The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara
Four
When I arrive in San Francisco, the weather is fantastic. Brilliant sunshine, short-sleeve temperature. Simply perfect.
I call and then text David, but there’s no response. He doesn’t know I’m here or how terrible the last twenty-four hours have been, I remind myself. I hope he’s going to be excited when he sees me. He’ll tell me everything will be fine, and I’ll find another job quickly, and I’ll smile, although I know it’s a lie. It’s hard to find another job when your previous boss hates you and is most likely not writing you a recommendation. But I don’t want to think about this now. Also, I don’t want to think that David might not be as supportive as I’m hoping. Our relationship has been struggling lately. No negative thoughts; just good vibes. I’ll think about this beautiful day spent here. And how it will help us and how amazing and romantic it will be.
I congratulate myself on the idea as I sit on a bench in front of the airport and wait for David to see my messages and call me back. I didn’t tell him in my text that I’m here. Just that I have a surprise and he should get back to me ASAP.
There are so many people around, all rushing to get somewhere, maybe meet someone. If I stayed here, I’d have enough material for fifty stories. I pull my notebook and take a few notes.
I don’t even realize when time passes, and when I recheck my phone, I notice it’s been almost twenty minutes. And there’s still no sign from him.
Knock knock,I text him.
Nothing. Five more minutes. Ten. Fifteen. It’s now been over forty minutes. I text again.
Finally, my phone beeps. A message from David.
Who are you looking for?
I’m looking for a man,I text. The reply comes seconds later.
I’m a man, but I doubt you’re looking for me
He’s funny. I respond in the same tone.
How about this then? I’m looking for a love connection.
Sure, OK. Can you describe the owner of the phone please and give me a name?
Blond. Tall. Hunky. Surfer-like. David, the best boyfriend on the East Coast.
A few seconds later.
Now I know who it is. Are you guys still at Embarcadero?
He does have a talent for pushing things too far sometimes. Limits, David, limits.
Stop, I text back. But I don’t get a chance to send it, because a new text arrives.
Does he want his phone or not?
My fingers clench on the phone. I don’t know how to react. It’s like I’m numb.
Who are you and why do you have David’s phone? I don’t understand.
I’m genuinely starting to panic, and I have a bad feeling about all this. I thought it was David making a joke, but now, I’m not sure it’s him.
He left it in my car. You must be the blonde in the red dress? I’m the Lift driver who dropped you two off earlier. You guys were quite busy in the back seat; no wonder he forgot it.
The blonde? What blonde? This is either a sick joke or a terrible misunderstanding.
Not a blonde and I haven’t worn a dress in ages. David was with a blonde in your car?
I take a deep breath, trying to calm down. What’s going on? This can’t be happening.
Oops. Sorry, he texts back.
Ooops, sorry? I feel like crying and screaming at the same time. Is this for real?
If you’re not the woman I met, then who are you?
Just David’s girlfriend of 5 years!! No big deal.
Now I’m starting to feel angry and humiliated. I take deep breaths, and my hands shake.
Maybe they were just friends,he texts.
I thought you said they were all over each other. That doesn’t sound like friends.
He doesn’t text back.
How naïve of me. Flying thousands of miles to surprise him on his ‘business trip’. What a fool I’ve been. What a fool. Business trips, that’s what they’re called now?
The man texts me back. Don’t want to be insensitive, but what do you want me to do with the phone? Bring it to you?
Sure. Whatever.
Where are you?
At the airport like an idiot. Just came from NYC to surprise him.
I’m really sorry,he texts. I feel guilty now.
A minute later. How will I recognize you?
Green-blue backpack, Guns N’ Roses T-shirt and jeans. Brunette—NOT BLONDE, OK? Shoulder-length hair. Sunglasses. Sat right outside arrivals.