“Yes … Yes … Yes,” Sharon giggles in a low voice, pointing to the phone.
“Okay,” I say, not sounding enthusiastic at all.
“Sounds good,” he says. “I look forward to talking again next week.”
“Okay, goodbye.”
“Goodbye, Faith,” he says and hangs up.
As soon as I hang up the phone, I turn to Sharon. She bursts out laughing then I burst out laughing. All I can say is, “I could kill you!”
“Kill me?” she protests. “You should thank me. Someone needed to do something.”
“He could be a serial killer,” I tell her. “I could wind up dead,”
“Or he could be your dream man,” she responds.
“Yeah, right.”
“I know, I know,” she says in a mocking tone, “You’re out of the ‘dream man’ business.”
We sit for thirty minutes or so talking and laughing about the whole thing. The pot is wearing off, and Sharon finally gets up to go. She picks up her purse and cell phone and I follow her to the door.
She stops outside, turns around, and warns, “You better text him your number. I don’t want him calling me back on my phone. I just might have to go out with him myself.”
“Oh brother,” I say as she turns and I watch her walk to her car.
After she leaves, I take his card and put the number into my phone under the name “Christian.”
The next day, I’m completely sober, and can’t believe what we did. I consider letting the whole thing drop but Sharon’s right. What if he calls her back? She has a way of getting me in trouble. For all I know, she’ll give him my address. It’s also exciting. He’s a very good-looking man, plus I haven’t dated in a long time. I don’t want to seem too anxious so I wait two days before I text him my number. I type:
Christian
-----------------------------------------------------------
Today, 6:48 p.m.
Hi - this is Faith. Very nice to meet you. This is my number. Hope to hear from you soon.
As soon as I finish typing, I erase most of it, and simply send the following text:
Christian
-----------------------------------------------------------
Today, 6:48 p.m.
Hi - this is Faith. This is my number
To my surprise, in less than five minutes I get a return text:
Christian
-----------------------------------------------------------
Today, 7:02 p.m.
Hi Faith. How wonderful to hear from you. Thanks for the text. Looking forward to talking with you again.
Call you when I get back in town
Just like he promised, Christian calls the following week. In the days before he calls, I decide I definitely don’t want to start anything new. I’ll simply explain how it was my friend, not me, who actually called. I’ll tell him this whole thing is a mistake, and let him know I’m not interested in a new relationship. When he finally calls, however, I’m taken back by his charm, his friendliness, and his optimism.
“Hey Faith,” he begins. “I just got back from my trip to New York.”
“New York; how nice for you. Was it for business or pleasure?” I ask.
“For business mostly but I snuck in a little pleasure along the way,” he says lightly. “What about you? Have you snuck in a little pleasure in your week?”
If you call raising three kids, working full time, cleaning the house, living on half a night’s rest, deciding which bills to pay, and arguing with your ex “a little pleasure” then I’ve been having a ball, would be my honest answer. Instead, I simply say, “Not really … just work and kids.”
“Just work and kids?” he says accentuating the word “just.”
“Well, it’s not New York or anything,” I say. “So where do you work?”
“I own my own company,” he answers. “I help startup businesses.”
As the conversation continues, he tells me the things he enjoys like traveling, cooking, good food, dancing, live music, the theater, and scuba diving. I tell him more about me—at least the side of me I want him to see. Surprisingly, the things I enjoy doing match his exactly, except for scuba diving, which I’ve never tried.
He has a very funny, confident way of talking that makes staying on the phone easy. He leads most of the conversation. He’s in the middle of talking when I look at the clock on the wall. I’m surprised to see we’ve been on the phone for almost an hour and a half.
“I’m sorry, Christian,” I interrupt. “Where has the time gone? I really need to go.”
“It’s been really nice talking with you. Would you like to continue the conversation over dinner?”
“It’s been nice talking with you, too. Unfortunately, right now I’ve got too much going on. I don’t have time for a new relationship.”
“Relationship?” he asks. “I thought we agreed to be friends? No commitments. Just two friends enjoying a nice meal together.”
“Sounds pretty harmless.”
“Absolutely.”
“I don’t know.” I pause. “I may have some free time this Saturday.”
“This Saturday is wonderful,” he responds. “Do you want to give me your address to pick you up?”
“I don’t really know you. Can we just meet at the restaurant?”
“Sure, that sounds great. I’ll text you the location.” We sit in silence for a second, and then he says, “Listen, Faith. I’ve enjoyed talking with you.”
“Me too,” I say. I wish him a good evening and hang up.
I sit on the bed looking at his card. The conversation was pleasant. It reminds me of the beginning of my relationship with Ryan. He was so sweet at first. He said all the right things. I think about my relationship with Paul. I gave myself so completely, and he broke my heart. It’s still broken. I no longer believe in fairy tales. Break-ups hurt too much. Your heart can only break so many times before it can no longer be repaired. I lie on my bed and cry.
“I can’t do it again,” I say to myself.
– CHAPTER 29 –
Several times during the week I consider canceling my dinner plans with Christian. I can come up with a number of excuses. I usually spend the weekends doing housework, laundry, and grocery shopping. I have too much to do to go to some silly dinner with someone I don’t even know. At the same time, one night out would be a nice break. I never call to cancel.
There was a time when I spent two hours getting ready for a date. Now, time is a luxury I can’t afford. This day is no different. I spend my morning cleaning the house, washing clothes, and running to the grocery store until I’m completely out of time. I rush home, and slip into my blue sundress with small yellow flowers, which is more appropriate for church than a first date. I have no time to straighten my hair. I’m probably a little underdressed, but luckily I’m still attractive without a lot of effort. I put on some lipstick, and rush out the door.
I’ve never been to, or even heard of, the restaurant he texts me about. I put the name into my phone GPS. It’s further than I was expecting. I arrive ten minutes late and there’s no parking. Valet parking is a luxury of days gone by. I finally spot someone leaving three blocks away. When I arrive, I’m almost twenty-five minutes late, and feeling windblown. Christian is waiting at a small table right inside the restaurant. He obviously spent plenty of time getting ready. His black hair is freshly cut and combed back. He has on a blue suit with a yellow tie and a bright white shirt. His shoes have a shine that makes them look like they just came out of the box. He looks even more attractive than when we first met.
He stands as I walk in, reaches for my hand, and says, “Don’t you look beautiful.”
“I’m so sorry I’m late,” I say, offering my hand in return. “I’ve never been here before.”
“No worries,” he says with a friendly smile.
I look at his very expensive suit, this fancy restaurant, and then down at my dress. I’m even more embarrassed but
it’s too late to turn back now. “I think I’m a little underdressed,” I say.
“Not at all. You look lovely.”
After walking to the hostess desk, she leads us down a hallway with mirrors, hardwood floors and ceilings. All the tables have white tablecloths. We walk past men dressed in suits, and women dressed in elegant dresses. If I knew it would be so nice I would have dressed up. Better yet, I would have canceled the date altogether. There once was a time I wouldn’t feel out of place at a restaurant like this. Ryan and I often went to nice restaurants for our anniversary, birthdays, or Valentine’s Day.
The hostess stops at a small table near the back of the restaurant where a lit candle, a single rose in a tiny vase, and two place settings are awaiting our arrival. She pushes in my chair, and hands each of us a large, heavy menu. Two waiters arrive almost immediately. One is an older gentleman dressed in a black tuxedo and the other is a younger man dressed the same. The younger waiter fills each water glass and takes a step back. Our waiter turns to Christian and asks, “Sir, can I bring you a glass of wine while you look over the menu?”
Without looking at the menu Christian orders a bottle of wine I’ve never heard of before. “Yes sir, right away,” the waiter replies as he bows slightly and walks off.
Christian gives me a friendly smile. “I’m glad you made it.”
“It was nice of you to invite me,” I answer.
On a first date, I usually choose one of the most inexpensive plates. My menu, however, has no prices. I’m quite sure all the prices are on Christian’s menu. While looking at the menu, my eyes turn briefly to Christian. His menu is sitting on the table and he’s looking directly at me. I give him a quick smile, and return my attention to my menu. After a few minutes, he asks if anything looks interesting.
“I don’t know. The butter lettuce spring salad sounds nice.”
“Are you sure?” he asks. “This restaurant has the best sea bass in town.”
When the waiter returns, Christian orders for both of us. “We’ll start with the crab cakes and the beautiful lady will have the sea bass. I’ll have the prime filet mignon medium-rare. We’ll share some asparagus.”
“Very well,” the waiter replies without writing anything down.
The food he orders for me sounds perfect. I love sea bass, and asparagus is my favorite vegetable. A different waiter returns with a bottle of wine and two large wine glasses. He pours wine in each glass, and Christian holds his glass and toasts, “Here’s to a wonderful evening.”
I touch my glass to his before taking a sip. I can’t really tell the difference between expensive wine and cheap wine but this tastes wonderful. After a few more sips I feel more relaxed and comfortable.
“It was so nice talking to you on the phone,” he says. “We seem to have a lot of the same interests.”
“I know. It’s eerie that we like doing so many of the same things.”
“What else do you enjoy doing?” he asks.
“Hmm,” I say, taking another sip. “I spend most of my time going to kids’ activities. Kids today take so much out of us. When we were kids, we rode our bikes to our friends’, to school, everywhere. Today, parents bring their kids everywhere. It takes up so much time. Sometimes, I feel like a taxi service.”
He leans back in his chair. “You sound stressed.”
“As you can see, I don’t really have time to do the things I enjoy. I guess I’m like most people these days. Between work, home, and kids, it just doesn’t leave much time for anything else.”
“Faith, what do you do for you?” he asks.
I pause for a moment, considering his question. “You know, no one’s asked me that question in a long time,” I tell him. After a few seconds, it suddenly comes to me. “You know what? It’s been a while, but I do enjoy painting. I used to paint when I was married but I haven’t done it since my divorce.”
“You paint houses?” he jokes.
I laugh and almost spit the wine out my mouth. “No silly, I paint on a canvas.”
“If you enjoy painting, you should paint,” he says.
“How I wish,” I laugh. “I don’t have the time or the money to paint.”
“You have to make time for yourself.”
I take another sip of wine. In an attempt to get the conversation off of me, I ask, “Tell me more about you.”
“Me? I was born in Spain but moved to the U.S. when I was a child. As I said on the phone, I own a consulting business helping startups get off the ground. My main office is in New York but I work throughout the U.S. and Europe. I’ve been doing more and more work in Austin lately.”
“That sounds exciting,” I say.
“It is. I really enjoy it.”
“You said you were married once?” I ask.
“Yes, I was married for seven years. She died in a car accident three years ago.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He takes another sip of wine, and says, “Thank you for your concern. It’s been tough.”
We talk for about ten minutes, and a different woman arrives and places two dishes in front of us. They each contain two small crab cakes sitting on mixed greens covered with a light brown sauce. I take a bite of my crab cake and smile. “You’re right, this is good.”
After a few minutes, he asks what I do for a living. “Well, I work as an administrative assistant at a dental firm.” This is my usual answer instead of simply admitting I’m a receptionist or secretary. “I’m currently looking for something that pays better. I guess if it’s God’s will, it’ll happen. If not, it won’t.”
“That’s amazing to hear someone talk about God like that,” he says. “The idea that our lives are in God’s hands.”
“I really believe that.”
“Oh, so do I,” he says. “Many people feel the same way but most people don’t talk about their faith so freely. It’s really nice.”
Something about him puts me at ease. He has an intelligence and charm that’s soothing. I start engaging with him for the first time. Our waiter returns, and places my plate in front of me. He says the dish as “pan-fried sea bass.” He next puts down Christian’s plate, and identifies it as a “filet, medium-rare.” He gives each of us a spoonful of asparagus.
I take a few bites of my fish and the asparagus. “This is amazing.”
“Yes, this is my favorite steakhouse in town,” he says. “So, tell me about your kids.”
“Tell me about your kids,” I repeat in my mind. What a switch. Usually, kids aren’t something men want to know more about. I don’t usually mention my kids because I’m afraid three kids might scare a man off. Why would a successful man who has no kids want to know more about my kids?
“I have two girls and one boy,” I tell him. “My daughters are sixteen and five, and my son is twelve. My daughter is still sweet. The older two are going through that age where they test you.”
“Do they see their father?”
“Oh yes, they’re all very close to him—especially our son.”
“That’s wonderful. He sounds nice,” he says.
Hell no, he’s not nice! I think. “I guess he’s nice to them,” I respond.
“Do you ever think about getting back together?”
What the hell? Who asks this on a first date? The last thing I want to talk about is my relationship with Ryan.
I take a drink of water to settle down. “We had a difficult divorce, and I don’t think he’s gotten over it. I know I haven’t.”
“So that’s a no,” he confirms.
“Do I think about getting back with him? If you want to know the truth, I only talk to him when I’m forced to. We pretty much just talk about the kids, and even that isn’t easy.”
“That’s too bad,” he says.
“Well, it is what it is,” I respond, still irritated. I’m hoping he’ll see that I’m not enjoying this conversation.
“Well, sometimes it takes a while,” he says, obviously not getting the hint.
“Maybe so, but I doubt I’ll live that long.”
“Why did you divorce?” he continues.
I take another drink of water, and scowl at him to make clear that I don’t appreciate where the conversation is going, “Why do you ask questions about my ex?”
“Just wanting to know you better,” he says with the same charming smile.
His questions are way too personal. Instead of feeling relaxed and at ease, I’m now irritated, distant, and I want out. “I’m sorry,” I say as I reach for my purse and rise from my chair. “I need to go to the restroom.” I set my white napkin next to my plate and walk off.
The restroom is as beautiful as the rest of the restaurant. I walk up to the marble sinks with waterfall faucets, and look in the mirror. For the first time, I see just how little effort I put into getting ready for this beautiful restaurant. My blue dress with yellow flowers is nice but not really beautiful and certainly not elegant. I have on blue flats that don’t exactly match my dress. My hair is no longer combed after walking three windy blocks to get here. The waiter took my lipstick away with the empty wine glasses. The only jewelry I have on is a small cross hanging from my neck on a chain and tiny gold earrings.
I pull my hair over each ear, and brush it back with my fingers the best I can. I’ll return to our table, and excuse myself as quickly as possible.
When I get back, Christian stands up and slides my chair in behind me. He sits back down, and looks directly at me, which makes me a little uncomfortable. He places his palm flat on the table and says, “I didn’t mean to get so personal. I owe you an apology. Can you forgive me?”
“It’s okay,” I let him know. “It’s just that my marriage is not something I enjoy talking about.”
I take a couple bites of food. It’s been a long time since I ate at such a nice restaurant. I’ll stay and finish my meal. The more wine I drink, the more my mood improves.
Christian breaks the silence by asking, “You know, Faith, I saw you with your kids. You’re a great mom. That’s very attractive.”
The Killing of Faith: A Suspense Thriller You Won't Soon Forget. (The Killing of Faith Series Book 1) Page 15
