Tyler: That works for me. I’m going to be honest. Sometimes I get stuck working late for my asshole boss. I’ll text you if that happens, but I wanted to let you know in advance in case it happens.
Melanie: I appreciate that.
Melanie: We can always meet in the lobby after work?
Tyler: No. I want to do this right. Let me pick you up?
Melanie: Of course.
Tyler: Perfect. I need to get back to work, but text me your address and if I don’t see you in the elevator before then, I’ll see you Thursday.
Melanie: Looking forward to it.
I plugged in my earbuds and went to my music app. My fingertip hovered over the search field, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t step outside my perfectly crafted music box. The eighties were not better than the nineties, so really there was no point at all. In fact, I was going to make Melanie a mix tape. What a nineties thing for me to do. I’d give it to her on our date and she’d love it. I’d make her a nineties girl yet.
***
“That was so much fun,” Melanie gushed as we walked out onto the sidewalk.
“I’m glad you liked it,” I said, taking her hand and leading her in the direction of the restaurant where we’d have a late dinner. She blushed again; it was a good look on her. She was dressed plainly, as I’d suggested when I texted her earlier that day, in dark jeans and a teal short-sleeve shirt. She dressed the outfit up with some jewelry and fancy, gold sandals. She looked amazing, but she’d look good in a potato sack. “I figured it was better than a movie,” I winked at her, and she smiled.
“I’ve never done an escape room before. I thought I’d feel claustrophobic or something, but I didn’t. Not at all.”
“I did one once with my sister.”
“Are you two close?” she asked.
“Very. She’s older than me by a few years. She…uh…she took me in when my parents passed away.”
Melanie squeezed my hand. “I’m so sorry you lost them, Tyler.”
“Thanks,” I squeezed her hand back and moved to the right side of the sidewalk as we approached the restaurant. “I hope you like Greek.” This place had the best gyros.
Melanie laughed. “I am Greek, of course, I like Greek food.”
Oh shit. Wasn’t there some unspoken rule that you never ever took someone to the ethnic restaurant that was their ethnicity? Like bringing an Italian to an Italian restaurant? Or a Greek to a cheap gyro place?
Melanie laughed, the sound like tinkling bells. “I see that look on your face. Stop panicking. I’m not a Greek food snob, I promise.”
“Are you sure? Because we can go somewhere else.”
“I’m positive,” she said and tugged me through the open door.
It wasn’t a fancy place. We placed our orders at the counter and found a table where we waited for our number to be called. Melanie told me about growing up with her huge Greek family on Long Island, and I told her what it was like living with my sister and her husband in Manhattan. She was as fascinated as everyone else when I told her how long Hannah and her husband had been together.
“Since fifth grade? Like twenty years already? Wow! That’s amazing.”
“She always tells people ‘When you know, you know.’”
“I guess so. That’s amazing.”
“That’s one person for your entire life.” I said and immediately regretted the words. Maybe Hannah was right, maybe I did self-sabotage. But maybe I didn’t realize I did it.
Melanie just rolled with it. “But that’s what fits for her and her husband. I think if I’d found the guy in the first guy I’d ever dated, then I’d probably be content only ever being with him. I’d feel fulfilled, you know? If I had everything I needed in a partner, I wouldn’t want anything else. There’d be no lusting for another man because I’d have it all. And, well, if I did lust for someone else, then it wasn’t meant to be.”
Was that what my problem was? Was I still lusting after something? I looked at the beautiful woman sitting across the table from me in this dive restaurant, smiling at me like I’d taken her to some five-star place. I didn’t feel like I wanted anything else in that moment. I felt…good…complete.
“Oh,” I said remembering about the tape. I pulled a cassette tape out of my back pocket and slid it over the table to her. “I made you a mix tape.”
She looked at the plastic cartridge on the table like she’d never seen one before in her life. But I knew she had, we established that we graduated high school one year apart, so we were close in age. If I knew what it was, so did she.
“Wow,” she said, and I wasn’t sure if it was a good wow or a bad wow. “It’s so very nineties of you to make me a mix tape.”
I let out a breath at that. She was teasing me. That was good. “That’s exactly what I thought when I decided to make it.”
She laughed.
She was good.
We were good.
Everything was good.
6
Melanie
One thing I could say about Tyler’s taste in music was that he sure was eclectic, especially considering it was all nineties. It flipped from “No Scrubs” by TLC to “Lovefool” by The Cardigans and several oddities in between. It wasn’t terrible, just weird. I hadn’t heard Ini Kamoze in years; talk about a blast from the past!
I’d had a great time on our date the other night. I loved how Tyler kept the evening low key with the escape room and a simple dinner, it was like he knew I’d be anxious with something fancier. I honestly wasn’t quite sure how I was able to keep it together. On a scale of one to ten, my baseline nerves were usually a five in social situations, but with him I was just comfortable. I couldn’t explain it.
I stepped off the train in Port Jefferson and peered through the crowd, looking for Meredith. We were meeting today to look at wedding dresses. She wasn’t in a rush to get married, didn’t even have a date picked out yet, but she told me she’d always dreamed about her wedding dress and couldn’t wait another second to go try some on. As long as she didn’t make me try on anything hideous, I didn’t mind one bit. I spotted Meredith’s curly red hair just as she saw me and waved. I ran up to her and gave her a big hug. It had been a few months since I’d last seen her, and I’d missed my friend.
“You look amazing,” she said, stepping back and looking me up and down. “Is this one of yours?” she asked, gesturing to my dress. It was a yellow sundress with cap sleeves and some white lacing around the waist and the hemline.
“Yeah. It’s not part of any of the collections I’ve been working on recently, just something I put together.”
“Just something I put together,” she mimicked. “Well, it’s fabulous. You look happy, too.”
“Thanks; so do you. Being engaged seems to agree with you.” Meredith grinned, then fanned herself with her left hand, showing off the huge rock on her ring finger. “Let me see that!” I said, grabbing her hand. Wow, the diamond had to be two carats. Keith, her fiancé, had spared no expense.
“He did good, right?”
“He did good,” I confirmed. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you. What is that?”
“Huh?” I looked around for what she was talking about.
“That,” she pointed, “hanging out of your bag.”
“Oh, it’s my Walkman,” I said, tucking it deeper into my bag so it didn’t fall out.
“Your Walkman? You still have one of those? Of course, you do. I can’t believe you still listen to cassette tapes, Mel.” She turned and began walking to the parking lot. I followed behind her as she continued her monologue. “You know they make those old albums of yours on CD. You can even buy them digitally, then you wouldn’t have to worry about storing the tapes. You don’t have a lot of space in your tiny apartment; I’m surprised you would waste space like that.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll have you know I don’t have some massive collection of cassette tapes lurking beneath my bed as you seem to think.” I did
still have a small handful of cassette tapes but only of the things I hadn’t been able to find on iTunes. They were tucked neatly underneath my bed with my Walkman for easy access when I needed a fix. “I have my Walkman today because Tyler made me a mix tape.”
Meredith stopped in her tracks and spun to face me. “Are you for real right now?”
“What?”
“He made you a mix tape?”
“So what?” I said, starting to feel defensive. “I happened to think it was a very sweet gesture.”
“That might be the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, it wouldn’t be if you two weren’t…well…nerdy like that, but since you are, it’s so cute!”
“I don’t know if I should thank you or be offended.”
Meredith waved off my comment and continued walking. “It was a compliment, Mel. You guys sound like a great match. So what was on the mix tape?”
“Nineties music. Some of his favorites, I guess.”
“Like what?”
“Spice Girls and the Backstreet Boys.” Those who were the last two bands I’d heard before getting off the train.
She stopped again. “Spice Girls and Backstreet Boys?”
“There’s some Metallica and Nirvana on it, too.” She started walking again. “I want to make him an eighties mix, but I don’t have a stereo to do it on.”
“Or you can do what all the cool kids are doing these days and make a playlist on Spotify.”
“Or I can do that.”
“So you had a nice date?” she asked once we were settled in the car.
“Yeah. We had a really nice time, and it was casual, which was great. I was comfortable. I didn’t feel like I had to put on a show, you know?”
“I don’t miss that about dating at all. Always feeling like you’re up for a job interview.”
“Exactly! It felt so familiar, like we already knew each other.” A thought occurred to me and I deflated. “You don’t think we’ve friend-zoned each other, do you?”
Meredith looked at me quickly, then back at the road. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know…maybe we’re too comfortable with each other. Shouldn’t there be jitters or something?”
“You two aren’t getting married; you’re just dating. You were probably a little nervous before your date, right?” I nodded; I had been nervous. “Well, there are your jitters. You can’t expect them to last throughout the entire date. It’s great that you two were comfortable with each other. That’s a good sign.”
“I guess so.”
“When are you seeing him again?”
“Wednesday, he invited me over. He’s going to cook.”
Meredith wriggled her eyebrows. “Sounds nice.”
I blushed. “It’s not what you’re thinking. We’re not there yet.”
“Uh huh.”
We arrived at the bridal shop, and I was glad to not be the center of attention anymore. The bridal consultants fawned all over Meredith, and she ate it up. They sat us on a sofa with champagne flutes while they scurried around the store grabbing a variety of white princess gowns. Meredith yayed and nayed the designs and eventually disappeared into a dressing room with one of the consultants. While I waited, I pulled my sketch pad out of my bag and started playing around. I’d never tried designing a wedding dress before, but I was inspired by all the tulle I’d seen in the last half hour. I paused in my sketching to critique each dress Meredith tried on. None of them were doing the trick, and she finally left the dressing room back in her own clothes, disappointed at not finding exactly what she wanted.
“I’m ready for some lunch. Whatcha got there?” she asked, looking at the sketch pad. Meredith was one of the only people I ever let see my designs, so I handed the pad over. “Oh my God, Mel. This is amazing.”
I shrugged. “It’s just a little something I was playing with.”
“Just a little something? Mel. This is everything I want in a dress.”
“Well, yeah. I paid attention to what you liked and didn’t like when they were showing you the gowns.” Meredith just stared at me, open-mouthed.
“Miss Lane,” the consultant called from the front counter, getting Meredith’s attention. Meredith walked over to the consultant, and I packed up my things.
“I want you to make my dress,” Meredith said once we were seated in her car.
“What? No.” One bad day of dress shopping and she had completely lost her mind.
“Yes. Melanie. You are making my dress. That,” she said, gesturing to my bag and the sketchpad she knew was inside, “was my dress.”
“I can’t make your wedding dress, Mer.”
“Why not?”
I puffed out a breath. Why not? I could make Meredith’s dress. I had the skills. I went to school for it. I just needed to get the right fabric, the measurements…I was going to make Meredith’s wedding dress.
“Okay, I’ll do it.”
“You will?” I nodded, and Meredith whooped. “Thank you so much!” She hugged me, and we laughed. “I just know whatever you come up with is going to be perfect.”
No pressure.
7
Tyler
“I like your tiny apartment,” Melanie said. The twinkling lights on the rooftop patio of my building made her eyes sparkle.
“Thanks,” I said, not sure if she was being serious or not. It was incredibly small. Like four hundred square feet.
“It’s bigger than mine,” she added, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise. “By like half.” She took another sip from her bottle. I’d bought wine just in case, but she opted for an ice-cold beer instead.
“That’s hard to believe,” I said. “I thought my apartment was the smallest in New York.”
She laughed. “It’s close, but I’ve got you beat. My entire building was remodeled a couple years ago, and all the units were broken down into tiny apartments. I have enough room for a twin-sized bed, a recliner, and a desk. I have a small refrigerator and microwave, too, and a private bathroom. Each floor has shared spaces, and there are full kitchens there. I don’t use that too much, it’s a little…”
“Weird?” I finished for her.
She smiled. “Yeah. Definitely weird. I usually order take-out or pick up microwave dinners. Occasionally I’ll crave something homemade and use the kitchen, but I’ve got a few of my own pots, pans, and utensils. There’s only so far I’ll go with communal stuff and using pots and pans after a stranger is way beyond my comfort level.”
“You’re not friendly with your neighbors?” I asked as I flipped our steaks on the grill.
“I am,” she quickly answered. “It’s just that a couple of them don’t speak English, so aside from the occasional smile and wave in the hallway, we don’t really talk. And the other two units are short-term leases, I think, because people keep rotating through them.”
“There are a couple units on my floor like that, too. I think they might actually be used as Airbnbs.”
“Ah, maybe that’s what the ones in my building are, too.”
I pulled the steaks off the grill and set them on a plate to rest. Then I shut down the grill and started cleaning up. Melanie started to help me. “No, you’re my guest. Please, have a seat at the table. I’ll be right there.”
She smiled shyly and took her beer over to the table. The roof of my building had a pretty nice set up. There was a large grill, an outdoor stove, an outdoor dining set, and a firepit surrounded by comfortable outdoor chairs. I reserved the table for tonight, but anyone could come up and use the other amenities. Regardless, it was a quiet outdoor space in Manhattan, high above the busy streets. We could enjoy the warm summer evening semi-privately.
“Those smell and look delicious,” she said as I plated the steaks and put them on the table.
“Thank you.” I hadn’t ever cooked for a date before, so this was a first. In addition to the steaks, I grilled some zucchini and yellow squash; something else I’d never done before. I hoped I was doing
a good job with this whole thing. I didn’t just want to impress Melanie, I wanted…I didn’t know what I wanted exactly. I just wanted more with her. I watched her cut into her steak and lift the fork to her lips. She put the meat in her mouth and chewed. Then she moaned, and I had to look away.
“Wow, this is so good. How did you learn to grill? You mentioned that you grew up in the city; there aren’t a lot of options here for people to grill.”
“My sister’s place had a patio area with a grill. Her husband showed me the basics, and I taught myself the rest.”
“That’s pretty cool. You’re really, really good at it.”
I ducked my head, not used to the praise. “Thank you. I enjoy it.”
She took another bite and moaned again. I wished she’d stop making that sound. “It’s a shame you want to be a journalist because you are so good at grilling.”
I laughed. “I have a split passion. My ideal position would be writing about food.”
“Like a critic?”
I shook my head and grimaced. “Oh man, no way. I would hate that job. Have people fear you and hate you, but fall at your feet anyway? That sounds terrible.”
“I bet it’s one hell of a power trip, though,” she laughed.
I nodded. “Probably.”
“So, what is it about food that you want to write about?”
She seemed to be genuinely interested, so I told her. “Ideally, I’d like to have a column about grilling or something like that. Maybe feature a different recipe or technique in each issue, or have a Q and A. I don’t know, the idea isn’t fully formed,” I said, feeling like an idiot for sharing a half-baked idea with her. She seemed so put together, and I felt like I was missing pieces.
“I think that’s a great idea. You’re the Man doesn’t have anything like that and most men’s magazines have some kind of food feature.”
“Yeah, but I’d have to get it through Roger first.” And therein laid the problem. Roger. The cockblocker of dreams. I would have loved to be able to do a column right there at You’re the Man since I was familiar with the staff and the way the magazine was published. But I doubted Roger would ever see me as anything other than his assistant.
Simply Irresistible: A Totally Sweet Love Story Page 3
