I'll Be Here

she says, slipping back behind the dressing room curtain.  “Here’s what I’m thinking… Meet with Dustin anyway and clear the air.  It will give you some closure.”  I hear the fabric of the dress rustling as she pulls it over her head.  “Closure is good.”
    I swallow.
    Is it?
    ***
     
    I’ve reasonably started to think that this part of my life is over.  Waiting for Dustin.  That was from before.  That was then —when I would sit on an uncomfortable bench outside and wait the three hours it took for track practice to be over so that we could make the ten minute ride to my house together all in the name of sharing a few measly slippery kisses.  Or when we’d study for a calculus test and I would hang back, waiting for him to catch up.  Or when I’d wait on him to be ready to leave a party after I’d told him I needed to be home an hour before. 
                It’s easy enough to think those days are in the past, but here I am, sitting in a corner booth at Pacelli’s.  It’s Thursday and I left Patty’s office fifteen minutes early to meet my ex-boyfriend for pizza.  Diet coke fizzes in a tumbler in front of me—the caramel bubbles scurrying along the inside of the glass like tiny prehistoric one-celled animals.  I lean in and suck the drink through a straw.  It’s cold and sweet and for a moment I forget about the dull throbbing coming from behind my ribs.
                When I sit back, Dustin is standing at the end of the booth, his chin tilted down.  He’s smiling.  He’s looking charming.  His clothes are expensive.   
                Okay, I think, I can do this.
    He slides into the other side of the booth.  His knee kisses mine and I scoot left, shifting to avoid anymore skin-to-skin contact. 
    The restaurant is practically empty.  It’s early for dinner and the only people here are very young families and a few elderly people.  The interior lights are turned low, but sunshine filters in through the street-facing floor to ceiling windows that line the front wall. 
    Dustin moves in, the weight of his upper-body balanced on his forearms.  I move back. 
    Before we have to wade through any awkwardness, the waitress is upon us asking to take Dustin’s drink order.  He doesn’t wait.  He just goes ahead and orders a whole pizza at the same time that he orders his soda.  Half green pepper and half salami.  This is what we always used to get here. 
    “How have you been?”  He asks once we are alone.
    My answer is standard issue.  “I’m fine.”
    Dustin barrels through this moment and tells me about things I haven’t asked about—his parents, classes, track.  I let him talk.  I let him have this time and I stay quiet.  When the pizza arrives, rattling around on the waitress’ black tray, I even let him serve me a slice topped with green peppers.
    After we eat, as I dab my mouth with a paper napkin, Dustin says that he thinks that we should get back together. 
    That’s exactly how he says it. 
    I think we should get back together.  
    Like it’s a completely normal thing to say to me. 
    I am not surprised.  I have seen this coming since he sat down in the booth and he smiled his sideways smile. 
    “Taylor was a mistake,” Dustin tells me and he’s looking straight at me like the words mean something else. 
    I just sit there and look back.
    “I miss you, Willow.”  His expression sours and it hits me that maybe he does feel a bit of regret. 
    I think that I should be happy.  I think that I should be happier when he reaches across the table and takes my hand in his.  It is warm.  I think that I should feel something big.  Is vindication the right term?  Relief ?  I don’t know.  I don’t feel that way.  I don’t feel happy or vindicated, or like I want to start jumping around on the tabletop or running around the streets.   
    I don’t know exactly what I feel but it’s not that.  Maybe I’m a little sad.  Not the cry-in-my-room kind of sad but still sad.  Not because I miss Dustin.  No, I consider that and it’s all wrong.  Dustin is my past and that is not shameful, but I don’t miss him.  Not anymore.  I am sad because this feels like an ending.  And this time it’s a real one.
    The pad of his thumb runs up and down my palm. 
    “I was hoping that you would go to prom with me.”  There’s an edge to his voice.
    “Prom?”
    He nods slowly and his dusty blonde hair falls forward