Difficult Choices Ch. 01

"And yet you didn't recognize me tonight."

"Nor did you recognize me. But once Annette told me who you were, I remembered distinctly."

"Even how much we dated." Samantha was not being disputatious, just keeping the facts straight. "In fact, with as many girls as you did date, I'm wondering if you have me confused with someone else."

Tim rattled off a long list of identifiers specific to her: who her home room teacher was senior year, what classes they had together, what school clubs she belonged to. "And homecoming court," he added. "I was very disappointed you didn't choose me as your escort. I pleaded with Larry to let me escort you. We almost got into a fight."

"Oh, my god, that was you? I heard about that, but I didn't know it was you."

"It was me."

"Why didn't you ever ask me out again?" Samantha wanted to know.

"I was too nervous to ask any girl out. I never asked a girl out. They always asked me. If no one ever had, I probably would have never dated anyone. As for you, I thought you were more interested in Larry, since you chose him to escort you."

Almost in disbelief, Samantha informed him, "I didn't ask you because you didn't ask me out again. I thought you had no interest in me."

Tim shrugged helplessly. "Wow! Talk about missed opportunities."

Samantha shook her head piteously. "And it's not like I was all that popular. I didn't have guys after me like you had girls after you."

"I wish you had asked me again."

"I didn't usually ask guys to take me out."

"You asked me the first time."

"We actually kind of mutually agreed to go out during a class one time."

Tim thought for a minute. "Damn! What a fool I was. Well, I'm over that teenage nervousness and I'm asking now. I don't know about you, but these appetizer foods are good, but not that filling. What do you say we skip out of here? I know this great little Italian restaurant downtown that has kind of reinvented itself."

"Russo's?"

"Yes, you know it?"

"I've been there a few times."

"Like it?"

"I do."

"Then, let's go."

"I don't know," Samantha said hesitantly.

"Please? Do I have to beg?"

She and Wendy actually went to Russo's frequently. Now she thought about Wendy and felt bad. In the back of Samantha's mind, she kept thinking she was cheating on her lover. But their relationship had no clear definition, no label, so maybe she couldn't label it cheating. They weren't living together. They only spent about three or four nights a week together. What did Wendy do the other nights? What was she doing this weekend? She was clear about the fact that she had other friends; none she was intimate with, or so she said. Samantha chastised herself for thinking that distrustful thought. Wendy had given her no reason to be skeptical. Yet, Samantha still felt guilty. "Sorry. I just can't."

And she walked off.