Member-only story
Memento Vivere
Chance meetings make us reevaluate the lives we’re leading.
He and I first met over glasses of wine on the patio of a restaurant we never would have frequented otherwise. He was there for a business dinner — all done up in a suit that looked as if it was dry-cleaned regularly — and I was there to meet up with a guy who had messaged me on Tinder a few weeks prior.
“A dating app?” My drinking companion wrinkled his nose as if he found the very idea distasteful. “A beautiful woman like you doesn’t need that sort of thing.”
I wanted to roll my eyes, but instead I took another sip of my wine. “You’d be surprised,” I said, the dryness in my tone making him raise his eyebrows. But he didn’t press. Maybe that was one of the first things I liked about him. His handsome face might have warmed me, but I had known plenty of guys in suits who thought women were just glorified arm candy.
He opened his mouth to say something — perhaps a witty comment, perhaps nothing more but a goodbye — but then he frowned, pulling his phone from his pocket. He looked down, and his face drew into a grimace. Without another word, he returned the phone to its resting place before locking eyes with me once again.
“Sorry,” he said, “looks like I have to cut this short. My colleagues just arrived.”
