“Beautiful,” said Melissa.
“Absolutely,” said Rodger. He turned back to her. “Is the lighting okay?”
“Yes.”
“What about your chair? If it’s too hard, I can request a cushion.”
“Chair’s fine.”
“Are you too hot? Or too cold? Or too anything?”
“Nothing of the sort,” said Melissa warmly. “Although I do thank you for your concern in that regard.”
“No problem, no problem at all,” said Rodger. There was the quickest of brief silences before a waitress swept in to take their drink order. Once they'd settled that, Melissa leaned on her arms, in towards the table and,across it,Rodger.
“So,” said Melissa. “You’re nervous.”
“Yes. You could tell?”
“You’re dripping with nerves,” Melissa said plainly.
“Ah,” said Rodger. “Well.”
“Yes,” said Melissa. “So—why did you go on the dating app, then, if this is so traumatic for you?”
“I wouldn’t say it’s traumatic,” said Rodger. “I suppose—okay. You know that I do all of these adrenaline-y things, right?”
“That's what we discussed on the way over,” said Melissa helpfully.
“Right,” said Rodger. “Well—this is sort of making me feel the same way. As if I’m standing on the edge of a cliff.”
“That’s not great,” said Melissa. “I’m not going to kill you or harm you in any way. The literal worst case scenario about this date is that we don’t have a good time.”
“I suppose that’s true,” said Rodger faintly.
“And I’m not having an awful time,” said Melissa cheerfully.
“You aren’t?” His tone was a little bit more amazed than it should have been.
“No,” said Melissa. “This is one of the weirder dates that I’ve been on; but to be honest I don’t have much in the way of experience, so perhaps this is just how the kids are doing it these days.”
“Right,” said Rodger. “So—well. How are you?”
“We’re starting there?”
“Yep,” said Rodger.
“Well,” said Melissa, stretching in the luxury of actually thinking about it. “I’m a little thirsty, actually. But we have drinks on the way so I imagine that will be fine, in a way.”
“Absolutely, absolutely,” said Rodger.
“Right,” said Melissa. “Overall, I like where my life is at.”
“Which is why you decided to go into online dating,” Rodger said demurely.
Melissa looked at him in amazement. “You’re here too,” said Melissa.
“Too right I am, and I’m happy to be here, but I’m the acknowledged risk-taker,” said Rodger.
They both laughed at that, Rodger’s demeanor currently suggesting nothing of the adrenaline junkie.
“It’s true,” protested Rodger. “I promise, our second date will be—will be something positively dangerous.”
“You assume that we’re going to make it to a second date.”
“I’ve seen nothing about you so far that I don’t like,” said Rodger.
“Well, then,” said Melissa, and there was a sudden gleam in one of her eyes. “Well, then—how about I tell you something which you won’t like.”
“What,” said Rodger. “That’s a dating faux pas, now, isn’t it?”
“Well, we could just get the worst out of the way,” said Melissa. “Now—how about—let me see. Well, for starters, I haven’t been on a date in five years.”
“Five years?”
“Five,” said Melissa. “And I could tell you that I’m selective or that I’ve been doing something wonderful with my time, like backpacking across Europe or learning how to meditate really well or holing myself up in a hermitage to write the next great American novel. But I’ve done none of those things.”
“Well,” said Rodger. “That’s not really so—”
“Except for the novel bit, I think,” said Melissa meditatively. “Of course, I haven’t written one. But I have thought a lot about writing one and told a lot of people that I’ve been writing one. That hasn’t made a book be written. The only way to write a book is to sit down and write it, you know. It seems obvious but it’s quite difficult. The mind can flit so many different places, you see; and instead of concentrating on building a world of its own it just wants to play around in the one you want escaping from.”
There was a bit of a pause.
“So you want to escape, then,” said Rodger.
“Hm. I did say that, didn’t I,” said Melissa. She beamed over at him. “I think I’m finding this quite therapeutic. You should go next.”
“What?”
“Say something horrible about yourself.”
“I don’t know that I know myself well enough for that,” said Rodger. “Also—why would I do that?”
“Because it’s thrilling, in its own way,” said Melissa. “It’s dangerous. It’s like you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, don’t you see? You might make me hate you; you might make this date extremely awkward. You might feel relief at getting something off your chest.”
“I think I’ll get back to you on that,” said Rodger.
“That’s cheating,” protested Melissa.
“Can I tell you tomorrow?”
Melissa thought about this. “If I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Done,” said Rodger. “Ah, here are our drinks.”
Chapter 4
Melissa and Rodger enjoyed a highly delectable dinner which comprised several courses, including a roast duck and a black bean confit and an asparagus brulee, all of which Rodger ordered for the table after Melissa prompted him to select what he thought best. She thought that helping him be in his element was in the best interest for the success of the date—or, at the very least, for the absence of horrible, debilitating awkwardness. And she was right. Once he began to talk excitedly about the process he'd gone through with his chefs to organize and select the varied dishes on the menu, he began to smile and chat excitedly in ways which she wouldn't have thought possible only very recently.
It seemed that most of the dishes on the menu were inspired in part by Rodger’s travels.
“We picked up this confit in Indonesia, actually,” he said. “Of course, we had to take it down several spice levels…”
“Or, counterproposal,” said Melissa, who had been listening to this—bemused—for a long while. “You could rachet the dish up to its original spice levels, and then simply print right next to the dish in the menu—or put a little sign up on the tables—that for only a very small charge, you can get emergency ice cream delivered straight to the table.”
“Turmeric ice cream, pomegranate ice cream,” said Rodger thoughtfully.
“That’d be lovely,” said Melissa, imagining the vivid orange and red colors nestling together.
After that, they decided that there was nothing for it but to walk over to a nearby ice-cream stand. Neither turmeric nor pomegranate were available flavors, but each selected something else agreeable. At that point Rodger looked up at the setting sun, then looked at his watch—Melissa liked that, the order of things done there—and invited Melissa to go on a walk around the lake on the edge of which his tiny restaurant sat.
Melissa hooked her purse in the crook of her arm and was devoutly thankful that she'd decided to wear sneakers. She couldn’t imagine this date if she was forced to hobble around on her high heels.
“Sure thing, Rodger. Lead the way,” she said, and he did, setting off at an alarming pace through the underbrush. Melissa called after him to slow down and eventually they found a trodden path through the grass which was easy to amble along. The sun set, turning the sky from a brilliant red into a deep mellow purple on its way to navy. Melissa, slowly demolishing her small cup of coconut ice cream, thought that—on the whole—this was one of the most enjoyable first dates that she'd been on i
n a very, very long time.
“Are you having a good time, then?” asked Rodger worriedly.
“Yes,” said Melissa. “But I think I’d have an even better time if you stopped worrying about it. Are you having a good time?”
There was a pause and after it Rodger said, “Yes.”
“Well, good.”
Another pause ensued as the two of them walked over the trampled grass.
“What do you want?” asked Rodger.
“Well,” said Melissa, after considering. “That could be construed as a really weird question.”
“Not, like, from me,” said Rodger. “Sorry, that sounded weird. But what I want to know is—what do you want? Like, what do you wake up in the morning wishing for? What’s your reason?”
Melissa was quiet for a moment.
Rodger continued. “For a while I was considering writing a book,” he said. “You know. Casual. I was training up to be a jack-of-all-trades.”
“As you do,” said Melissa.
“Billionaire’s kid,” said Rodger. “I wasn’t worried about making a living, I wanted to make a life—find something I enjoyed—you know?”
“That I do,” said Melissa. “But—spoiler alert—you didn’t become an author, did you?”
“Not so much. But I did read a couple books about them, and how to be a good one, and all of that stuff. And one thing I learned is that each character you create needs to have a specific why. A want or something that drives them through the entire book.” Rodger looked at Melissa, who was studiously carving the last bits of ice cream from the sides of her bowl. “You said that you want to be an author too, eh?”
“Yeah,” said Melissa. She thought about the many opened Word documents that she'd titled but never actually written anything in. “It’s not going very well.”
“That’s fine,” said Rodger patiently. “Maybe there’s a reason for that. Is that your ‘want’?”
“I don’t know,” said Melissa, after a moment.
“Perhaps it isn’t,” said Rodger. “I think that if something’s your yen, you know, that you’ll sort of... start to make it happen, even if you don’t really want to. You’ll start thinking about it in the shower and racing home to put a few words on a page, you know?”
Melissa had never thought of that. She turned to him with a smile. “Tell you what,” she said. “I’ll figure out my ‘want’, and I’ll tell you when you tell me your awful thing. Your confession. The reason I shouldn’t want to date you.”
“On the whole, it sounds like you’re asking me to shoot my prospects in the foot.”
“Do prospects have feet?”
“Mine do,” Rodger said confidently. Melissa chuckled.
“I should probably get you home. But you up for an adventure tomorrow?”
Melissa nodded.
“Right, then,” said Rodger. “I’ll pick you up for a light lunch, say? Wear active gear.”
“That doesn’t sound like it’s going to be just a light lunch, then,” said Melissa. “If I’m going to be active while consuming it.”
“Not while,” Rodger said. They'd arrived back at the car, having walked around the entirety of the lake.
He opened the bright teal car door for her and they drove home.
“This was a good first date,” Melissa said after a few moment’s silence.
“You’re a very direct person,” said Rodger.
“As are you,” said Melissa.
“I think that works rather well,” Rodger said and he smiled. Melissa did as well.
When he walked her to her front door, Rodger said that he would like to kiss her. Melissa dimpled and replied that she didn’t think that she would mind that, not at all; and once the experience was done, she smiled more. She’d look forward to it happening again.
***
The next morning Melissa was again wondering what to wear. As a rule, her workout clothes weren't the most fashionable, stylish, or attractive garments. She'd never subscribed to the idea that it was worthwhile to buy clothes specifically produced to make workouts easier or more enjoyable, instead choosing to just use discarded tees and old pajama pants for the activity. The most active garments she had were an old, soft tee that (thankfully) had neither paint stains nor other stains nor holes in any strange places; though there was a hole in the back lower hem, which she thought that she could camouflage or cover up rather easily. She also had an ancient pair of jeggings which she slid on, fervently glad that her metabolism hadn’t caught up to her yet and she could still casually do things like pull on pants she'd purchased five or seven years prior.
To this ensemble she added her Converse and a small purse which may or may not have also been a belt bag. She staunchly defended any claims by naysayers that it was a fanny pack by pointing out that she didn’t wear it over her rear and that, anyway, fanny packs were coming back into style. She thought Chanel had made one. Of course, her belt bag wasn’t designer anything; but it was the thought that counted when it came to stylish merchandise.
At precisely the stroke of twelve Rodger pulled up in his teal car in front of Melissa’s apartment building.
After a good-morning kiss, Melissa beamed at him.
“You know, I don't have much experience in the arena,” she said, “But I think that it’s not the thing to have a first and second date on two consecutive days. It’s not cool. Aren’t we supposed to be showing restraint?”
“We could, sure,” said Rodger. “Or we could do literally anything other than that. You’re talking to an adrenaline junkie whom you’ve daringly let plan two dates in a row.”
“Last night’s date wasn’t that bad.”
“Last night’s date was awesome. However, this—today’s date—is less a date and more an adventure. As I think I told you last night.”
“Yeah, but I wasn’t prepared to take you literally.” Melissa swung around the car and slid into the passenger seat.
“Rule number one: Always take me literally.” Rodger winked at her and threw the car into gear.
“That seems like a rule that's destined to get at least one of us in trouble,” Melissa said lightly. “Also, what’s this about us having rules?”
“That we have them, apparently,” said Rodger.
“Do I get to make one up?”
“Of course. But we each get the same number, I think, so think carefully about your one.”
“You can’t make another until I’ve made one up.”
“Sure, that follows,” said Rodger seriously.
Melissa took a long sip of the coffee she’d prepared and brought along with her in a travel mug. “So, where are we headed?”
“I might have let it slip yesterday, actually,” said Rodger.
Melissa thought back to the previous evening. She couldn’t remember if Rodger had said anything to that extent; but she didn’t blame herself for failing to remember. Their date had occupied enough of her brain that it was unsurprising that a tiny detail had fallen through the cracks.
“Not ringing any bells.”
“Well, we’ll see when you find out,” said Rodger maddeningly.
They drove and they drove—quite a long way away, Melissa noted. She watched as the familiar streets of their city whizzed past, only to be replaced by open grassy fields—no buildings in sight.
Melissa looked down at her jeggings and thin-soled sneakers. If they were going hiking, she could have worn more appropriate clothing. However, she thought that if they were going hiking or something similarly outdoorsy, he would have told her to be so prepared.
They ended up by pulling into what looked like a small, squat brown brick building which was surrounded by chain-link fence—and a large acreage behind, which seemed to be mostly covered with concrete.
“What is this place?” Melissa got out of the car and shielded her eyes against the high, hot sun.
“It’s an airstrip,” Rodger said confidently.
Melissa looked at him. “You do remember the part of yesterday where we talked about heights, right?”
“Yeah, and about how we had the urge to drop something from a tall height.” Rodger got out of the car and grinned at her. “You do see where this is going, right?”
Melissa froze.
“Or where we’re going, rather. I could have sworn I teased this last night…”
“I don’t remember,” Melissa said frostily. “We’re not skydiving?”
“I think we are. Of course, you don’t have to. I’d never force a woman to go skydiving. Or anything else, for that matter. But I do have to tell you: It’s a lot of fun.”
“You’re an adrenaline junkie,” Melissa retorted.
“It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“Yeah, and this is your first time,” Melissa said.
“Well, not so much. But I suspect it would be yours,” Rodger said.
“It would be. If I do this. Which I might not.”
“Right,” said Rodger. “So! Are you in, or are you out? If you don’t want to, we’ll just go get an innocent lunch somewhere. But I am contractually obligated to tell you that celebratory burgers taste way better if you have something to celebrate.”
“Like the fact that I haven’t died?”
“Precisely.”
Melissa looked up at the sky. It seemed impossible that it was something she would shortly be falling out of. No less, something she’d be choosing to fall out of. She swallowed—hard—and looked back at Rodger. Something in the pit of her stomach really wanted to do it. It seemed like it would be a good story, she thought. Something to write about. Something to tell people about. It seemed like it might be a freeing thing; a leave-your-worries-behind thing.
Of course, it seemed like it might also be the last thing she ever did, but that was just her being silly. People jumped out of planes every day and survived. Rodger had. She could too.
“Right, okay,” she said. Her voice shook. She sounded less than confident. Perhaps this was because she was, indeed, somewhat less than confident.
Be My Bride and Have My Baby Page 4