What Happened to Eden

My family was acting hysterical. I was staying with my sister who was convinced I would be murdered as soon as I left the house. My parents asked if I was really ready to go out with another man after being married so long, and all I could say was, “I have no idea. Don’t wait up I’ll be back late.” I didn’t want them to see me return in tears, if that’s what it came to.

We met at a popular dive bar for drinks. I didn’t want to sit through a meal if it was awful. I wanted to keep it casual. I didn’t have a lot of clothes for going on dates. I barely left the house without my kids and I’d recently lost enough weight that my regular frumpy clothes didn’t fit, so when he gave me a choice of several places to meet, I chose the casual place.

I was nervous. I wanted to be there first, so I was waiting at the bar for him when he walked in. When I saw him through the window I couldn’t believe he was there to meet me. I was worried he’d be disappointed with me in person. No time to curate a text, no choosing my best angles for facetime.

He hugged me and I immediately stopped feeling nervous. I realized I was more nervous about logistics – remembering how to take an uber, what I should order to drink, not falling in my boots, wearing the right clothes – and not nervous to meet him. I felt like we’d met already because we’d talked so much. Something about facetime, which I usually hate, was so much more intimate that sending a thousand texts or even talking on the phone.

He had the most beautiful green eyes rimmed in long lashes, and his tattoos were peeking out from the sleeves of his shirt. It had been so long since I’d touched a tattoo, eighteen and a half years, in fact, and without thinking I reached up and touched his arm. He gave me a little tour of his artwork, and we ordered drinks.

We talked just as easily as we had on the phone. He seemed a little nervous himself, and I probably asked too many questions about work, but I’d never talked to a cop before. I asked about arresting people, about difficult situations, and about talking to criminals. He said he could get me to tell him the truth if he needed to, and I asked how. How, sir, would you interrogate a woman to get her to give up her secrets?

Her turned on his stool to face me and scooted closer, putting my knees between his so I couldn’t easily turn away. I could smell his cologne as he leaned in. He raised his voice just hair, spread his fingers on the table and slapped it just enough to make me jump a little, even though I knew it was coming.

Look at me. You get close, you get in their face, and you get them to repeat their story without mistakes. If the story changes, it’s a lie.

He moved his face close to mine and I could smell the whiskey on his lips. I blinked and sat back.

Yeah, that’d work.

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes and slid them over to me.

“I thought you might want one.”

I’d told him I’d been smoking one every night after putting my kids to bed and packing boxes all day. I smoked in high school and college and the nicotine from just one cigarette would lower my tense shoulders and help me calm down the spinning and spiraling that was going on in my brain. He had been a smoker off and on, and had started again.

He took my hand and led me out to the back patio, opening the door for me, which no one but my father and strangers had done for as long as I could remember. A simple thing, but you notice when it changes. We had the patio to ourselves and he lit my cigarette. My first drag and first drink had made me feel a lovely sense of peace, and I tilted my head back to exhale.

When I opened my eyes, he was right in front of me. He looked unsure, like maybe I wasn’t ready to be touched by someone new, so I smiled. He reached up and put his hand on the side of my face, then my neck, and kissed me.

I hate the taste of whiskey, but on him it was divine. It wasn’t awkward, it wasn’t difficult, it was good. So good. I dropped my cigarette and pulled him closer. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so warm from just a kiss. I didn’t want to seem too eager, but I certainly was. How long had the kisses I’d felt been hollow and perfunctory?

We were outside an embarrassingly long time. Bus boys were dragging bins of trash past us as we lit cigarettes and then forgot about them. He pressed me up against the wall with one hand in my hair and one on the small of my back. The way he kissed me I could tell how he’d be in bed – not at all timid, and making damn sure I enjoyed myself.

I can’t remember why we decided to go back inside the bar, but not long after he paid for our drinks and we left. I was staying at my sister’s and he lived quite far from the bar (chosen because it was closest to me), so that took testing my theory about him being a good time in bed off the table, which was probably for the best. I thought once he remembered that detail, he’d say goodnight and, if he ever spoke to me again, he’d make a date for when I moved to town and we could take things further, but instead he found a restaurant still open and we ate and talked for hours.

I looked at my watch and realized we’d been out for six hours. My first date since separating from my husband had not been bad. It had been lovely. I had a long day of house hunting starting early the next morning, so he took me back to my sister’s and kissed me goodnight. And then he kissed me again.

I came home with thoroughly chapped lips, giggling.

I told myself that even if he never called me again, I’d be thankful for him. The first date is supposed to be horrible, and I’d had so much fun. He’d given me hope for the uncertain future I’d been so worried about. Not everyone would be as fun as The Cop, surely, but maybe not every day would be terrible and I’d learn to have fun and enjoy myself again.

I had no idea what to expect. I knew ghosting was popular, I didn’t know if men expected sex immediately, and whether they would play games and wait several days to contact a woman after a date. Maybe it hadn’t gone that well and I had just been so miserable it seemed like a good night to me but was mediocre at best for him.

He texted me before he left my driveway to say he’d had a great time and would like to see me again.

I thought about how long I’d have to wait to see him, because once I moved I’d be a single mom with three kids and my mother would be living with us initially to help get us settled.

So I hatched a plan.