Chapter Eight
That evening, I arrived home to find Rachel tucked into her favorite chair by the television, a book sprawled in her lap and a glass of wine in her hand. She shook her head at me as I entered, eyeing me like a hawk.
“What is it?” I asked her.
“You’re glowing,” she whispered back.
She joined me at the counter then, watching as I poured a glass of wine for myself. My hands were still shaking from the events of the day. I couldn’t believe that Xavier had aligned us so perfectly in some strange, offbeat future—a future in which we could be together, side by side, no matter what was going on around us. A future in which I could still reach toward my dreams.
Rachel placed her hand on her hip, twirling her wine glass on the table beside her. “Do you want to go out?” she asked suddenly. “You can meet Michael, if you like. He’s going to be at this bar called—The Mousetrap, I think. He said there’s dancing.” Her eyebrows bobbed up and down on her face, making me laugh.
I nodded, knowing that this evening hadn’t been a part of my plans—that everything I’d really done in the past few months hadn’t been a part of my plans. “Sure. That sounds—great.” I landed on the final word with emphasis, wanting to assure her. This was what I really wanted. I wanted to go out into the world and explore it with my best friend.
We dressed quickly in dancing clothes and swept into the world, toward The Mousetrap. Rachel talked on and on in the cab about Michael—about how he had acted at work that day. “A bit nervous, when he entered. He told me he had a great time with me, that he’d love to do it again. And then. He told me about dancing. Isn’t it strange? I don’t know many men who actually suggest going dancing.” Rachel’s words were rapid, escalating from her mouth all too quickly. I laughed, sensing her excitement.
We arrived at the bar then. We entered and peered around us. The place was dark, a bit crusty, with graffiti on the walls. Twenty and young 30-somethings were dancing with great movements, tossing their arms into the air, holding their drinks high. The music bumped into my heart, and I smiled toward Rachel, mouthing the words: “Do you want to get a drink?”
We each got a gin and tonic from the bar, and we sat near the wall of the club, peering around for Michael.
“Just got a text!” Rachel jolted, holding her phone up like a beacon. “He said he’ll be here in five minutes!”
I paused, taking a drink from my gin. “It’s so good to see you happy,” I murmured. I knew she could hardly hear me over the music.
Rachel understood. “Thanks, Amanda. I want to see you happy, as well. And you do—you seem like things are working out? What is going on, anyway—with everything at the White House?”
I bit my lip, knowing I needed to tell her. She was my best friend; she was the only person I could trust in this world, besides, of course, Xavier. “I can’t tell you too much, of course,” I began. The music pounded into our faces. What a strange, oddly private place to discuss an affair with a president, I thought abstractly. “You’ve been such a help the past few months, always listening to me as I complain. But I have to tell you. I think it’s almost over, that it’s finally working itself out.”
Rachel’s eyebrows rose. “How is that?”
“Well. I suppose it isn’t working itself out so much as I’m simply meant to—to loosen up a bit. About my five-year plan. About everything. He’s understanding about my goals. And we’re just going to take it easy, have fun.” I nodded, affirmed in the words. My heart lightened with each moment.
A smile stretched across Rachel’s face. She placed her hand over my arm—a comfort. “I think that’s wonderful, Amanda,” she breathed. “Have fun with it. Live and learn.” She swallowed. I sensed that she didn’t have much to say—that her mind was lurking with thoughts of Michael. But finally, she said something else: “Please remember. I will always be your friend. You can count on me to tell me things. I can keep secrets.” She winked toward me, stretching a grin across my face.
Suddenly, before us stood a large man with broad shoulders, a goofy grin. He held two drinks in his hand, and he gestured one out for Rachel to take. Rachel’s eyes were bright toward him. She stood up beside him and greeted him with words I couldn’t hear over the driving beat. The man named Michael shook my hand, and the two young lovers swept out onto the dance floor, to understand each other better in this rushing world.
As I watched them, I stood up, knowing it was time for me to take my exit, that I had to find a different route. That Rachel didn’t need me just then. I spun around, allowing my pretty brunette hair to gloss down my back. I was gone from the club in an instant. As I rushed down the street, my hand held high in the air to hail a taxi, I could still hear the bumping beat of that club. It seemed that everything felt alive, in these moments. Everything was vital.