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She is objectively pretty, he thinks to himself. Her blouse is a crisp white against her tanned skin, her blonde hair is plaited into a fishtail that sits over her left shoulder, and she has a bright smile.
What's more, she's deeply intelligent, too. An astrophysicist from Cal Tech who can talk her way around any equation, who reads a ton, and knows that the best citation style is obviously Chicago Manual.
Yet, as usual, he can't focus on any of that. He sighs, his heart heavy, and picks up his wine glass, swishing the liquid around a bit.
"Are you okay, Jimmy? You've been kind of quiet today." She observes.
"I'm sorry, I'm just tired." He offers the same excuse as always, feeling horrible about it. Because while it may be true that work is exhausting, that isn't why he's so disengaged.
"You're not that into this, are you?" She gestures between herself and him, and he panics internally.
"Uh," He fumbles for the right words.
She shrugs. "It's okay, maybe we are better off friends."
He'd first met Claire when he'd joined the lab she worked in a couple months ago and they had hit it off immediately. She was kind, funny, and had even managed to drag him on a hike or two. So when she'd asked him out, he'd said yes, hoping that finally, he could move on with his life. Bad plan.
"I'm sorry." He offers.
"So, who is it?" She finishes off the rest of her cocktail, and fixes him with an curious look.
"Who says there is someone?" He counters.
"I do, what's her name?"
He can't believe he's having this conversation on a second date. He has got to get it together.
"Cindy." He admits. And saying the name out loud for the first time in a while makes his heart clench inside. His friends sometimes mention her, or bring up their old thing as a joke. But he finds it hard to participate in conversations about her. Even years down the line.
"What happened there?"
"Do you really want to talk about this?" He questions.
"Inquiring minds want to know."
"We grew up together in Texas."
"I always forget you're from there."
"Because I'm not a gun-toting conservative and actually believe in science?" He grins.
"Whatever, so why aren't you with this girl?"
"Uh, we dated for a couple years, and then realized it wouldn't work. So I let her go."
As he says it, flashes of a past long gone sear across his memory. The pearl he'd given her on that island, the kiss after the news show, their first high school dance, the times she'd called at one AM to grudgingly ask for help with her homework for the algebraic topology course she'd taken in college just to prove she could do it.
"And why haven't you reached out to her?"
"Our lives just went in different directions. I don't think we could ever make things work." He pauses. "Besides, I did reach out to her."
"And?"
"She never responded. I don't think she wants me in her life." He can feel his morale sinking with each word, the regret washing over him like a tidal wave.
"That's a shame. You're a great guy." She lays a hand over his knuckles reassuringly. "I'm sorry it didn't work out."
"It's really frustrating, you know? I don't want to spend my life sad over her. And I've met great people like you," He concedes.
"You don't have to say that—"
"No, I mean it. But I can't help comparing everyone l I meet to her. And I wish that wasn't the case, I'm sick of it."
"Maybe you should see a therapist." She suggests, earnestly.
"As a fellow scientist, you should know that psychology is hardly even real science." He scoffs. "Like I want to sit on a sofa and tell some Jurassic era old man about my ex-girlfriend while he takes notes on how it's all linked to my parents somehow." He rolls his eyes. "Who, by the way, have a great marriage."
"Okay, first of all, I majored in psychology." She announces.
He shoots her a look of disdain and she frowns. "Don't look at me like that. People have such preconceived notions about therapy, and about psychology as a discipline."
"I think it's perfectly fine to have some reservations about psychology when its most famous figure was a coke addict with a misogyny problem."
"Okay, Einstein, the point isn't for us to debate Freud. I think you need to make a serious effort to either find a way to talk to her, or to simply move on."
"And here I thought you were nothing like her. You've got the bossiness down pat." He grumbles below his breath.
"What was that?"
"Nothing. This has got to be the weirdest date I've ever gone on." He admits after a moment.
"Yeah, well, it wasn't what I expected either. I hope you know you're still paying for our drinks."
He pulls out his wallet. "Hey, I may not be the average Texan, but my mom did teach me hospitality."
"You know, there is one more thing you could do..." She looks thoughtful.
"What?"
"Getting under someone is a great way to get over someone. And it's not nearly as expensive as therapy." She plays around with the umbrella in her glass, color rising in her cheeks.
"Are you offering?" For a moment he almost thinks he can go through with it. The prospect isn't as off-putting as it normally is. In fact, he finds himself thinking, she might have a point.
But then, he remembers Cindy.
And the way she laughed whenever he emerged from the lab covered in grease.
How she would growl, "It's not funny, Neutron," whenever he would tease her about her glasses. (After all, if she got to call him Nerdtron, it was only fair that he get to call her Four Eyes in return).
How they would get into heated arguments and end up making out in his dorm room.
How when they'd opened their Ivy letters together and she'd learned she hadn't gotten into her top choice—Yale—she'd still managed to be happy for him getting into MIT, his dream school.
How she'd once spent Christmas Eve learning how to make pie with his mother.
And he realizes he can't, no matter how attractive this girl is, or how much he does enjoy her company.
Claire senses the change in his demeanor and backs off. She starts to make for her bag and umbrella and gets up from the barstool.
"Hey, for what it's worth, she's lucky you still think of her."
He nods and sets down a few bills on the countertop, watching as she leaves. Her silhouette shrinking in the distance. Another wasted opportunity.