by Nella Tyler
After that I tried on three or four outfits; I didn’t know where Patrick was planning on taking me, so it was hard to guess whether I was overdressing or underdressing for the night out. He’d said the date wasn’t going to be anything fancy. I settled on a dress finally—one from Old Navy, which came down to just above the knee, in a soft sweater material and a pair of even softer micro-plush tights to keep my legs warm, along with a pair of boots.
That done, I rushed to get my makeup on. I’ve never liked wearing a ton of makeup, and in my job it almost never made sense to wear any at all, so I went with just some foundation and a little bit of blush, a touch of eye shadow and mascara, and a swipe from a lip marker to give my mouth a little bit of color.
I was deliberating over my jewelry—and whether to wear any at all—when my phone rang. I was certain for just a second that it would be Patrick, calling to cancel, after everything I’d done to make sure I would be ready on time. Instead the contact details that flashed on my screen showed it was my Dad. “Hey, Dad!” I hurried back into my bedroom and started looking through my jewelry box. “What’s going on?”
“How’s my girl?” I smiled a little bit to myself at Dad’s voice. I had to get him off the phone quickly—I didn’t know if Patrick would be early, on time, or even a little bit late, but I wanted to make sure that I was done getting ready by the time he showed up no matter when he decided to knock.
“I’m doing all right,” I said, sitting on the edge of my bed and dumping my jewelry box onto the comforter. “How are you and Mom?”
“We’re good,” Dad told me. “Looking forward to seeing everyone in a few weeks. Do you think you’re going to be able to stay for the whole holiday?” I bit my bottom lip and picked through my necklaces, trying to decide which one went best with the outfit I’d picked out.
“I’m hoping I can,” I said absently. “They haven’t decided who’s on call for the days between Christmas and New Years, so I’ll let you and Mom know if I might have to dash out one of the days.”
“Sometimes I worry about how hard you work,” Dad said, sounding tired. “Just imagining it makes my head spin.”
“I learned it from you,” I told him, laughing a little from my nervousness. “You were always the first one in and the last one to go home.”
“But is that any way for you to live your life?”
I shrugged, even though I knew that Dad couldn’t see me. “It was fine for me—since I knew your mom was there to help you with your homework and all those other things. But your mom and I are worried that you work too hard to find someone to be with.”
“There are lots of married physical therapists at the clinic,” I said. I picked out a necklace finally and put the phone on speaker so that I could put it on. “Some of them even work as hard as I do.”
“But how are you going to meet somebody if you’re never free?”
“I’m free at nights,” I pointed out. “I just have to make sure I get home on time.”
“You’re still so young,” Dad insisted. “You should be going out to bars, meeting people.”
“I meet lots of people. I go out sometimes,” I told him, as I finally managed to get the latch on my necklace open. I somehow slid the loop into place and let the latch close. I gave the necklace a little tug to make sure it was on properly and then went back to sorting through my jewelry to find the matching earrings. “In fact I went out with someone a few days ago.”
“Does that mean you might have a date for our big party?” I fought back the urge to sigh; Dad and Mom alike were obsessed with me having a date for the party, with me getting married. I had started to think that they had some kind of belief that if I would just get married, I’d quit my job—but any guy who expected me to quit working just because we’d gotten married wasn’t a guy I wanted to be involved with. I loved my job, and I loved the kids I worked with; I wasn’t going to give that up for anyone. That’s something I should talk to Patrick about if things ever get any farther than a couple of casual dates, I thought.
“We’ll see,” I told Dad. I found the earrings and put them on before picking up the phone again. I took it off speaker and went back into the bathroom to check my makeup and to put the finishing touches on my hair. “I don’t get why you and Mom are always harping on me dating someone.”
“We just want to see you happy,” Dad said. “We don’t like the thought of you living all on your own.”
“I am perfectly happy living on my own,” I said firmly. “And anyway, you should want me to be with someone who’s right for me—not just anyone at all. Don’t you think I deserve the right guy?”
“But how are you going to find the right guy if you don’t look?”
I finally did sigh. “Dad, it will happen when it happens and not a minute before that,” I told him. “If I’m meant to find a good guy, and get married and settle down, then it will happen.”
“We just think you could be a little more proactive. I don’t want to spend the rest of my retirement worrying what’ll happen to you after I’m gone.”
“So then don’t worry about it!” I added another coat of color to my lips to deepen it. “Whether I get married or not, I have a good job and good benefits, and I am supporting myself just fine.”
“Let’s talk about something more pleasant,” Dad suggested. “How was your day at work?” I glanced at my watch and saw that there was another maybe fifteen minutes before Patrick should be arriving to pick me up.
“I had a kid puke on me today,” I said, grinning wryly to myself. “His mom had given him a whole twenty-ounce bottle of pop and a bag of skittles to go with it and he went up like Mount Vesuvius all over me.”
“I hope you read her the riot act,” Dad said.
“Oh you’d better believe it,” I told him. “I told her that the next time her son came in stuffed to the gills with sugar I wasn’t going to work with him, and that if it happened a third time I was going to not only kick her out of the clinic but inform her family doctor.”
“Good girl,” Dad said, his voice approving. “Did you catch last night’s game?” I laughed. One of the few things that Dad and I always had to talk about was the Chicago Bulls.
“I did!” We spent a few minutes talking over the highlights while I checked myself over and over again to make sure I was as perfect as I was going to get for the date with Patrick. I told Dad at one point that I’d have to get off the phone soon—I was getting ready to go out—but I didn’t tell him it was a second date with anyone. We started talking about what we were going to get for the different members of the family and I started pacing around my living room.
I almost dropped the phone when I heard the knock at the door. “Dad,” I said, interrupting him in the middle of telling me something about what he wanted to do for Mom. “I’m sorry, Dad, but my ride is here. I need to get off the phone and head out.”
“Have a good night, sweetheart,” Dad told me. “We’ll catch up again a little closer to the holidays, and I’ll send you an email with what your Mom and I are getting on the different lists for the rest of the family.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” I said. “Love you, Daddy.”
“Love you too, sugar-booger,” Dad replied. “Stay safe out there.” I gave him an air-kiss goodbye and hung up, hurrying to the door in time for the second knock. Watch: it probably won’t even be Patrick. It’ll probably be the building manager or someone, here to tell me that there’s been a leak, or to talk about the Mormon Church. I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and unlocked the door, turning the knob and tugging it open.
“Hi Patrick,” I said, relief washing through me as soon as I saw him. He was in a pair of jeans, a nice shirt, and a blazer, and I thought he must have spent a little bit of time after work getting ready himself.
“You look amazing,” Patrick told me, looking me up and down. “You know—I brought you a bouquet of flowers, and then right at the last minute I left it in my car. Totally forgot about it un
til just now.” I laughed.
“That’s okay,” I told him. “I’m sure they’re just as nice in your car as they would be in here.”
“I’ll see if we can get the restaurant to give us some water for them,” Patrick suggested. “Are you ready to go?” I checked the time—he’d arrived about two minutes early.
“Yep! Lead the way.” Patrick offered me his arm and I took it, closing the door behind me and making sure I remembered to lock it. It felt weird, going out with somebody—even knowing that I didn’t have work the next day, that I could stay out as long as I wanted, was such a novel experience I barely knew what to think about it. Focus on the positive. It’s going to be a good night. I moved a little closer to Patrick as we went to the elevator together, and started chatting about our separate days.
Chapter Four - Patrick
“Here are the flowers I told you about,” I said to Mackenzie, unlocking the passenger side door of my car and opening it to take the bouquet out. Since it was December, all that the florist had that looked good were Gerber daisies; so I’d gotten Mackenzie a bouquet of those. I thought too that a big bouquet of roses might be too much for a second date. “I hope you like them.”
“Daisies!” Mackenzie gave me a big, gorgeous smile, taking the bouquet from my hands and burying her face in the flowers for a moment. “I love them. They’re my second-favorite, in fact.”
“Oh? What’s your favorite?” I made a note to myself that if the date worked out, I was going to find a source for them and have them at the next date we went on.
“Peonies,” she said. “I also love pansies, but they don’t really sell them in bouquets. Roses kind of seem like a cliché sometimes, you know?”
“I thought that roses might be a bit much for a second date,” I admitted. I held open the car door for her and Mackenzie climbed in, still smelling her flowers and admiring them. I walked around to the driver’s side and noticed that sometime between when I’d closed the door behind her to when I got to the other side of the car, Mackenzie had unlocked it for me.
“Where are we going for dinner?” Mackenzie put the flowers on her lap and shifted in her seat, half-turning towards me. I started up the car and got the heat running; even with her warm dress I thought it might be a bit chilly for her in the car.
“A place I used to go to more often, years ago,” I told her. “It’s a great kind of place—casual atmosphere, good food.” I had hesitated when I’d made the reservations, memories of Joanne stirring up in my brain, but it was the best place I could think of to take a woman on a date. “Have you ever been to Girl and The Goat?”
“I haven’t!” Mackenzie smiled a little bit. “I’ve heard good things, but I never really had a chance to check it out for myself.”
“I went there a few times when it first opened back in 2010,” I explained. “I haven’t been in a while…” I moved into traffic heading into the deeper parts of the city, towards the restaurant. “But from what everyone tells me, it’s just as good as it’s ever been.”
“It sounded exciting when my friend went there,” Mackenzie said. “She told me it was kind of pricy.” She frowned slightly and looked down at her clothes.
“You’ll be fine,” I promised her. “And it’s not that bad, really—especially for the quality of the food. Don’t worry about it.” On an impulse I reached out and found her hand in the darkness and gave it a squeeze. “It’s my treat, and I’ve been looking for a reason to go for years.” That wasn’t exactly true; I’d been avoiding the idea of going—I always shot it down as a possibility when anyone suggested it for a business dinner. But it was one of the best restaurants in the city, and I thought there was no better way to get the ghost of Joanne out of my head than to confront it finally, with a woman I was interested in, to show I was moving on with my life.
We made it to the restaurant just in time to catch our reservation; I left my car with the valet and Mackenzie brought her flowers with her as I led her into the warm restaurant. The smells were amazing—as they had been years before when Joanne and I had visited. From the moment we walked in it was like we’d stepped through some kind of magical door into a totally different place, somewhere that had never even heard of Chicago. The hostess led us to our table and a second later the waiter was there to take our drink order.
“I think I should probably just stick to wine,” Mackenzie said, glancing over the menu quickly.
“Same for both of us,” I told the waiter. I turned my attention onto the menu for a moment to give Mack a moment to get into her comfort zone. I could see her glancing around the busy dining room every so often as she read through the menu, and once I saw her shake her head a bit as if she couldn’t quite believe where she was. Girl and The Goat wasn’t one of the most expensive restaurants in the city, but it was one of the better mid-priced ones, and I was looking forward to seeing what Mackenzie thought of everything they had to offer.
“It all sounds so good,” Mackenzie told me when I looked up from the menu. “I have no idea how to decide.”
“Why don’t we both order something from each section, and then we can compare and figure out what we like best?”
“That sounds like the best plan,” Mackenzie admitted; but I could see the doubt on her face—she could tell that the items on the menu were not exactly cheap.
“I told you, I’m treating. Don’t even think about what something costs. Just think of what sounds the most like something you want to try.”
By the time the waiter came back with our wine, Mackenzie had settled into her seat and lost the doubtful, nervous look on her face. “Are we ready to order?”
“I think we’re going to go for the obvious solution to the problem of too many good things to choose from,” I told the waiter. “We’re going to each order something from each section and share it—is that okay?”
“Absolutely,” the man said. I could practically see the dollar signs flashing in front of his eyes and reminded myself that the guy was living off of the tips he could make. I’d tip him at least twenty percent at the end of the night, as long as he didn’t do anything to screw the evening with my date up.
“Would you like to go first, Mack?” She looked startled for a second but then recovered again.
“I can do that,” she said, pressing her lips together and looking down at the menu. “I would love to try the roasted beets, the seared scallops…” Mackenzie looked at me, for a second uncertain again, and I nodded to encourage her. “The beef short ribs, and the goat satay.” She put the menu aside.
“And for you, sir?” the waiter turned to me after nodding his approval of Mackenzie’s choices.
“I think I’ll have the chickpea fritter, Hamachi crudo, the pork shank, and the wood-fired oysters.” I glanced over the menu again. “Could we also have the bread with the brown butter?”
“Excellent choices,” the waiter told me. He offered to bring us another glass or two of different wines to pair with our plates and I checked with Mackenzie before agreeing to it; I didn’t want her to feel pressured into getting drunk, especially with a movie after the meal.
I’d been a little worried that the second date wouldn’t go as well as the first—that somehow, Mackenzie and I would have nothing to talk about; but as soon as the waiter left we were off and running, talking about our lives, our weeks at work. “I have to admit, I was a bit flustered when I got home,” Mackenzie told me. “There was an incident with one of my patients.”
“What happened?” I tried to see if remember if she’d looked like she’d been hurt when I’d picked her up, and to see any sign of it on her face, but Mackenzie looked just as gorgeous as I’d ever seen her: absolutely fresh, cute, beautiful.
“It’s not really a great thing to mention at a dinner table,” Mackenzie said, grinning at me wryly. “But one of the parents decided the best way to give her son plenty of energy for his session was a ton of sugar.”
“Oh god,” I said, groaning. I’d seen a few soccer ga
mes that left the rails from kids getting sick to their stomachs after their parents had given them sodas and candy. “Let me guess.”
“All over the place,” Mackenzie said, nodding slowly. “More importantly, all over me. I literally ran to the shower as soon as I walked into my apartment and scrubbed myself twice to try and make sure I wouldn’t smell like someone had gotten sick all over me.”
“I would never have guessed,” I told her. As we talked, our food started arriving and it was every bit as good as I’d remembered; I was even more pleased to see Mackenzie seriously eating—not just picking at her food. We traded plates and tried all of the dishes we’d ordered, talking about everything from the freak warm spell we were supposed to get in a few days to the blizzard that was supposed to follow it, the most recent Bulls game and the crazy state of local politics. By the time we left the restaurant to go to the movie theater, we were both so full that we agreed the only way we’d possibly be able to stay awake was to pick a comedy.
Mackenzie picked a movie with Seth Rogan in it and we went straight in, finding a good pair of seats towards the back of the theater. “Are you sure you don’t want a bag of popcorn?” I asked her, grinning.
“Oh god, I’d explode,” Mackenzie said, laughing and shaking her head. “As it is I’m surprised I managed to eat as much as I did!”
“I helped,” I pointed out. “And if you do get hungry again, I’m happy to visit the concession stand.”
“I don’t think I’ll be hungry again until next week,” Mack told me. “Now I may get you to get me one of those frozen coke slushies later on if you’re really willing.”
“I want this to be the perfect date,” I said. “If that means you need a frozen Coke, then I will get you a frozen Coke.”
