The Forest for the Trees
I gotta be honest - when Maria first suggested this whole 'old gang' get-together idea, I thought it was going to be weird. I mean, come on, right? My best friend and his warring wife, my ex-lifelong love and my new girlfriend? How could that not be weird? How could it possibly turn out well, right?
Except that there hasn't been a single moment of discomfort since we entered the restaurant. John was smart enough to suggest something casual, so there was no formal pretense going into it, and it really has been a pretty good reunion.
I mean, John and Maria haven't fought at all, though she has been keeping a pretty strict eye on the number of beers that the waitress has dropped off at the table. And Jamie hasn't really said much, but that's not unusual. She's normally the quietest one in the group, but she's smiling and laughing. Her shoulders are relaxed, too, which is a good sign. Ya see, when Jamie's tense, her shoulders creep up toward her ears, but not tonight. Tonight, she's totally chill at my side.
And then there's Tatum. The ever-delightful, glowing and smiling and laughing Tatum. I know I saw her briefly back in St. Louis - you remember that night when I was with Jamie back home, right? So I saw Tatum back then, but I honestly don't remember her looking quite like this. She wears LA sunshine and do-gooding really, really well. I think she could possibly light this entire restaurant up with her smile alone. And it's good to see her so healthy. Really, really good.
The only downside to the evening has been the fact that it took about twenty minutes for a waitress to take our orders, and another thirty for our food to come. Of course, we filled the time easily with conversation and reminiscing, catching up and whatnot, but it was still kind of annoying. And it gave John time to down more beer than usual on an empty stomach. Not that any of the rest of us noticed, but Maria is obviously keeping score.
And by the time I drop my fork onto my empty plate, the peaceful, easy vibe of the evening is about to get shot to shit.
When Tatum excuses herself to the restroom, I rest my arm around the back of Jamie's chair and stretch my legs under the table. Maria turns her large eyes to her husband and rests her hand on his bicep as he drains the last of his fourth beer. "You okay?" she asks him in that overly-concerned voice that makes even Jamie shift in her seat.
"Yes," John demands, his arm flinching against her touch. "Jesus, woman," he laughs a little too loudly, drawing an angry pout from his wife.
Tatum was always gifted with a sense of timing when it comes to Maria and John. And she slides back into her seat across the table just as her best friend is about to open her mouth and tell John exactly how amusing this situation is. "So, Jamie," Tatum starts, tucking her hair behind her ear and shooting one of those thousand-watt smiles at my girlfriend. "You're working in PR now?"
Jamie takes a short sip of her water and then returns the glass to the table before answering. "Yeah," she nods shyly, her blond hair creating a curtain around her cherubic face as it cascades over her shoulders. "I'm a talent liaison for the company," she explains. "I basically help these guys get everywhere they're supposed to be."
"Fuck me," Tatum exclaims, shaking her head. Her dark eyes are wide with genuine pity. "That's a horrible fucking job," she laughs, and Jamie smiles along with her.
"What?" I ask, feeling like I've missed some joke somewhere. "Why?"
Tatum just licks steak sauce from the side of her fork. "Because you," she points the utensil in my direction, "can't tell time. This one," she shrugs her shoulder toward John, "doesn't give a shit about time in general. And this one," her gaze falls on Maria, "doesn't really understand time. Kind of a foreign concept."
Both John and Maria seem to take offense to the observations, but I can't say that Tatum is wrong. I'm horrible about getting anywhere on time. And Jamie will be the first to tell you that I have given her a headache and a half on more than one occasion by being late for flights and appearances.
But Jamie doesn't bust out a story or say much of anything. "They do fine," she responds. If I was a more suspicious man, I would say that she almost sounds cold, but Jamie's fine with this. She's told me time and time again that she's fine with me seeing Tatum again, and that she's not worried about a thing. So when she checks a message on her blackberry and then cringes and reaches for her purse, I don't think anything strange about it. When she drops a kiss on my cheek and whispers, "Duty calls," it kind of surprises me.
"Seriously?"
She captures her bottom lip between her teeth and squints apologetically. "Yeah. Sorry," she smiles as she stands and gathers her belongings. I start to stand with her - being as I drove - but she just shakes her head. "No, you should stay. Catch a ride back with John," she instructs, dropping a soft, steak-sauce flavored kiss on my lips. "Have fun," she adds when I place the keys in her palm. "It was nice to see you again, Tatum," she tacks on before spinning on her heel and exiting the restaurant.
Tatum's eyes follow Jamie out of the room and then find me, twinkling happily. "She's really great," she says, and I believe that she means it. There's nothing suspicious or disingenuous to be found in those wide, brown orbs. "A little too together for you, but," she leaves the sentence dangling, but her grin tells me that she still enjoys giving me a hard time more than anything.
I just hold my hands up and feign offense. "Come on, now," I chuckle.
Reaching across the table, she rests her hand over mine. "You seem happy, Kid," she finally says, breaking the trance that our eyes have created in an instant.
"Help me get another round," Maria demands, her hand smacking John's thigh loudly.
But he just rolls his shoulders and looks at her like she's grown another head or something. "The waitress brings 'em to the table," he explains to her as though she's as dumb as she plays on television. "That's her job, Sweetie."
But Maria is not nearly as tranquil as the rest of us as at the table as she pushes her chair back and narrows her eyes at her husband. "John. Now." She holds out a hand and he has no choice but to follow like a petulant child. I think he even stomps his feet a little as he trails his wife to the bar.
When we're alone, Tatum leans back in her chair. "Wow," she observes expertly. "Marriage has not made them any more subtle."
She is not wrong. At all. If Maria had blatantly ordered John to leave us alone and see if there were any sparks left between us, it would have been a little more smooth. But they are who they are, and they are our best friends.
Things were so easy before. I mean, nothing had been forced or uncomfortable. I didn't feel like anyone wished they weren't at the table. Now things are weird. Don't get me wrong - it's not bad. It's just weird, ya know? I mean, sitting here alone with Tatum. Tatum. The girl who is supposed to be my definite past. The girl whom I am supposed to be completely over. And I think that I am, but it is damn good to see her again. She looks . . . well, she looks as perfect as she ever did.
"Gotta say, Orton," she starts after a long, awkward silence, "I didn't think Jamie would stick." I just raise an eyebrow and she shakes her head, laughing again. "I didn't mean it that way," she assures me.
I know that she didn't. I know that the last time I saw her, both Jamie and I were in a really fucked up place. Last time she saw us, Jamie was hiding from her abusive boyfriend, and I was trying to be her knight in shining armor. But this isn't the last time Tatum saw us. Jamie and I are both good now. We're healthy. And we're good together.
Though I say nothing, she nods as though she knows exactly what I'm thinking. And maybe she does. I mean, it wouldn't be unheard of for Tatum to understand what I'm thinking before the words come out of my mouth. In fact, back in the day, it would have been par for the course. I just have to remind myself that we're not back in the day anymore. We're in the here and now. Where she is not my girlfriend. I am not her boyfriend. We are not together. I just have to remember that.
Without warning, she bends toward the floor and surfaces with her purse. "Hey, do you wanna get outta here?" Casting a glance toward the bar, where John and Maria are leaning there, beers in hand, watching us, she turns back to me and winks. "Away from the watchdogs for awhile?"
Dammit if this is the wrong choice, but there is nothing I want more right now.