Marissa saw me a few minutes later. Our eyes met across the room while she was reaching for her glass, and I watched recognition move through her expression. She looked at Sarah, then back at me, and seemed to say something to Finn, who turned too quickly before Tasha touched his wrist. I looked away, not because I wanted to insult her, but because I didn't want to stare at somebody I'd once loved while sitting across from someone new.
She gave me a small wave when I happened to look up again. I returned a brief nod, and the gesture ended there. For most of the meal, Marissa stayed at her table and I stayed at mine, which felt like a kind of progress neither of us would have managed immediately after the breakup. Sarah and I finished our dinner, split a dessert, and talked about a film we wanted to see.
When the check came, I felt the first real release of tension I'd experienced since recognizing Marissa. I was proud of myself for not letting the encounter consume the evening, and I was grateful Sarah hadn't asked for constant reassurance. We put on our coats, thanked the waiter, and walked toward the exit. I had almost reached the door when somebody said my name behind me.
"Ethan?"
I turned. Marissa stood several feet away, no phone in her hand, no friends behind her. Her expression was nervous, and for a moment she looked as young as she'd been when we'd first met at game night. "I don't want to interrupt your evening," she said. "Could I talk to you for just a minute?"
Sarah glanced at me. I told her it was her choice whether she wanted to wait or come with me, because I wasn't interested in making another person feel excluded from a decision that affected our evening. She touched my hand and said she'd wait near the car, then gave Marissa a polite nod before walking out. The gesture was quiet and generous, and I knew I'd remember it long after the conversation ended.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. We stood just beyond the dining room in the narrow entrance where a coat rack leaned against the wall and cold air slipped in every time somebody opened the door. Marissa glanced toward the parking lot, where Sarah had disappeared, then looked back at me. I waited without trying to fill the silence, aware of how different this felt from the sidewalk outside my apartment months earlier.
"I know you haven't answered my messages," she said. "I understand why. I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty, Ethan. I just didn't know if we'd ever have a chance to speak without everybody else around."
I didn't tell her that she could have chosen a conversation without everybody else long before we broke up. The thought was true, but I didn't need to throw it at her to protect myself. I said that I had read the messages and that I appreciated the calmer tone. She nodded and folded her hands together in front of her coat.