by Maren Foster
“Wyn,” he said again, “Or should I call you Wynnie?”
“Definitely Wyn please.” I smiled. “So, is it Nate or Nathan?”
“Nate.”
“Got it.”
“You look really familiar. Do we know each other from somewhere?”
Shit! My heart raced. “Um, not that I’m aware. You said you live in Manhattan, right? Which neighborhood?”
“Upper West Side,” he said.
“Oh, me too. Maybe we’ve run into each other before in the neighborhood.”
“Maybe, but I don’t think that’s it. I feel like I know you,” he said.
Holy shit! Think.
“Hmmm, I don’t think so. I go to the gym on Broadway, near 96th.”
“Oh me too.”
“That must be it then.”
“Maybe, but I have this weird feeling, like we’ve dated before, years ago maybe.”
Oh God. “Can’t be. I just moved to New York a few months ago. We must have run into each other at the gym, that’s all.”
“Really? I never forget a beautiful woman.”
I blushed, worried that he had figured it out, but he misread the source of my nerves and smiled reassuringly.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “I’m just glad to be here with you now.”
Phew. Close call. Keep it together.
The waitress appeared before us, her slim figure illuminated against the dark room by the light above our table.
“My name is Kate. I’ll be your server tonight. What can I get you to drink?”
He looked at me quizzically and then looked at the drink menu.
I nodded.
“Your best whiskey, on the rocks please,” he said.
“Manhattan,” I said.
“She’ll have a Rob Roy.”
“Straight or on the rocks?” the waitress asked me.
“Straight,” I said.
The waitress nodded and turned to leave. I watched his eyes follow her as she disappeared.
He turned toward me. “It’s the whiskey lovers Manhattan.”
“What if I want a Manhattan?”
“Oh come on. Give it a try. You might love it.”
Still won’t take no for an answer I see.
He took his phone out of his pocket and put it down on the table face up, as if he might be expecting an important call. He looked up and stared at me with the same intensity as when I first met him at the frat house three years earlier.
“So you drink?’ he asked.
“So do you,” I said.
“Yes.”
“Not very Christianly,” I teased.
“Yeah, well, here’s the thing. I know we’ve just met, and I know we met on a Christian dating app, but I want to be totally honest with you.”
Wow, where is this going?
He continued, “I am a Christian. A practicing one, sort of, lately at least. I was raised Evangelical, Grandpa was a minister. Mom ran off and married a Catholic in New York. Had two kids. Then things sort of fell apart. Anyhow, I wasn’t so sure for a while, ya know? I went off to college, lived a little.” He took a sip of whisky. “Lived a lot actually, but lately something just hasn’t felt right about it, things started to feel empty, I guess. I sort of hit rock bottom about six or seven months ago and decided to recommit myself. Faith has always worked for my family, so I figure maybe it can work for me too.”
I nodded and he continued.
“I mean, I’m definitely not as conservative as most Christians, I’ve seen a little too much of the world, but I do want to rediscover faith, and I want to be with someone who is on a similar path. I’ve made some mistakes in the past,” he paused. “A couple of DUIs and the accusations. I want to do better. I’m ready to do better. I need to settle down.”
“Accusations?” I had no idea what he was talking about. Why hadn’t I seen anything on the web about his indiscretions?
“Yeah, you know, the kinds of things women say when they resent a guy just for being a guy.”
“What do you mean? What accusations would they make?”
“Sexual harassment, assault, even rape. The lies that promiscuous women tell when they regret a choice they’ve made, especially if a rich, powerful man is involved and they realize he’s beyond their control.”
Has he been accused of rape by someone else? Is he testing me? Does he know who I am or is he just trying to see if I would support him through something like that? “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I can’t believe that’s happened to you. That’s total bullshit.”
He smiled and nodded, seemingly satisfied by my answer.
The waitress put our drinks on the table in front of us. I looked down into my Rob Roy.
“Look, if you’re the righteous type who believes that good Christians don’t make mistakes, then you should get up right now and walk away.” He waited and watched me. I returned his intense stare as confidently as I could.
He continued, “But if you believe in second chances, then great.” He picked his whiskey up off the table.
I nodded. “I do.”
“Let’s have some fun then.” He raised his glass.
“Cheers!” I raised my glass to meet his. I put the glass to my lips. Sweet and strong, a little bitter. Not bad actually.
“So tell me about you,” he said.
“I’m not a prude,” I said. “I’ve been around the block too. My mom ran a tight ship. She was very committed to her faith and expected us to fall in line. I often questioned her beliefs and when I left for college, I wanted to live by my own values, discover the world for myself. I’m not a perfect Christian either. I’ve struggled too, but I’ve found renewed purpose in the last few years. A reason to recommit myself and have faith again.”
Nate nodded and thumbed his glass. He finished his whiskey, signaled to the waitress to bring another round, and leaned back against the booth.
“Where’d you grow up?” he asked.
“Chicago.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“I have one sister. She’s older.”
“Are your parents together?”
“No.”
“Mine are divorced too.”
I didn’t correct him.
“Do you see your dad often?”
“Unfortunately, no. We were never close. I hate to say it, but I don’t really know him.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “What about you? Your parents, I mean. Siblings?”
“My parents got divorced when I was twelve. It was unexpected, for us at least. My sister was only seven. I know she never really got over it.”
“That’s tough. Where did you grow up?”
“Westport, Connecticut. Until my mom got custody. After the divorce she moved back to the small town in South Carolina where she grew up. My sister went with her right away. I didn’t want to go. I liked my school and my friends in Westport. Eventually, she made me move with them to that small town in the middle of nowhere, and I hated it.”
“Hmmmm.”
“Eventually I just left. Got on a bus and moved back with my dad. It was probably hard for her. I know it was quite the scandal when the prodigal daughter showed up at home divorced, after having married a Catholic, which her dad never approved of. But it was her fault for running off in the first place.”
I nodded in agreement. Still heartless.
“You said your mom is faithful, right? What church?” he asked.
“Ah, not like that,” I laughed. “I guess it depends on how you define faith. I am pretty traditional. I go to church regularly, but my mom and sister have a different sort of faith,” I said. “Feminism. They’re a bit fanatical.”
“Oh,” he looked confused.
“Vi means well, but she can be pushy. I got tired of being told what to do and how to behave. Mostly I just wonder how I’m related to her.”
“Who’s Vi?”
“My mom.”
“Oh, I know how that is.�
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I raised a brow.
“You clearly aren’t very familiar with the Evangelical Church.”
I shook my head slowly.
“Didn’t your profile say you were Evangelical?”
Shit. “Did it?”
He nodded, “I think so.”
I shrugged. “Oh, I don’t remember.”
“There wasn’t any room for debate with my mom and grandma. I got tired of them telling me what to do. Bossing me around. I missed living with my dad. He never did that. He hardly ever asked where I was going or what I was doing. My mom and grandma on the other hand, they were always butting into everything, warning me about what would happen if I did this or that. It was a big deal to them that I chose to go to a non-Evangelical university far from home. They didn’t think it was conservative enough.”
“I know what you mean about wanting some freedom and privacy.” So that’s it. Mind my own business and don’t tell him what to do. Don’t be like his mom and grandma.
“Yeah, let’s just say, it didn’t work. I’ve seen the real world and I don’t need those two or anyone telling me what to do.”
“My mom always pushed me to have a real career so that I would be independent. So that I wouldn’t need a man to take care of me. She says I shouldn’t get married young or have kids right away. Maybe she doesn’t want me to repeat her mistakes. I think she means well, but I’m not her. Just because something worked for her, doesn’t mean it will work for me.”
“Yeah.” He took a sip of whiskey.
“I’m tired of her unsolicited advice. I just want to make my own decisions,” I said.
He smiled.
“Plus I think it would be nice to be taken care of,” I added.
He flashed a charismatic smile.
When dinner arrived and there was finally silence I realized that things were going well. The check came, he didn’t hesitate, and I let him pay.
“Can I walk you home?” he asked.
“Maybe next time,” I said, and raised my arm to flag a taxi.
“Let me,” he said and stepped out into the street to wave one down. A cab pulled over and he opened the back door for me.
“Thanks. And thank you for dinner,” I said. I leaned forward and kissed his cheek. He had a short stubble that felt like sandpaper against my lips. Maybe it was the three Rob Roys or maybe it was the thrill of deception, either way, I was elated.
“Looking forward to next time,” he said.
“Me too.”
“Message me your number, so I can text you,” he yelled as the taxi pulled away.
The Put-Up
Monday, September 7, 2015
Manhattan
“Clearly it went well!” Noreen said as I dropped my purse on my desk Monday morning.
An immaculate bouquet of assorted roses looked absurd on my small desk.
“Oh jeez!” I said.
“I think you mean ‘lucky me!’”
I smiled.
“So it did go well then?”
“Mmm hmmm.”
I plucked the card from amongst the buds.
“A rose for each time I thought of you since we parted ways. Nate”
“What does it say?”
“To Wyn, from Nate,” I said.
“It does not! Give it to me!” She lunged toward me playfully.
I folded it up and tucked it into my bra.
“Seriously though, who is this guy?” She motioned toward the flowers.
“He’s too good to be true,” I said. If you only knew.
“He might be, but at least he’s young, smart, and interested,” she said. “Snatch him up while you still can. Otherwise, before you know it, you’ll be settling for someone you never would have thought twice about in your twenties.”
“Oh stop it,” I said.
She shot me a look that said ‘grow up’.
“Sorry.”
She nodded and looked away.
I decided to mind my own business.
The week passed slowly. Work was a little light and there wasn’t much to distract me.
I sent Nate another friend request and this time he accepted. I studied each picture of him on Facebook and Instagram for more clues about his life. What really makes you tick? Why did you do what you did to me? Was I just one of many and that’s why you didn’t recognize me? Based on a few pictures and a Facebook post, it seemed like he had been getting serious with a woman about a year earlier and it had ended right after New Year’s. Did she find out what a monster he really is?
By Wednesday night I had googled whether someone could tell if you were Facebook-stalking them (turns out not really) and had gone through all of his photos and posts at least three times. If only Facebook-stalking could will him to text me! I had messaged him my cell phone number the morning after our date but hadn’t heard from him.
Finally on Thursday afternoon while I was working on a proposal for a marketing campaign I got a text from an unknown number, “Picnic Saturday? Noonish?” Yes, that’s him!
I put the phone down. Patience is a virtue. I was so excited I could barely focus until I overheard the newest addition to our marketing team bragging to Noreen about how he had just been assigned to a hot new product campaign. Of course. He had joined the company a few months after I did. I felt his eyes on me as he told her about the project. I smiled and picked up my phone. When he was finally gone, Noreen got up and walked toward me.
“Did you hear that?” she said.
I nodded.
“I can’t believe they would assign him to that account,” she whispered, “that should have been yours.”
“I wish.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “Thanks.”
“You should complain to Ethan.”
My boss, Ethan, was in his early forties, with a wife and three kids. He didn’t have a secretary because the company had been restructured a few years before I joined. Management touted the flatter organization as an opportunity for young staff to grow, but I soon figured out it really just meant that there was no one to do any administrative work.
“What good would talking to Ethan do?”
“Yeah, I don’t know, crazy idea.”
“He’ll just make up some excuse why Mike was the right pick for that account. He’ll probably just tell me to have some patience.”
“Why can’t they see how capable you are?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter what I do, and it probably never will.”
“Have you ever thought about leaving?”
“Let’s do this later over a glass of wine. Okay?”
“Deal!” she said.
After work I responded to the anonymous text; “Nate?”
His response came immediately, “Yep.”
“Noon this Saturday works for me. What can I bring?”
“Great. Slip 5 at 11:30. Just your lovely self.”
I woke up early on Saturday and went to the grocery store. He said not to bring anything but I couldn’t help myself. I bought a wedge of smoked Gouda, a mild sheep’s milk cheddar, and a round of goat cheese. At home I packed the cheese, crackers, a small jar of raspberry jam, and a butter knife into an insulated bag and threw it in my biggest purse with a book and a pair of headphones.
I rode the No. 1 to South Ferry Station and walked the half block to Slip 5. I didn’t see Nate and checked my watch. I was a few minutes early, so I waited on a bench near the ticket booth and watched the ferries and smaller vessels scuttle across the river. The sun was high in the sky and there were almost no clouds in sight; the weather was perfect. I reached into my purse and pulled out my sunglasses.
“Sorry I’m late.” I turned and saw him standing behind me with a paper grocery bag in his left hand. “Ready to go?”
I gathered up my bags. “Yep, let’s do this.”
We boarded the weathered ferry, walked to the front end of the boat, and leaned against the railing, staring out over the wat
er. Another couple stood on the opposite side of the deck. It was cooler than I expected out on the water and I crossed my arms to my chest. Nate startled me draping an arm over my shoulders. Okay, it’s okay. I’m fine. He isn’t hurting me. We’re in broad daylight. I have to stay calm.
“So, how was your week?” I asked.
“Not bad.” His eyes lit up. “We’ve finalized a new product that I think will be a real boon to the business,” he said. “It will be our first foray into women’s beauty products.”
“Oh yeah? What type of product?”
“Wrinkle cream.”
“Does that stuff actually work?”
“It doesn’t matter. Women of a certain age will pay up to a certain price for anything that they believe might minimize or reverse the visible signs of aging.”
“Hmmm.”
“It’s true,” he said. “The market research is pretty clear on that. In fact, the higher the price, to a point, the more they believe the product will work, even when there is no evidence.”
“Wishful thinking, I guess.”
“Hope,” he said. “It’s a powerful thing.”
“It is.”
I stared out at the dark water, churning as the ferry spun around toward its destination.
“How was your week?” he asked.
“Not great,” I said. “I got passed over for a great assignment at work.”
“How come?”
“Not sure. I think I work hard enough, but I’m not willing to be there all the time. I want to have a life too. I need time to date if I’m ever going have the family I want.”
“Hmmm. Yeah, it’s hard to get ahead these days if you’re not willing to sacrifice everything when you’re young.”
“I guess so. I don’t know why I care anyhow, it’s just a job.”
“If you could do anything, what would you do?” he asked.
I raised my brows.
“I mean what is your dream job?”
“Not sure,” I said. “Maybe nothing. I mean who wants to sit at a computer for eight plus hours a day thinking about how to make the next cheap gimmick seem like a must-have?”
“I love my job,” he said. “I wouldn’t even call it a job really.”
“You’re lucky. Most people don’t feel that way about their work.”
“I guess I am. I’ve never thought about it like that. I just want to be successful at everything I do.”