by Jamie Knight
Before I think about what I’m doing, I reach over and hold his hand. I put mine over his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“If it isn’t or wasn’t good, trust me when I say no person would eat it.”
He nods but doesn’t say anything as the waiter brings us our chilled wine and fresh glasses to pour it in. It’s only when the appetizers arrive, and one of the servers looks down and smiles at my hand, do I realize where it is still. At that point, I quickly move it off.
Tommy notices, but instead of looking surprised or offended, he looks abandoned. It’s like he is hungry for the touch that’s just left him. But he quickly wipes the emotion from his face and asks me about the appetizer again, the artichoke one.
I know it’s a dodge, but I give in to it anyway. I fill him in, taking a sip of my wine as I do. He takes a couple cautious bites after that. At first, he is not sure what to do with the lemon or the herbs, but by the end of the plate, he’s a fan.
“That was much better than I thought it was going to be,” he says, legitimately pleased by it. “I never thought I would like artichokes.”
“You probably never thought you would like French food or the French language either,” I point out, and watch him blush. He grins sheepishly at me, which I love every moment of.
“No,” he admits, “I didn’t think that would happen either.”
“That’s the magic of life,” I say, taking another sweet sip of my bitter wine. “When I was growing up in England, I didn’t think I would ever come to America, let alone set up a life here. And yet, I’ve done just that. With no intention of ever going back.”
As I say this, I take another sip of my wine. Except this one is more like a gulp. Dennis has just reared his ugly head in my thoughts, and I’m determined to drown him out.
Tommy, unfortunately, decides to summon him.
“What does your boyfriend think?” Cautiously, he starts to move a piece of bread into the fondue. “About you not going back to Europe?”
He pauses a minute, then realizes what he’s just asked me.
He bugs his eyes out, and he says, “Never mind! You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Melissa. It’s really none of my damn business.” He sticks that cheese-covered piece of bread in his mouth, careful not to fork himself in the lips as he does.
“He doesn’t like it,” I say, feeling heavy in my heart.
I take another big sip of my wine.
“But it doesn’t matter what he thinks or likes anymore.”
I swallow, looking at Tommy over my glass.
“It doesn’t matter?”
Adorably, Tommy looks shocked as well hopeful.
“Why?”
In his eyes, I can see he knows something. I can also see he’s hoping for something, though he won’t admit it or acknowledge it, so I don’t either. Not yet.
I just answer his question.
“We aren’t together anymore,” I say briskly.
I take another drink of my wine glass, draining it. I hadn’t meant to drink like this in front of Tommy, but Dennis seems to be making a mess of things, even when he isn’t around.
Tommy’s look of shock and hope intensifies.
I finish my answer to his question.
“He dumped me last week, after over a year of a long-distance relationship, eighteen months committed in total.”
My voice cracks around this, and I fix it with another glass of wine from the bottle.
“He said it wasn’t worth it to him anymore, that he couldn’t and wouldn’t put forth any more effort.”
Tommy doesn’t say anything. He can’t, anyway. The maître d’ has just returned to take our entrée order. With the conversation at hand now, there’s only one choice to make, and that’s to order my version of comfort food: Duck confit, cheesy, creamy potatoes, and garlic and herb fried greens. Enough for both of us. A whole duck.
I order, watching Tommy sip his wine and listen to me.
He gets drunk on more than the alcohol and ponders what I’ve just told him.
That I’m newly single.
And his for the taking— even though I didn’t say that part, of course, but I sure do hope he gets the hint.
Chapter Twenty-Nine - Tommy
They’re not together anymore?
He broke up with her after over a year of long-distance commitment?
I take a sip of my wine, followed by another. I can’t quite wrap my head around these thoughts as they come, let alone what they make me feel.
On the one hand, I’m saddened to hear that Melissa has been so cruelly dumped. I’m angry for her that her boyfriend decided to do this, to say everything wasn’t worth his time or effort, after months of putting forth time and effort.
But my final feeling is the one that causes me the most discomfort and fear, as well as joy. The fact that part of me is happy. I’m excited that she’s free, that she is no longer “taken.”
I sip at my wine, looking at Melissa. At the beginning of her confession to me about her relationship status, she looked deflated, empty. Now she looks emboldened or confident, I guess. As if she’s come to terms with what this boyfriend of hers was really worth to her.
She gives me a small smile as she tops off my wine. And that smile, the glitter in her eyes, is enough to make my head spin with yet more thoughts. Different ones.
She has no boyfriend now. She’s free. Available. Perhaps that means I can be the one to take the reins, take his place, and take care of Melissa the way she deserves to be taken care of.
Almost as if she reads my thoughts and whatever light is in my eyes, Melissa blushes. She bats her eyelashes at me, but it’s not in a conscious, flirty way.
It’s in a beautiful, innocent way. She takes the wine bottle away from the rim of my glass and carefully puts the cork in it.
I murmur my thanks to her, thinking, she deserves better treatment than that. I would be more than happy to be the better boyfriend, the better man to her, but she just had her ex break up with her. She’s probably more heartbroken over it than she’s letting on, so I really shouldn’t push myself into her life. Not so quickly or so soon, but damn!
I’m sipping on my wine thoughtfully, just looking at her. Her beautiful, shoulder-length, black hair. The way it frames her face. Her big, liquid eyes. They both shine bright and soft in the low light of the restaurant. Her big, full lips. Her flawless, ivory skin, and small, carefully-molded hands.
She is so, so beautiful. So, so sweet. If there was anyone who could do a good job of loving her, protecting her, and showing her what she’s worth, it’s me!
I sigh, feeling both impatient and satisfied. Somehow, even though I want more than anything to be able to tell her how great and wonderful I think she is, and what a great job I know I would do being a boyfriend to her, I’m just overjoyed to know that she’s free now. She’s available for me to protect, love, and dote on in little secret ways.
After a minute or so of letting my mind wander to all the different ways that I might dote on her — bring her some food at lunch, maybe give her a few little gifts through the inter-office mail, go out for drinks on the weekdays after work — I snap out of it.
I clear my throat and say, “I’m sorry to hear that your ex-boyfriend did that to you. He sounds like a shitty person.”
I pause, careful to move my glass, so I don’t knock it over.
“But how are you handling it? How are you feeling after it all?”
Melissa lets out a strange mix between a sigh and a laugh. She doesn’t look at me right away, but when she does, I see relief in her eyes, along with lingering pain.
“To be honest with you, I wasn’t doing so well initially. Last week was really tough. I had to leave work early the day he broke up with me. Something I haven’t done in the ten years I’ve worked here, but I just couldn’t deal with it.”
She clears her throat while tracing some designs on
the tablecloth.
“But now? I feel relieved. I feel fine with letting him go. I’ve realized what a selfish, immature person he really was, despite being the older one out of the two of us.”
I shift happily in my seat. I hate to be happy over her heartbreak, but I can’t help it. It means that I get to finally be the knight in shining armor I’ve always wanted to be. The goodly hero I always played in my role-playing games but never got to be in real life. At least, not until now.
She looks at me, and I still my body. She gives me an odd smile. It’s somewhat calculating and shrewd.
“And I’ve decided to make my ex pay for what he’s put me through. The emotional labor and the monetary burden,” she says.
I raise my eyebrows. Melissa continues, smiling wider over my expression.
“I’ve decided I’m going to file charges against him. Sue him for the money I’ve given to him for various things. I’ve looked into some law, and I found that since we were in a kind of ‘common-law’ relationship because of the time we lived together, he and I actually would have shared assets. I could actually ask that he pay something in damages or restitution for infidelity while in this relationship. I’ve already told Kane about my plans, and he’s agreed to look into it for me.”
The trays of food begin to arrive. As the food gets put into the middle of our table, and all the delicious smells start to flow and mingle between us, I’ve got so much on my mind.
But not just from the food. From my current train of thought. Thoughts regarding this legal action Melissa’s just implied. Though I know I’m not a practicing lawyer yet, I can’t help but begin to imagine what it would be like to truly be her defense. Not only as her lover but as her attorney. How good it makes me feel to imagine being the strong, righteous person in the courtroom. Using my words and my knowledge to help Melissa win her wealth and her freedom back from her ex-boyfriend.
I’m lost in these thoughts, and similar ones like them as Melissa begins to dish up the food for us, giving me sizable portions of everything: duck, cheesy au gratin potatoes and garlic, pan-seared greens. I wish I could find a way to be your lover and your lawyer, I think. Except one, more than the other, is going to be an obvious conflict of interest. But maybe, just maybe, there will be a way around it.
Chapter Thirty - Melissa
We eat our dinner the way I love to eat it: slowly, savoring each bit of it, enjoying more conversation. A conversation that’s turned to a lighter tone now. Away from ex-boyfriends and scuzzy, predatory bosses. While our conversation did turn to Ms. Vanacore during part of the main course, we kept it to a minimum.
I simply reminded Tommy to be prepared to gather evidence and be prepared to take this “willing” act of his to a believable level if he’s going to go forward in getting this evidence.
Now, the desert has rolled around — literally on some silver platters on rolling carts, and we are free to pick and choose from any of it. But, my eyes zero in on Tommy’s shabby, much-too-big suit.
It’s the same as the one he’s been wearing for nearly a week and a half now. Whether it’s the same one he wore for his interview, or a whole other matching set (I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a whole closet of the same suit to wear every day) it doesn’t matter.
I’m eager to see him in something else. Something worthy or of his good looks and his talent. Something more elegant and stylish. Something a practicing lawyer should be seen in.
It’s my turn to drink him in now, as I’ve seen him do to me a few times tonight. I study his full features. Though he has a bit of weight around his face, it only makes him look that much more boyish — young and filled with wonder, but he also has an intensity.
In his face, I see a sense of justice and righteousness, which he also embodies. The way he sits his large body in the chair, it’s like he’s always meditating on his destiny, his self-actualization into a fully empowered, fully realized being.
It’s a beautiful thing to see. It’s energy without arrogance, confidence without criticism, and determination without cruelty or coldness. Things that Dennis could never and would never have.
With all the light and energy in his face and body, I just can’t stand how he covers it up. How he buries it and tries to distract from his handsomeness, his regal bearing, with such cheap and thoughtless clothing.
To me, these pieces of clothing have always screamed of unworthiness and laziness. Even more so in our surroundings. In the dim light of the restaurant, his clothing is even more self-deprecating.
That man has really got to start loving himself. He’s really got to start understanding what some good clothes, some finely crafted wardrobe pieces, can do for one’s confidence. One’s sense of worth and bravery.
And it looks like I’m going to have to be the one to show him how to love himself and dress like he’s worthy of not only love and a good-paying job, but of seeing his own beauty and embracing it fully. He treats himself like an afterthought when he should treat himself like a work of art.
I grab myself a small tart from the series of silver trays and platters left for us by our waiter. I ordered a kind of dessert buffet, and it doesn’t surprise me how much selection and choice we’ve been given. The tart I’ve gotten is a raspberry one. I pick up a strawberry one for Tommy, but he’s more interested in the custards or in the puddings and other bits of cake.
As I start to eat my dessert and the sweet fruity flavors explode on my tongue, I remember something he said about his dad. How his dad picked his suit out for him, that his dad mocked him in it. He told Tommy that maybe that would work to hide his ugliness, even though Tommy isn’t ugly at all— in fact, he’s very handsome.
At that moment, I feel tears threatening to overwhelm my eyes. I also come up with my plan. I’m going to take this boy who feels worthless, and like an afterthought, and turn him into a piece of art and his own greatest lover.
I’m going to take him shopping. I’m going to introduce him to the world of fashion and how the world of elegance and style are all about showing yourself off, no matter what your size or features you have and not hiding them.
Dennis did that for me when we first got together. Before I met him, I was much like Tommy is now: insecure and unsure of my place in life. I was unsure of my worthiness to even have a place, let alone any thought that I should be beautiful, grab attention, or keep it all for myself. But I learned. I learned it was okay to be noticed, and it was okay to want and grab attention.
I don’t think that I would have the career, friends, or life that I have now without it. And I can only imagine what that kind of confidence is going to do for Tommy. For the life of his that is just about to take off. It’s all just about to take shape, even though he’s tried to walk around as a faceless, nameless mass. Even though he’s done that, he doesn’t want to be.
He wants to be more. He wants to be unique, special, and cherished, and I’m going to help do that for him. I’m going to help give him the ability to shape his future and his present the same way Dennis did for me, except I’m going to be there for him even after I’ve shown him how to look after his appearance and his self-esteem.
I take another bite of my tart, sipping at a dessert wine I have ordered. This one’s a lot sweeter than I’m used to, but it is a good complement for the desert and deserts of all kinds. Fruit or chocolate, or more butter-centered, it all works with this.
As I chew thoughtfully on that bite, I say, “That suit. Those clothes, Tommy. They don’t do you justice.”
Seeming to have only heard the word about his clothes, Tommy blushes. He straightens up defensively and looks at me like I might do him some greater injury.
“What about my clothes, Melissa?”
“They don’t do you justice, Tommy,” I repeat gently and earnestly. “I told you the day I met you when you were getting ready for your interview, that you could and should do much better than that. That you’re too handsome — now too successful
— to be dressing in a suit like that.”
Tommy blushes again. He fidgets nervously. I can see he’s getting upset, but that’s exactly what I want to avoid.
“It’s okay if that’s all you have for now,” I say, realizing that’s probably more the case than any lack of interest or motivation in taking better care of himself. “If that’s all you have, fine. But then let me offer this: why don’t we go out next weekend, just the two of us, and I’ll help you pick out a whole new wardrobe, hmm?”
I see the shock and surprise play across his face, and continue, “I know your father obviously doesn’t care or have enough fashion sense to give you something that will look and make you feel like the successful, brilliant man you are, so I’m stepping up to help reflect that back to you. I’ll help you embody that, Tommy. I don’t know what your father has told you, and I don’t care to know, but I want you to know what you’re worth. I want you to know your value, Tommy. I’d like to be allowed to do just that. To spend some time with you, and create with you, a wardrobe that truly exemplifies and expresses the value and worth you bring to the company and to people’s lives, including your own.”
Here, I see Tommy tearing up a bit, and I do the same.
“It’s about time you looked after your needs and desires, honey. Parents, especially fathers to sons, they can be monsters at worst. At best they can be emotionally unavailable and too concerned with maintaining their own toxic masculinity to care for children the way we need caring for.”
I reach over and hold his hand again, not feeling self-conscious this time.
“Is that something you’d be interested in?” I pause, already feeling giddy and overwhelmed by what I’m about to ask him next. “Would you like to go shopping with me, Tommy?”
Tommy nods, looking like he’s having an out of body experience. Much the same way I’m beginning to feel, even with no verbal response from him.
