couple of drinks. On the house.

            “I know.” Her words were small, uneven as they came out of her trembling mouth. She hated the weakness and hurt she couldn’t disguise. Especially because she did know. She’d get over the hurt. The betrayal and deception. She’d even get over the small part of her that wanted revenge–that sincerely hoped that Matt and Shannon’s runaway romance would blow up in their faces, that she’d be left with mascara stains and he’d get pudgy, walled within a life of quiet desperation.

            But tonight. Tonight she was too hurt, her body screaming and protesting in a kind of breathless pain, to do anything but remember to…well to breathe.

            “Where are you staying tonight?”

            Shrugging one shoulder, Miranda realized she should probably give that question due thought and consideration. To go home was not an option. Even though Matt and Shannon wouldn’t be there…were in fact on their flight to Hawaii for their honeymoon…she couldn’t face the implications, the history and dashed hopes that would greet her at the door. She couldn’t face her imminent departure—like a piece of furniture that lost its function.

            She was supposed to be the one marrying Matt—granted, he hadn’t asked yet but it had been a part of their future. Once. Two years they’d been together. Two years, almost from the date of their first kiss, they’d moved in together. Pictures of them dotted the walls and shelves of their apartment—a perfectly happy couple smiling back at the camera.

            And then, in one instant, an instant in which she’d had no say, they simply weren’t dating anymore. She was left alone. He was left with someone else’s ring on his finger.  

            He’d never let on. Never let on that he’d fallen in love with his co-worker. Miranda’s teeth ground together as a picture of Shannon floated in her eyes. Long, willowy frame and dark hair and large oval eyes with an open, honest smile. The snake.  

            Dammit, Miranda had liked Shannon. She’d welcomed her into their home. Into their social circle. Stupid fool that she was, she’d thought nothing of their inside jokes or secret smiles. She’d chalked it up to professional camaraderie. She’d enjoyed not having to listen to his boring stories about this client or that one. She’d been happy to let them carry on without her.

            She just hadn’t realized then what that meant.   

            “It’s been going on for a while now.” Matt’s words came back to torment her, the bar darkening around her at the remembered intrusion of his voice. Her eyes only saw the sorrowful look in his eyes, the way he’d reached out to touch her, shrinking back when she shook him away.

            “You’re, you’re married?” She repeated, for what must have been the tenth time. Her eyes felt too dry, and her voice shrill as she snapped her fingers. “Just like that?” She shook her head, not offering him the opportunity to speak. “But that doesn’t. We’re, we’re…” She pointed between herself and Matt, her movements robotic, slow with the weight of shock barring down on her. 
            “It wasn’t…we didn’t plan this,” Shannon said, speaking for the first time since Miranda had unlocked her front door to find them, sitting together on the sofa, their hands clutched together, waiting for her. They’d stood up in unison as she’d hesitated over the threshold, their faces a mixture of sympathy and excitement.

            “You,” Miranda spat, her finger wagging toward that woman now. “You can shut up.”

            “Miranda…”

            Rounding on Matt, she poked that same finger into his chest then. “You too. Both of you. Get out. Get out right now.”

            In mutual agreement, they’d left. Even that small shift in the power dynamic was short-lived. The text message she’d received from him a few hours later made that clear. Technically, the apartment was in Matt’s name. He’d offered to let her stay there until she found another place. He was really sorry and he hated to know that he’d hurt her. Anyway, he and Shannon would be leaving for their honeymoon in the morning, so she’d have plenty of uninterrupted time to make any decisions necessary…  

            “I just… I can’t believe it,” Miranda said now, her lips as numb as her whirling thoughts.

            “I know.” Sam nodded. A mutual friend of both her and Matt, he was in a fine predicament himself.

            “Did you?” Taking a deep breath, her eyes trained on the rivet of water running down her bucket glass, Miranda forced herself to ask the question. “Did you know?”

            “No.”

            Feeling the pressure of his finger under her chin, Miranda allowed him to lift her face to his. His green eyes stared earnestly back into her brown ones. “I promise, I didn’t know. I would have never…”

            A film of tears danced in Miranda’s eyes. Her throat swallowed hard as Sam’s face, the high cheekbones and ruggedly outlined jaw, swam before her gaze.

            “What am I supposed to do now?”

            “Heal,” he said shortly. “And then move on.”

            She sniffed. “That’s easy for you to say.”

            Sam lifted one eyebrow, but his voice was neutral when he questioned that. “Me? Why’s that?”

            “Oh, come off it,” Miranda said, trying to tease her way out of a complete meltdown in the middle of a bar full of people she did not know. “You never date anyone seriously. You walk and walk out of relationships as easy as that, leaving only a trail of tears in your wake.”

            His eyes widened. “Ouch.”

            “Oh, I’m not saying…I’m not criticizing you,” Miranda said, reaching out to touch his shoulder. “But you don’t really have experience in this department.”

            “Having my heart broken?” His look of mockery was rich and full.

            Miranda, however, rose to the challenge thoughtlessly. “Yeah.”

            “Well,” leaning back, Sam reached under the bar counter, coming up with a white towel. Using it to wipe down the bar beside her, he laughed. “As to that, you couldn’t be more wrong.”

            Miranda let her head tilt a little to one side. Then a laugh broke out of her throat. “Nope, no dice.” She grinned, the first genuine one of the night. “Nice try, but I’ve known you since kindergarten and I think I’d remember you crying into a pint of ice cream over some girl…”

            Sam’s look was shuddered now, but her voice remained calm, even. “Now’s not the time for this conversation.”

            “I happen to disagree.” Placing both elbows on the bar, Miranda leaned in closer, her eyes watching Sam’s movements, which were taking him steadily farther and farther down the bar counter, the towel circling the already-clean space. “I need a good distraction. And it was your idea to have me come here tonight.”

            Straightening up, Sam chucked the bar towel toward the utility sink on his side of the bar. Then he met her gaze. Those aqua eyes were narrowed but there wasn’t any anger inside of them. “Okay? I’ll make a deal with you then.”

            Miranda snorted but she played along. “Yeah?”

            Sam nodded toward her—indicating the mussed hair her hands had ravaged and the make-up more than a little smeared under her eyes. “Give yourself time to get over Matt and what he did to you. Once you aren’t about to burst into tears at the mere mention of his name …I’ll tell you the story.”

            Pouting now, because Sam usually let her have her way, and tonight more than most, she needed that, Miranda let out a gusty sigh. “Seems hardly fair.”

            “Believe me, it’s fair.”

            “Why?”

            “Because my heartache isn’t going to make yours any less. In fact, it’ll probably make it worse. It’ll scratch at the surface of your own pain.”

            Miranda took a moment to respond. She knew his words made sense, even if they felt a bit like overkill. “Fine.” Still, she wasn’t one to give up when she wanted answers to questions. Her lips pulled up to one side mischievously in negotiation. “One month then.”

            Sam’s lips mirrored hers. “At least six weeks.”

            “Six weeks.” Miranda tasted the words. But one look at Sam and she knew it was the best deal she was likely to get. Sam was rarely private, especially about his love life. If he’d kept this secret, and from one of his best friends, she figured it must be pretty good.

            The insensitive thought was followed quickly by a swamping sense of shame. What if…? “Do you…” her words came out coarsely, fumbling. “This is…this heartbreak. Was it recent?” Could she have been so blind that she’d missed everything? Her boyfriend and now her best friend? Was she so self-involved that no one cared to talk to her anymore? To tell her what was going on in their life, in their hearts…?  

            Sam shook his head, but the word came slowly. “No.”

            A rush of relief swamped her. And then, gulping past a billowing cloud in her throat, she croaked out: “How long did it take you to move on?”

            Sam gave her a gentle look. “There’s no rulebook on a timeline.”

            Miranda nodded. Her thoughts were far away, fixating on a time when she wouldn’t feel this crushing threat of nothingness. “Six weeks then. Six weeks. I’ll be sitting right here and you’ll be spilling everything. You hear?”

            Sam nodded. “Heard.”

            “Sam?”

            “What?” He asked, exasperation lining the word.

            “Do I know her?”            

“You could say that,” he said, before turning around and heading toward the till. Out of sight of her, his words far too soft to be overheard, he added: “After all, it was you.”