The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 12

Chris and I are going out for dinner.

When I agreed to meet up, I didn’t really expect an intimate meal for two at one of my long-time favourite restaurants. He used to bring me here for special occasions like my birthday. I haven’t been back since we broke up. But he’s always been this way; when he pays attention to you, he really pays attention to you. He charms you. He seduces you.

Not that I want him to seduce me. I want him to pay me.

I need him to pay me. This morning I had been determined to turn down his business. I could make do without it. At least I could have, until my mixer decided to stop working this afternoon. Obviously, I have a back-up, but my back-up isn’t as good. And she isn’t as big. My favourite gal makes the smoothest Swiss meringue buttercream and is so big she has her own table. I think of it as her throne. I just hope she can be fixed instead of replaced. Fixing her will be costly but replacing her will be crippling. I might have to start buying things just to return them so I can remember what it’s like to have money coming into my bank account. It hasn’t been a good day, and tonight’s meeting, tonight’s dinner, could go either way.

I spent most of the day trying not to overthink, so of course most of my day was taken up with overthinking. Despite my hopes that seeing him again will lessen the effect he is currently having on me, and more importantly on my sex life, I keep penduluming between thinking it is a great idea, and thinking it is a terrible idea.

I want to make sure I arrive late, so I arrive ten minutes early and then hide in a shop around the corner until I am exactly seven minutes late.

I feel a rush of mixed emotions when I reach the door. I see him as soon as I enter. For a while, a while longer than I am proud to admit, I harboured a hope that once all my shit was over and dealt with, we would see each other in a very nondescript place – walking down the street or ordering a coffee at the same café – and our reunion would be serendipitous. We would get back together and all would be as it should have been. My life would get back on track.

It’s hard not to look back and see my years with Chris as my golden years. The time in my life when I was still blissfully naive. When I didn’t have to worry about broken mixers and a lack of business. Obviously, I have grown up a bit since having these thoughts and dreams and hopes; but I can still remember that I had them. And they still hold a special allure.

Chris is sitting in a booth, facing the door. He is wearing a suit. He always wore a suit to work, even though his company relaxed the dress code a couple of months after he joined. He is, or at least was, the kind of person that feels comfortable in a suit and relaxes in jeans. The collars of his shirts are always very tight, and tonight’s shirt is no different; I don’t know how he can breathe. I’ve always suspected he wore them like that to stop him eating too much. I, on the other hand, need to round my meal off with something sweet. He does look good though. He always did.

I move towards him, slowing myself down by purposefully taking the time to look around. The interior doesn’t seem to have changed that much. I can see new menus and different tableware, but everything else looks exactly the same. Stuck in time. Who knew it was possible to feel an affinity with a restaurant?

As I near, he stands and gives me a hug, his hands maybe a fraction too low to be casual. It’s mildly heartbreaking how easy it feels to hug him, how quickly I can remember the way he moves, and how easy it is to couple my own moves with his. As we break apart, I look down in an effort to calm my nerves.

‘I hope the restaurant choice was OK. I know you like it in here.’ See? Charm.

I sit down opposite him.

I do like it in here, but I hate the part of myself that likes the fact he remembers. Could it mean he still thinks about me? That he also regrets the way things ended? That he wishes things hadn’t ended? That he sometimes wonders what our life would have been like if things had been just a little different? That maybe he also occasionally plays out a scenario where we see each other across the street? Does he ever have to stop himself from saying my name during sex?

‘I do. I used to love it in here.’ I used to love you too. ‘I haven’t been here for a while though. I hope it’s still as good as it was.’

He pauses before he speaks. ‘We made so many memories here that I don’t know if I mind too much what the food tastes like.’ He pours me some water. ‘I’m really looking forward to catching up.’

I take a sip, and nod in a fairly non-committal way.

He leans back, resting one of his arms on the back of the booth. ‘I’m so proud of you for working for yourself,’ he says, then also pours me some wine. ‘I always knew you were destined for great things.’

I sip the wine. It is much more fulfilling than the water. ‘I wouldn’t exactly call what I am doing great.’

‘I would.’

I look at him. His face looks sincere. He is the same, but different. Maybe he too has done some growing up.

‘It feels a bit like fate is bringing us back together, don’t you think?’

At this I laugh.

‘I think it actually has more to do with the fact you are getting married.’ I bring it up because I need to. Otherwise I am in danger of forgetting. Of being drawn in.

I reach for the menu. ‘So, what are you going to have?’ I really need some burrata.

‘I’ve already ordered for us.’ I look up at him. ‘The bresaola to start and the tonnarelli for main. It’s what they are known for, after all.’

This is very Chris. He is always so concerned with doing what everyone thinks you should be doing. With things being perfect. With ordering the best food. With having the nicest jackets and the most expensive watches. He isn’t someone who can see beauty in imperfection. And he is always right.

In his own eyes at least.

I counter. ‘I’d actually prefer the burrata followed by the pappardelle.’

He smiles, as though he knows I am pushing back, but for no other reason than to prove I’ve changed. To prove that I’ve grown since we last had dinner together.

‘All right. Let’s get those too and we can share.’

I nod. Same same, but different.

At some point during the meal, somewhere between the first glass of wine and the main course with added pappardelle, I feel myself falling back into old habits. In some ways it’s nice. We travel back through our favourite shared memories. We bring back some in-jokes. We complain about old friends. We laugh about how much my mum loved him, and about how much it used to piss me off. How it still does. I tell him about our lunch last week and he sympathizes with me. I tell him about my business plans. My dreams. My worries. My broken mixer.

And I like it.

I hate myself, but I like it.

It is good to see him again. It’s nice to think that there is still an ‘us’, even if we aren’t quite as we were. That even if we aren’t together, what we had still means something to him, still has a hold on him. That he still remembers.

The truth is, we never really broke up. We never had the break-up conversation. He just stopped considering me. He prioritized everything else over me. I could only handle so much, and eventually handling him, and my disappointment in him, became too much. So I stopped. And then, less than a month later, I heard on the grapevine that he had started dating someone else.

I went through a phase of writing and rewriting him letters explaining why he disappointed me so much. It was an extremely therapeutic exercise, but I don’t quite have the balls to tell him in person all the things that I wrote down. But it’s easier, isn’t it, to tell someone how you really feel when they aren’t sitting right in front of you.

And it also feels a bit pointless now. Because the man across from me both is and isn’t the Chris that I know. He’s still charming, he’s attentive. But he’s also been other things: he’s been kind; he’s been supportive; he’s been the best version of himself, the version I would see glimpses of and hold out for.

I look across the table at him.

It’s undeniable that he’s flirted with me at points, but it’s also undeniable that I flirted back. I couldn’t help myself; I feel like it’s my right. I dated him for three years. Three significant years. I contributed to this person that sits opposite me now.

And for one brief moment I wonder what it would be like to go out with him again. If our reunion, no matter the slightly awkward circumstances, could be fate. I shake myself to dislodge the thought almost as soon as it pops into my mind. He is marrying someone else, a fact I cannot forget.

At this moment, the lights brighten, waking me up to our surroundings.

We’ve been sitting for so long that the staff are starting to shut down the restaurant. Tables are being set for tomorrow. The kitchen is being cleaned. The glasses have all been put back. It feels like we have only just sat down. We haven’t finished talking.

‘I guess it’s a bit late now to discuss your cake.’ I know that mentioning it will burst the reminiscence bubble, but I have to.

He is quiet for the first time since I arrived, thinking about his next question. He swills his wine glass on the table and doesn’t quite meet my eyes. ‘Do you ever wonder whether we should have ended up together?’

I exhale.

‘You’re marrying someone else.’

He looks up at me. ‘That’s not an answer.’

I don’t blink. I don’t waver. I can’t allow myself to.

‘It’s really the only answer that matters.’ Because as tricky as this might be to admit, especially when a different future somehow seems so close, so possible, it’s also very true.

He rubs his hands down his face. For the first time tonight he looks tired.

‘I know.’ He reaches for my hand. ‘But part of me always thought that you and I would end up together. That one day we would be on the same path again, and that would be that.’

I exhale as my brain registers his words. His words that are so similar to my own thoughts, but …

‘That isn’t what’s happened.’

He doesn’t appear to take my words in. Instead, he reaches out for me and strokes his thumb on the back of my hand.

This simple action rewinds time, and I let myself dip into that parallel universe where Chris and I did end up together. He played a big part in my story, so of course I am affected by both his words and his attention.

I just don’t know quite how I’m affected by them.

At this moment, our waiter comes over, and I take the opportunity to break our connection.

‘Sorry, but we’re closing now.’ Her smile is genuine and kind. She has no idea of the conversation she just interrupted. I can’t decide if I am happy or disappointed by the interruption.

Either way, the outcome is the same.

‘We should go.’

A nod is his only reply.