by Swati MH
I shake my head without responding to his goading. “How was the hot date?”
He sets his phone and wallet on the coffee table after taking a seat next to me, roughly, on the couch. “Good.”
I stare at him expectantly. “You better give me more than just ‘good’. Who is this chick?”
“Her name is Priya. I met her on a dating app and we’ve been chatting for a while. She’s actually a physical therapist, so she knows about my condition.”
My eyebrows go up. “An Indian girl! Well, that takes the pressure off me.”
My brother laughs. “Yeah, right. Mom doesn’t care about all that like Asha masi did with Avni. Neither of us have pressure to get with an Indian girl.”
“True.” I sigh, thankful that my mom hasn’t tried to fix me up with random Indian girls looking to get married in the next six months--though she did just pester me at dinner about her friends asking about me for their daughters. “So tell me more. Is there going to be a second date?”
Vinnie shrugs. “I think so. We both had fun. We went out to dinner and the time just flew by. She’s easy to talk to and it helps that I can be myself around her and not feel . . . less, you know what I mean?”
A mix of pain and pride passes through me with my brother’s admittance. He doesn’t deserve to ever feel less than anyone, especially when I know he’s so much more than most people. But I’m so proud of him for putting himself out there and realizing that he deserves happiness. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“Want to start Call of Duty or do you need to change your adult diaper first?”
Before he even has a chance to laugh at his own dumb joke, I whack him over his head with a pillow.
6
Cassie
Fortunately, your love life is looking up as Venus enters flirty Pisces this month. It’s also a great time to do some soul-searching and reflect on what you truly desire in your partner.
There’s nothing better than a late July evening in San Diego, especially near the water in La Jolla. The salty breeze makes my shoulder-length hair fly in all directions as I walk toward the restaurant to meet Major. I rarely use the clothes in my closet, except for occasional nights out with Avni or Lynn. Most days, I’m either sporting my fancy scrubs or my fancy sweatpants. But when I do decide to dust off the clothes in the back of my closet, like today, I usually opt for a bohemian look. Today, I decide to pair my rolled-up boyfriend jeans with a white embroidered flowy top and high-heeled, strappy wedges.
I walk into the upscale Latin restaurant and wait for the hostess to greet me. I’m trying to keep my anxiety at bay since I haven’t been on a date in quite some time. I’m not sure if Major is already here yet, and I don’t really know what he looks like so hopefully, there isn’t too much confusion.
The hostess turns to me expectantly. “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes, there should be one under Major Whitman for seven p.m.”
She scans her list. “Ah, it looks like your party has already been seated. Let me take you to your table.”
I’m not sure why my heart picks up as we walk toward the table in the back. The room is dimly lit with candles flickering on every table, and everyone is talking in hushed voices, some eying me as I walk by. I immediately worry that what I’m wearing is too casual for this establishment.
Too late to worry about it now.
We walk toward a man with sandy brown hair, intently eyeing his menu, his jaw set as if he were decoding a message. From the two pictures of him that I saw on his profile, I already know that he’s my date.
“Here you are.” The hostess waves her hand over to the chair in front of Major, making his chin lift toward us.
“Hey!” He gets up from his seat, his enormous frame towering over me, and we give each other an awkward hug. “Glad to see you, Cassie.”
“Same here.” I hang my purse on the backrest before taking a seat.
Major and I briefly exchange pleasantries about the drive here and the beautiful weather outside. He’s a lot broader than in his pictures--almost like a football player--and well over six-feet tall. He has on a black button-down shirt through which I can make out his muscular arms. His warm smile and the dimple on his left cheek helps to soften his square jaw and icy blue eyes, making him seem more approachable than when I was walking toward him.
“I hope you like Latin cuisine.”
“Oh, it’s fine. I’m pretty--” I get cut off when the waiter comes to our table.
“Thank you for dining with us this evening. Have you had a chance to look at the drinks menu?”
I glance at Major and notice that his jaw is tense, but I don’t know him well enough to know if that’s just a normal expression on him or if something has irked him. “We’ll get a bottle of the Belle Glos pinot noir.” He hands his menu back to the waiter and I try not to visibly gawk when I notice the price of the bottle.
I guess I’ll be picking up another shift or two at the hospital.
Major watches the waiter leave for a moment before sliding his gaze back to me with a smile. “You look lovely, by the way.”
“Oh, thank you. I might be a little underdressed.” I survey some of the other guests at their tables. “I didn’t realize this was such an upscale place.”
“Don’t worry about it. You look great.” Major scans my face and then my blouse.
“Thanks,” I mumble, feeling a little flushed and wanting to move the attention off me. “So, you know the owner of this restaurant?”
“Yeah, he’s a friend of mine and owns a few other local restaurants as well. This one just opened up last month.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard it’s very popular. Tell me more about your restaurants.”
Before Major can respond, the waiter comes back with our wine. After pouring a taste for Major and getting his acceptance, the waiter proceeds to fill both of our glasses. I prefer white wine or a cocktail since red wine usually gives me a headache, but I don’t want to be rude so I raise my glass up to meet Major’s before taking a small sip.
“Have you had a chance to decide on your dinner tonight?” The waiter looks at me and then at Major with a tight smile.
I order the crab tostadas with a cup of creamed corn soup while Major orders the pork tamales. Major also orders an appetizer of calamari--something I’m not a fan of--for us to start with. He’s definitely a take-charge kind of guy.
Once the waiter has left with our orders, Major tells me about some of the restaurants he owns around the area. He inherited his first restaurant from his father about ten years ago and has successfully been expanding the business ever since. Apparently, his whole family is in the restaurant business.
It’s hard not to notice how passionate he is about his work as he talks about each restaurant and its history, as if gushing about a child. I get the feeling that Major is meticulous and extremely regimented, not letting anything deter him from his goals. “In most of my restaurants, we’ve employed some of the world’s best chefs--some who have graduated from the topmost ranking culinary schools. I even have a restaurant that has Michelin stars in my portfolio.”
“That’s impressive.” I say, feeling like I’ve had more information about the restaurant business in the past twenty minutes than I’ve had in my whole life. “So, from your profile, I noticed that you’re also into meditation. What kind of meditation do you practice?”
He takes another sip of his wine. “I’ve been--”
Major is interrupted when the waiter comes back with our entrees. “Here is your tostada, madam.” He sets my plate down in front of me. “And the tamales for you, sir. Can I get you both anything else?”
“I believe she ordered the soup as well.” Major’s tone is as cold as his icy-blue glare, which is currently boring a hole into the waiter’s skull. The change in Major’s demeanor is unmistakable. He’s not happy and anyone within a one-mile radius could read that on his face. I’m so bewildered by the change in his body languag
e that I momentarily forget that he’s upset about a part of my meal.
The waiter appears to be genuinely apologetic and I immediately feel sorry for him. “Ah, I’m sorry, sir. We’ll get that right out.” He turns to me and I give him a reassuring, “That’s okay,” knowing it was just a simple oversight.
Major turns to me once the waiter has left. “I’m sorry about that.” His eyes warm with his words and transform him back to human.
Well, I’m glad I’m on Mr. Jekyll’s good side.
I wave my hand. “It’s totally fine. Honestly, I don’t need the soup anyway.”
“No, I’m glad you got it. Besides, that’s not the point. You ordered the soup and should have received it with your meal,” he asserts a little more firmly than needed.
Okay, then.
Once the rest of my dinner arrives, Major and I get into an easier conversation. He’s really good at keeping the conversation flowing with his knowledge on everything from restaurants to yoga to his recollection of so many science fiction movies. And even though I barely touch the wine, I’m feeling relaxed and having a good time. I’m still flustered by the change in his tone with the waiter earlier, but I decide to put that behind us and focus on getting to know Major.
Strangely, even though I’m nodding at the right moments and mostly involved in our conversation, my mind pulls me to thoughts of the annoying pink polka-dotted elephant. As much as I tell myself not to compare the two men, I can’t help but do so.
They are day and night. Summer and winter. Fire and ice.
I compare their smiles--Major’s firm, hard-to-earn ones with Vik’s freely given ones. Their eyes--Major’s frosty winter days to Vik’s warm summer nights. Major’s eyes protectively veil his every thought while Vik’s readily divulge every dirty secret like a banned graphic novel. I even compare their demeanor--Major’s stoic and unshakeable with Vik’s charismatic, come-what-may appeal.
But the biggest difference between them isn’t in anything physical--it’s rooted in their personalities. Major is committed--to his work, to his life, and most likely will be to the woman he chooses. He’s stable, risk-averse, and knows exactly what he wants; hence, why we’re having calamari and pinot noir. I can tell just from this dinner alone that he isn’t in search of someone to pass a night with. He’s looking for someone who will be as serious about him as he is about them. Meanwhile, Vik treats everything--except for his job--like his personal playground. I doubt he could be serious about someone if his life depended on it.
Not to mention he’s a surgeon and as stated previously, I don’t date surgeons or bankers.
I need someone more pensive and meditative. Someone disciplined and devoted. Someone who’ll be there no matter how high the mountain climb may be. I’ve already dealt with someone who couldn’t be there through the thick of it, who left me all alone while my dad, Paula, and Avni picked up my tattered pieces, and I refuse to go through that again. I doubt there’s anyone Vik has ever been devoted to besides himself, and I refuse to become another tick on his tally count.
The right choice for me is someone like Major. He’s more like me--controlled, committed, and careful.
So why does it feel like I’m having an argument with myself?
“You haven’t touched your wine,” Major says, shaking me out of my thoughts as he glances at my almost full glass.
“I’m sorry. I’m not much of a red wine drinker. It gives me a headache.”
Major grimaces, eyeing my full glass. “Some red wines can do that, but this one shouldn’t since it has less tannins.”
Feeling put on the spot, I take a small sip to appease him but I don’t admit that I’m actually not a fan of the taste of red wine, either. If this date bodes well, I’ll be more deliberate about ordering a drink for myself next time.
The rest of dinner is mixed with conversations about our families and our upbringing. Major moved to San Diego from Oregon many years ago. He was raised in Portland and most of his large family still lives there, but he doesn’t plan to move back. That’s another thing that works in his favor. He plans on staying here, unlike the pink polka-dotted elephant who will be moving back to New York once his fellowship is over and he’s bedded every breathing female within a ten-mile radius of the hospital.
Again, someone like Major is the right choice for me.
“Would you like dessert?” Major asks me once our plates have been cleared.
I definitely would like it, but I’m positive I’ll need to take a loan out for this dinner if I add anything more, so I decline. “No, thank you. I’m pretty stuffed.”
“Okay, well, I’ve heard their flan is amazing, and I’d like to see how it stacks up against the one served in my restaurant, so if you don’t mind, I’ll get that.”
I shake my head, hurting a little inside. “No, please. Feel free.”
When his flan arrives, Major offers me a bite and then proceeds to devour every inch with the dedication of an artist. During the few moments that he’s eating--possibly without breathing--I don’t think he even remembers that he’s on a date. He’s completely engrossed in the dessert while I take a few tiny sips of my wine and turn my attention toward the restaurant to distract myself.
He’s obviously very dedicated to every task he takes on.
“What did you think of the flan?” I ask Major, eyeing his nearly-licked bowl.
He grimaces. “It was subpar compared to the one made at my restaurants.”
Clearly.
Once the waiter comes back, I start to reach for my purse. “Sir, madam,” the waiter looks over at each of us, “your meal is on the house. Our owner has requested that you come back and dine with us any time, but this meal has been taken care of by him.”
“Oh wow! Please thank him for us,” I exclaim, surprised.
Is it too late to order dessert?
As we start to leave the restaurant, I realize that Major didn’t thank the waiter, nor did he leave a tip. We’re almost to the door when I decide to stop abruptly. “Thank you so much for the evening. This was a lot of fun, and I really liked getting to know you better.”
Major regards me, a smile transforming his austere face. “It was my pleasure, Cassie. I would love to see you again soon.”
I hesitate for a moment. Someone like him is the right choice for me. “Um, sure. I’d like that, too.”
“Great, I’ll be in touch.” He looks between us with a confused expression, no doubt wondering why we’ve stopped inside, near the doors. “Should we head to the parking lot?”
“Oh, actually, I’d like to use the ladies’ room.”
“Would you like me to wait for you? I don’t mind.”
“No, please go ahead. We’ll chat soon.”
Major pulls me in for a quick kiss on the cheek and waves before heading out to the parking lot. I wait until he’s out of sight before going back in and finding our table where the waiter is picking up our utensils and napkins. “Can I help you, madam? Did you forget something?”
“Yes. I did, actually.” I tuck fifty dollars into the receipt folder on the table for him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs and smiles back at me warmly.
“You’re welcome.”
As I walk toward the parking lot, I’m trying but failing to reconcile the barrage of feelings from the past two hours. This wasn’t a bad date, was it? It was entertaining and informative, like watching a documentary or reading non-fiction. Not everyone is going to feel like dessert after midnight or a deliciously steamy read. Even if that’s what I want, it’s not necessarily what’s good for me.
I could give Major another chance. I should give him another chance.
Considering the fact that I’m a twenty-seven-year-old single woman who hasn’t been in a serious relationship since college, I suppose I need to be more open-minded about things. I can’t just judge the possibility of a relationship based on one date, can I? That seems unfair.
Here’s another thing that’s unfair--the pink
polka-dotted elephant creeping into my brain at random times throughout the night. Why am I even comparing Vik and Major? Vik and I aren’t even dating each other, nor will we ever. So even considering him in that regard is useless, ridiculous, and a complete waste of time.
Except that it’s also gut-wrenching, all-consuming, and pure torture in the worst of ways.
In the best of ways.
Which is why I imagine him again and again until I fall asleep in my own bed.
7
Cassie
With the juxtaposition of Uranus and Venus ruling over your eleventh house this week, the prospect of an unlikely friendship sparking amidst chaos is quite possible.
I am a woman bound to the comfortability of routine. In fact, that’s pretty consistent with the characteristics described for my zodiac sign. My pre-work routine consists of going on a quick jog on the trail behind our house, packing mine and Dad’s lunch for the day, and getting ready for work. Then I sit in the cocoon of my car with my hot coffee, listening to music for ten minutes before getting on the road. Those ten minutes are akin to me charging myself up for ten hours of battery life to get through the day. This is how everyday is, except for Mondays when I read my weekly horoscope.
Certain weeks are to be remembered or not remembered, depending on your perspective. This will certainly be such a week.
It will test your prowess in aligning your heart and body with your mind. It will make you question your routines and maybe even your beliefs. Whatever you thought to be true may be brought into question this week, so stay open to the message the universe is trying to give you, Taurus. Pluto will enter toward the end of the week, holding up a mirror to encourage you to think about the past you’d like to keep locked up.
Don’t worry, though. With Jupiter, the planet of good fortune, coming into your house of transformation this week, you can be sure this will just be the start of something magnificent. That is, if you’re willing to part with some of your long-held beliefs to let it be.
