Chapter 34 The night that didn’t happen #2
Under the moody lighting of a restaurant, not this coffee shop, but the one next door, there’s a private table set for two.
There are candles and flowers, everything perfect, except the chair across from me is empty.
My gaze drops from the table to him, this waiter, looking up at me exactly like this, picking up his order pad from the floor of that restaurant.
Night had never come.
Some months ago
“Hey, sorry.” Jim crouches to retrieve his order pad, then straightens with that same easy grin. “Please tell me he finally texted you.”
Noticing me sitting alone and hearing my story, this young waiter has become my unexpected ally for the evening, and now he’s genuinely rooting for Night to show up.
“He did.” I smile but it fades when I look down at my phone.
Night’s message was… not the kind you’d expect from someone running late. His words read as though he was in panic as he asked for full honesty about what kind of car I purchased.
I started to type about my Fiat, until I remembered that, technically, I hadn’t bought it myself.
It was one of many things Pop had given me, wrapped up in his love.
The only vehicle I actually purchased with my own money was my yellow Vespa, which I only use when I’m running around town chasing stories.
“Do me a favor,” Jim says, leaning in conspiratorially. “Tell him the waiter is giving you bad looks.”
I laugh despite myself. “Why?”
“’Cause that always makes men feel guilty. They picture their date sitting alone, not being looked after properly.” He rolls his tongue against his cheek, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
“Really? And does it actually work?”
“Almost always.” He pauses, tilting his head. “Unless the guy’s a jerk.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Night is so not a jerk.”
“Then do it.”
I laugh again. It’s unexpected that I’m able to laugh on a night when my nerves are wound this tight. Jim’s overenthusiastic interest in me and Night is oddly wonderful. It’s like I’ve found a personal cheerleader on the biggest evening of my life.
I look back down at my phone and type.
ChaosInPurple: Come soon. The waiter has started giving me strange looks. I think I’ll order a glass of wine. That should at least quiet him for a few minutes.
I hit send, but his status shows offline, so most likely he’s still driving.
Time moves strangely as I keep watching the door. Every time it swings open, my gaze snaps up automatically, searching for the purple tie. It’s starting to feel like sitting in front of a slot machine, heart lurching every time the reels spin, hoping this one, this one, will finally be the hit.
If he doesn’t arrive soon, I’m genuinely going to give myself a heart attack. My chest has tripped and stumbled so many times in the last hour it deserves a rest.
Gosh, it’s been almost an hour. Where is he?
ChaosInPurple: Night, is everything okay? Now I’m getting worried about you. You’re thirty minutes late. I don’t know why, but I always imagined you to be really punctual.
What if he came in, saw me, and left?
I look down at myself. My dress is new, black, purchased specifically for tonight. What other color would I choose for him? My makeup is minimal. I wanted to look pretty, but I also wanted to be myself.
I don’t think I look bad. But doubt has teeth anyway.
I stare at my phone for a long moment, thumb hovering. Then I type. If I want to be anything with this man, it’s absolutely honest.
ChaosInPurple: I’m starting to worry that you stepped into the restaurant, took one look at me, and left.
I hit send and then can’t stop staring at the screen, willing the two gray ticks to turn blue.
This wasn’t the kind of worry I’d expected to feel tonight.
I had imagined nerves, of course I had, but underneath them I’d pictured happiness so full and bright it might split me clean open. The kind of happiness we’ve spent months quietly building toward.
Instead, I’m sitting here worrying about him. Is he okay? And worrying about us. Are we okay?
I’m halfway through typing another message when his status flickers online, and I go very still.
He’s not driving. He’s somewhere with his phone in his hand, and that somewhere is not here.
Where are you, Night?
SilenceInMidnight: Purple, there is no world where I could see you and turn my back.
SilenceInMidnight: Believe me, I thought there was nothing in this world that could stop me from being there tonight. I don’t have words for how much I was looking forward to this evening.
Oh. Relief floods through me so fast it almost hurts.
ChaosInPurple: Night! Thank God you’re replying. Where are you? I was so worried—first that you’d decided not to come, then that something happened to you.
ChaosInPurple: When are you getting here?
I have this urgent, breathless need to type everything at once now that he’s finally online. But before I can even exhale properly, his next message arrives.
SilenceInMidnight: I’m really sorry, Purple. I won’t be able to make it tonight.
My back meets the cushioned chair.
He’s not coming. How? Why?
My throat is closing in that slow, terrible way it does just before tears decide they’re done waiting.
I had been strung so tight for weeks—first in preparation, then in anticipation, and finally while unexpectedly waiting here with my heart sitting directly in my throat. But all of it, every single moment of it, was for nothing?
My hands feel slow and clumsy when I type.
ChaosInPurple: What happened? I thought you were on your way?
Did his car break down? Did something happen to him?
ChaosInPurple: Are you okay? You’re not hurt or something?
Thankfully, he doesn’t let me sit in dread for long.
SilenceInMidnight: Physically, I’m fine. But inside I’m fucking burning, because you’re there waiting for me and I can’t get to you.
A long pause stretches before I can bring myself to type back.
His words settle like a balm over that raw, aching place within me. He feels it too, this loss, this missed evening, with the same intensity as I do.
I had imagined this night as the one we would return to when everything else got too loud or too heavy or too impossibly wonderful.
This is the night we were supposed to revisit on our wedding evening, finally alone after the reception, shoes off, laughing about how nervous we both were.
This is the night we were supposed to remember in a maternity ward, holding a baby, exhausted and overwhelmed, and more in love than we knew what to do with.
This is the night we were supposed to reach for on the hard days, the ones where everything felt like too much, and remind each other of how far we’d come from where it had all started.
But now this night never happened.
My hands tremble with a mix of both relief and heartbreak. And I’m sitting here alone at a table set for two, candles burning down to nothing, my grandmother’s ring on my finger, waiting for a man who isn’t coming.
ChaosInPurple: Do you really mean that?
SilenceInMidnight: I mean every word, Purple. I know I’ve given you every reason to doubt me tonight. But please believe that it’s killing me to not be there with you.
Frustration bleeds through every word, spilling onto the screen, and it makes me feel better. Night is always careful with his words. So when they come like this, unrestrained and a little raw, I feel them.
ChaosInPurple: I want to trust you.
I type and then stop before reading it back.
It sounds like an unspoken accusation. I want to trust you… but I can’t.
And that’s not what I mean, not exactly. I don’t want him anguished or drowning in guilt on the other side of this screen. I just want to meet him. I want to finally, actually live the fairy tale we’ve been building together in our quiet corner of the internet.
So I add six more words.
ChaosInPurple: I want to trust you. You are my soulmate, after all.
The smiley feels right, hopefully telling him that I still want to choose him.
And then, Night says the most beautiful thing.
SilenceInMidnight: Believe me, I will never leave my soulmate waiting again.
I reach for my half-empty wineglass.
ChaosInPurple: Then I’ll finish this ridiculously expensive wine on FYS’s tab and hope we can plan to meet again very soon.
SilenceInMidnight: I’m so sorry about tonight, Purple.
Jim reappears as I place the empty glass onto the table. His easy smile is replaced by open indignation on my behalf. “Please tell me he didn’t stand you up.”
“He did. But I also think he’s more sorry about it than I am.” I shrug, and I mean it. But the disappointment is still there. I feel like a kid who’s been informed, on Christmas morning, that Santa isn’t real. It’s cruel and heartbreaking.
“And here I was hoping for a big tip on my last day.” Jim sighs dramatically.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yeah. Today’s my last day here.” He tucks his order pad under his arm.
“I want to take a break for exams. But in a few months, there’s a new coffee shop opening next door.
I’ve already turned in a job application and have my fingers crossed.
” He mimics the action with a smile. “So when you and Night finally do meet, maybe you guys can come visit me.”
“We will, and good luck on your exams, Jim.”
“Thanks, Purple.” He helps me into my coat. “That’s a gorgeous ring.”
“Thank you.” I follow his gaze down to my grandmother’s ring, still sitting on my finger.
“Why are you taking it off?” he asks as I slide it free.
“I don’t usually wear it.” I turn it carefully between my fingers. “I put it on today for Night. I don’t want to get used to wearing it until it actually means what it’s supposed to mean.”
Jim gives me the brightest smile. “You might be the most optimistic person I’ve ever met.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is one.”
He hands me my bag, and I’m just about to slip my phone inside when it vibrates against my palm.
Please be Night.
I turn the screen over.