Emma

Half an hour in, I could already tell that I liked Derek more than most of the guys I’d dated. 

He was tall, dark, and handsome, didn’t laugh at his own jokes, ordered the expensive wine before I had the chance to ask for the cheap one — and he wasn’t just smart, he was Einstein smart. He was studying a freaking PhD in astrophysics, and had the gall to tell me it wasn’t that interesting. 

“What about you?” he asked. “What did you study?”

I stirred my food. We were at an Italian restaurant where the atmosphere was dark and intimate and candlelight illuminated his chiselled face. He gazed intently at me, in a way that made me suspect I’d want to sleep with him later. 

“Engineering,” I said. “And then I joined an engineering firm, but I’m on the reception desk; still working my way up.” I smiled, even though it was a sore point for me. My friend Matt and I had graduated from the same course, at the same time. We had the same grades, and the same level of professional experience (none). But after we graduated, he walked into an engineering position while I was stuck on reception, answering phones and emails, with the vague promise of professional development somewhere in the future. 

It reeked of sexism. But my rent was a thousand dollars a month, and if I turned the offer down, my apartment wasn’t going to pay for itself. 

“That’s the best way to start,” Derek said. “People talk to the receptionist without thinking about it. You’ll learn all the dirt, politics, and gossip, and when you move up in the company it will give you leverage that you can use.” 

My next smile was genuine. What he said resonated — the dirt, politics, and gossip part, anyway. Everyone always had something to say when they walked past — sometimes they grumbled about the weather, but more often that not, they discussed whatever was going on in the office with each other as though I was invisible. 

“You really think so?” 

“I know so,” Derek said with a wink. “How do you think I got the money to go off and study something I’m really passionate about?” 

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I thought maybe you worked for the CSIRO and they were giving you a scholarship?” 

Derek shook his head. 

“I worked my way up the chain, just like you will. I started my own company five years later, and now I’m earning enough passive income that I can do what I love. Technically, I’m still running the business, but it’s more of a ceremonial position now.”

I saw my life flash before my eyes. But it wasn’t the life I’d already lived — it was the future life I’d hardly dared to imagine, that Derek was suddenly making seem possible. I saw me advancing through the ranks, earning my career as an engineer, then taking that experience to break away and work as a consultant. All while Derek and I traveled to Fiji, got married next to an active volcano, and had three super smart kids, who we sent to an exclusive private school. 

“It sounds wonderful,” I said, as I twirled my fork in my linguine. “It sounds like you’ve created quite the life for yourself.”

Derek smiled. He reached across the table and took my hand. The entire scene was picture-perfect, almost too good to be true. I waited for the ceiling to come crashing down, an earthquake to hit, or some reminder that I was doomed in relationships and destined to die alone, but nothing like that happened at all. Instead, Derek rubbed my knuckle with his thumb as his expression became serious. 

“I have — and now I just need someone to share it with.” 

 I felt heat rise in my chest and across my face as I processed his words. Coming from anyone else on a first date, those words might have felt insincere or manipulative, a cheap ploy to get me into bed. But Derek meant them. His gaze never wavered, his smile had disappeared and he was a hundred percent sincere. 

We kept talking after we finished eating, and then Derek walked me back to my car. It was a crisp night, not quite cold but not appropriate for my sleeveless turtlenck either, and he wrapped his arm around me as we walked. It felt natural, like we’d been doing it our entire lives, and once we reached my car he turned to me, his hand still on my waist. 

“I’m not usually this forward,” he said, and his gaze looked troubled as he stared somewhere around my shoes. “But I had a really great time tonight, and I think there’s something here. Would you like to come back to my place?” 

I must have looked uncertain, because he added, “No pressure, of course.”

It wasn’t a hard choice. 

“There’s just something I have to tell you,” I said, as concern flashed across Derek’s face. “I have a… tattoo.” 

He visibly relaxed. 

“That’s okay — I love tattoos. Where is it?” 

“It’s big,” I warned him. “Right across my chest.” I traced a line with my finger over  my turtleneck. 

“Doesn’t sound like a problem to me,” he said. “I’ve got one right here.” He pointed to the side of his stomach. “It’s Pluto.”

“The dog?” I asked, excited, thinking of the Disney character.

“The planet,” he said with a wince. “Or the [not planet]. Yeah, I know, it’s lame. But it’s my favorite one. It [something impressive about Pluto]. 

“I can handle that,” I said, as I pulled him closer, hoping he’d kiss me. He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and his lips sought out mine. He was taller than me, even though I was wearing heels, and I melted into him, letting my body fall forward as our tongues wrestled. It was the perfect first kiss, it had been the perfect first date, and all I needed to make this the best night of my life was perfect sex.

Maybe I rushed into it too quickly, but my philosophy was that I’d rather make sure we were sexually compatable early on, instead of letting it drag out, breaking both of our hearts if it didn’t work. 

Besides, Derek was hot. He had the kind of dark hair and stubble that most students didn’t have, not even the ones studying doctorates, and his skin was warm in a way that drove me to crave it on mine. He was neither super fit nor super wiry — his body was completely in proportion, and his languid movements made me feel like he was always relaxed. 

We drove separately to his house and I parked my car on the street, not wanting to assume I could leave it next to his in the double driveway. His place was ordinary enough — single story, built sometime in the last century, with bins already out on the street, waiting to be collected, and a light on over the front door. He was a person who liked to be prepared, I noted, a far cry from my tendency to run out the door in my robe when I heard the garbage truck approaching, or fumble with my keys when I arrived home in the dark. The fact that he thought about those things was comforting, as though his strengths complimented my weaknesses so well that we might have been two adjoining jigsaw puzzle pieces. 

Not that I wanted to get ahead of myself. 

He enveloped me in his arms and we made out in the driveway for at least five minutes, neither of us caring that his neighbours could see us. When we finally stumbled through the door together, we were both so turned on that we pulled each other’s clothes off before we even reached the bedroom. 

“I can’t wait to see this tattoo,” he said, as he peeled my turtleneck off over my head. It was dark, and even though I was wearing nothing but a bra, he still couldn’t see it. His hands found my breasts as his tongue swirled around in my mouth, and as we turned the corner and clumsily made our way through the bedroom door, he switched the light on.

My tattoo was umissable, especially under the bright downlight that shone from the ceiling. It was the name of my ex, Mack, and it stretched across my chest, from one armpit to the other, the letters M-A-C-K covering my ribcage and the top half of my breasts. It peeked out of the neckline of almost every top I wore, aside from turtlenaecks, a constant reminder of how dumb I was only two years ago.  

I knew what I was thinking at the time — that tattooes are permanent, and it meant our relationship would be permanent, too. But what did I know? I was twenty-three, and so deeply in love that I didn’t see all the red flags Mack waved in front of my face, until it was too late.

Duncan took a step back, and looked at me uneasily.

“You never said it was another dude’s name,” he said. 

“It’s just a tattoo,” I said, stepping forward to pull him into another kiss. “You said you like tattoos.”

“Another dude’s name, though?” Duncan stepped back again, and I stopped reaching for him, letting my hands dangle by my sides. “I don’t know if I could enjoy myself the same way with that right in front of me.” 

My friend Nerida warned me about this before I got the tattoo done, but did I listen? No. I was far too convinced that Mack was the only man I’d ever be with, so what difference did it make if other men were put off? 

Standing here with the reality of the situation in full focus, it felt different. The rejection punched me in the stomach and made me feel like I’d made a massive mistake. 

“It’s just a tattoo,” I said again, weakly, but I already knew it was too late.