First Night

The box had been a hastily-packed container, full of random items that had accumulated at her place. He found a wrinkled sweatshirt he had forgotten he owned. He shook it out, trying to smooth it out. Giving up, he tossed it in the nearby laundry basket. One more thing to be washed. He found a photograph, framed in silver. They were both smiling, posing formally. He was in his dress blues, and she wore a simple red dress that coordinated perfectly, if one wished to look like an American flag. A patriotic couple, he smirked. Perfect once again. He shook his head and tossed it back in the box and ran his hands over his face. He knew they were over for good. He also knew he should be a little more upset at the surprising change in his life circumstances.

His eyes landed on a cigarette pack resting on the kitchen table. Without allowing himself the desire, he tossed that into the empty garbage. He paused and briefly considered reaching back in. That was a full pack, he scolded himself. Instead, he grabbed the picture, tossed it in the garbage (frame and all), and pulled the white plastic bag out of the garbage can. He walked out of his apartment and took a few steps to the garbage chute. He hesitated for a brief moment, opened it and dropped the bag.

Mac shook off the offer of the cigarette a second time. His friend, Dave, a captain like Mac with a bit more than three more years on him, smirked at the young woman who was holding out the cigarette pack. "Did he tell you he quit?" Dave quipped.

The woman, whom Mac had recently learned was named Claire, laughed a little and nodded. "He did. But he's staring at my cigarettes like they're crack cocaine or something."

"I've known Mac for nearly five years and he's quit at least five times," Dave announced. "As far as I know, the longest he's ever gone is four days."

His wife, Kelly, frowned in solidarity with Mac and said quietly to her husband, "Did you ever think that he might actually succeed if his friends didn't pressure him to smoke all the time?" The corners of Mac's lips pushed upwards, and Claire arched her eyebrows. "Besides, I think it's gross," Kelly announced. Her husband rolled his eyes at his wife, but placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

"Well, that's why I don't smoke then," he said and pressed a chaste kiss against her forehead. Claire shook her long reddish-blonde hair and placed her cigarettes in her purse. She leaned forward and tucked one side of her hair behind her left ear as the rest fell in her face. Mac watched her movement and thought he detected a slight shake of her hand. He furrowed his brow and his eyes slid from her hands to her face. She made eye contact with Mac and then looked away quickly. Mac realized, with a start, that she was nervous.

He swallowed and then leaned forward to reach for the pitcher of beer. "How 'bout a refill?" he asked her. She nodded, and pressed her lips together as she waited. He focused on her face and then glanced at Kelly. Claire's face was clear and smooth, while Kelly's held hints of wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. He wondered, for a second, if Claire was even legal. She looked young.

But he had met her at the bar, nursing a beer – so she had to be at least 21, he consoled himself. Her "best friend in the world" - a sarcastic moniker, Mac had realized immediately - had abandoned her, she informed him wryly, in search of a Marine recruit who would take her home. Mac had turned slightly and watched the scene unfold before his eyes, a familiar one each Saturday night at this gritty bar on the edge of Camp Lejeune. Claire was petulant at her friend's decision, on the verge of leaving the bar alone. Mac had suggested she wait; it might not work out after all. She had wrinkled her nose at him, but instead of leaving, she pulled out a cigarette, flicked her lighter twice before she succeeded, and breathed it in, the heady scent of tobacco easing her anger.

The service was slow and Mac craved a cigarette so without thinking about it, he stared at the tobacco in longing until Claire had noticed. She had held out the pack, which Mac reluctantly had declined, and the pair made brief conversation before Mac invited her to join him and his friends.

He wasn't sure if he was flirting or being nice – maybe a little bit of both – but he really hadn't thought much beyond the brief invitation that had popped out of his mouth without forethought. He watched her sip at the beer, but she was looking elsewhere. Her eyes were hazel, rimmed in green, and he noticed heavy eyeliner with a hint of mascara and pale peach lip gloss. She was pretty, he concluded. And young, he reminded himself. Once again, she briefly met his eyes and then she looked away, perhaps in search for her friend. He followed her gaze, and he watched a young Marine pocket an 8-ball in the corner. Claire suddenly turned in her chair and asked Mac, "So … do you like music?" Mac nodded. She turned towards the amateur band serenading them from the stage with the bass turned up a bit too loud for his tastes. "Do you like this?"

Mac hesitated and then shook his head. "Not really. You?"

"They're not very good. But I'd like them if they were good," she said with a grin. She fingered the silver bracelet on her left arm and then said, "I like lots of different kinds of music, but lately I've been into the hair bands." Mac chuckled a little but nodded. "Last week it was blues," she teased.

"Yeah?" he replied. "I like blues, but I like jazz more. Coltrane, Miles Davis, Herbie Hancock. All the giants, you know?"

Now, she smiled wide. "I love jazz. I have a bunch of jazz tapes and records." Mac arched his eyebrows in disbelief. You didn't often meet jazz aficionados, especially under the age of 50. "Really," she insisted. "They're home in New York, though."

She twirled her hair around her index finger and then looked at Dave and his wife. Kelly, a bit buzzed by now, was leaning forward onto her husband's lap, whispering in his ear. Claire glanced at Mac and he shrugged. "They're always like this," he quipped.

Claire laughed and suddenly reached for his hand. Mac looked down at her red chipped nail polish and wondered what he was doing holding hands with a girl whose name he had known for about … fifteen minutes. But then he thought, What the hell. This was the first Saturday in four and a half years that he was, emphatically and officially, single.

Claire blurted, "You wanna dance or something?" Mac was surprised by her audacity but he nodded. "Okay," she laughed, waiting for him to stand up. He did and he reached down with his hand and pulled her to her feet. They walked onto the dance floor and she stepped into his arms.

"So," Mac summarized, handing her a bottle of water that he had just purchased from the 7-11. "You moved from Brooklyn to follow a guy and when things didn't work out, you decided to stick with your … career choice and stay here in North Carolina by yourself."

"Yes," she said smugly, opening the bottle. She followed Mac as he held the door open for her. "And I'm not going to be a checker forever. It's just a temporary job until I find something better," she defended.

Mac reached for her arm as she stumbled at the curb. She blushed when some of the water spilled down her shirt, but he didn't react. She pulled her arm back and stopped when Mac stopped. "Well what do you want to do?" Mac pressed.

"I don't know," she laughed, taking a long drink. "I haven't figured it out yet."

Mac smiled and then tilted his head. "I mean now. What do you want to do right now?" He pulled his jacket sleeve away from his arm and looked at his watch. "It's a bit after midnight," he announced. "It's getting late."

"What the hell? Do you turn into a pumpkin or something?" she asked, her eyebrows arched. Mac chuckled, bit the inside of his cheek and shrugged. "It's not late," she insisted. "It's a beautiful night for a walk, don'tcha think?"

Mac nodded and fell into line beside her. Despite the initial awkwardness at the bar, conversation was coming quick and easy with her. She was chatty and interesting, and a study in contradictions. She seemed smart but only had a high school degree. She spoke of a decidedly middle-class upbringing, yet she was barely making enough with her job at Wal-Mart to pay for a tiny apartment on the wrong side of the tracks. She was well-informed about current events, yet possessed a charming – if not slightly disturbing - naivete about people. She talked about going to Mass and following her parents' curfew and never drinking underage in high school, yet she smoked cigarettes, displayed a bit more cleavage than was appropriate and sported three extra piercings in her ears.

It occurred to Mac that Claire was everything Julie wasn't and, perhaps, a change in scenery was what was compelling to him. But this was only a walk, and just because Julie wasn't far in his past, it didn't mean he couldn't stay out past midnight on a Saturday with a girl.

"So what about you?" she asked suddenly.

"What about me?" he asked, buying time. She wanted him to talk about himself now and that, frankly, changed things. He enjoyed listening to her, assessing and analyzing her and trying to figure out the puzzle named Claire.

"Is this your life's dream? To be a Marine?" Her voice was laced with sarcasm as if there was no way military service was a choice. It wasn't surprising given her upper crust background and the fact that she had, clearly, followed a jarhead to boot camp followed by orders at Camp Lejeune. The young man's last few months would have been difficult and unpleasant, and they had ended with a dramatic breakup that left Claire in the lurch. Mac recalled his own beginnings as a Marine and cut the young man a break; he could understand why the recruit had questioned everything. But Mac had persevered, even thrived, as a Marine and had learned character and bravery and loyalty. He was part of a greater whole and his life had been forever shaped by the noble service he had performed. It wasn't just his life's dream; it had become a life's calling, and Mac couldn't imagine doing anything else.

Mac smiled and tucked his hands into his jean pockets. "Actually," he said, "Yeah. It is." She looked at him in surprise. She knitted her brow together in concentration but nodded, encouraging him to explain. Mac squeezed the back of his neck and hesitated. He looked in her eyes and she met his gaze confidently. This time, she wanted to understand. "I went to college – University of Chicago – and the whole time, I wondered why I was hanging out in a science lab with the biggest geeks on the planet when I could be saving the world as a Marine."

"You're serious," she said.

"You bet I am," he said with a nod. "So, after I graduated, I joined the service."

"What'd your parents say?"

Mac hesitated and then said, "Well, I think they might have been disappointed. A little. I mean … I don't know. My dad was in the Army so they think military service is good and worthwhile and all that." He waited before saying, "But they did help pay for a ridiculously expensive undergraduate degree, and I think they're wondering why it's not in use." Claire chuckled a little and Mac shrugged. "I don't really have a good answer for that."

"You probably could have joined after high school, right?"

Mac nodded. "Yeah, but then I wouldn't be an officer, and I like that too." He paused and then said, "Your guy, whatever his name is?"

"Tim," she informed. After a beat, she added, "And he's not my guy. He's my ex."

"Right," Mac said with a nod. "He enlisted then? Did he not like school? Or what?"

"He enlisted right after high school," she said.

Mac nodded, putting puzzle pieces together in his head. He stopped and Claire looked at him expectantly. "So," he said slowly. "How old are you?"

She winced and closed her eyes. She opened one eye and peeked back at him. Mac was amused. "Eighteen," she said quietly. Mac whistled. "And you, Captain Taylor?"

"Twenty-six," he said honestly. She nodded. Mac started walking again and Claire reached for his arm. He gave it to her, but already the mood had shifted. "You have a fake ID then?" he stated. She giggled a little, and Mac finally chuckled in return.

"You better not act like my dad," she scolded.

"No," Mac shook his head. "But don't call me to bail you out of jail either."

Claire and Mac sat side-by-side on the park bench. She kicked her legs back and forth as she leaned against Mac. The wind was rustling through the trees and a few leaves floated to the ground. It was November so it was cool, but Mac was from Chicago and this was North Carolina, and he more than tolerated near-winter in the south. Claire, though, was wearing his jacket – Mac was warm enough in just his fleece – and Mac watched as she inhaled yet another cigarette. The intoxicating scent would linger in his jacket but it didn't bother him. He so wanted that cigarette. "So how long were you together?" she asked quietly, the orange tip glowing in the darkness.

"Four and a half years. I met her when I was in Officer School. She moved here to be closer to me a few years ago."

"And you broke up this week," she summarized. Mac nodded. "Holy shit," she said, turning towards him. Mac laughed at her assessment. "So, are you okay?" she asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah," Mac said. "I'm fine." She stared in disbelief. Mac held his hands out as if to say it didn't matter. "It was a long time coming, to be honest. But it's … it's strange not to see her everyday."

"So you must have lived together, right?" she asked.

"Not officially. I live on base and …" She nodded, understanding one had to be married to live together on base. She turned more and tucked a leg under her. Her cigarette was still lit, and Mac watched the paper burn as she inhaled. "But I spent a lot of time at her place and it was a nice place to be," he said, still watching it.

"You loved her," Claire said seriously. She finished one last deep drag on the cigarette and tossed the butt.

Mac hesitated, shaking his head back and forth in ambivalence. He half-nodded, half-shook his head and finally admitted, "I don't know. Probably?" he questioned. "Maybe, I guess."

"How can you not know?" Claire asked, horrified. "Did she love you?" Mac didn't reply, his head replaying what he now concluded may have been a flawed relationship for quite some time.

"She was good for me," Mac said decisively. "I was deployed to Beirut when we were together and …"

"You were in Beirut? Lebanon?" she asked, interrupting him. Mac nodded. "During the bombings?" she questioned further. He nodded again. "Wow," she said quietly. Mac turned his head in wonder and then she said, "It's just one of those defining moments in my life. You know, like when Ronald Reagan was shot or when the space shuttle blew up. I remember Beirut too." Mac nodded. "So anyway," she continued, back to Mac. "Your girlfriend. What was her name?"

"Julie," Mac informed.

"So Julie was 'Miss I'll Wait for You' while you get the shit bombed out of you and then you come home and …" Her voice trailed off and she waited for him to finish the sentence.

"And?" Mac pressed, amused at her assessment.

"And what happened?"

"And nothing," Mac shrugged. "We just kept dating, and that was it."

"Was she … like how did she … how was she when you came back?"

Mac sat back and crossed his legs, surprised by the implicit knowledge that Claire, at eighteen, understood that it took a special person to be a partner to a deployed or returning soldier. He ran a hand across his face and slowly exhaled. "She was okay," Mac said. Claire waited. "It was hard for her," he said after a beat. "I was different, I guess."

"In what way?" Claire pressed earnestly.

Mac exhaled audibly and looked away in discomfort. After a second, he shook his head. He wouldn't go there. "She dumped me on Tuesday," Mac announced after a few moments. "It's Thanksgiving next week and she's tired of going home without a ring on her finger, so it was time to get over my 'commitment issues'," he said, making air quotes around the words, "Or, it was time to move on."

"So she moved on," Claire said.

"Pretty much," Mac confirmed.

"You didn't want to marry her then."

Mac shrugged and finally shook his head. "No. I guess not." He waited a beat before saying, "But I still miss her."

Claire squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry you miss her."

"So how many tattoos do you have?" Mac asked, amused, yet not at all surprised that the young woman had bragged of ink. She giggled and pulled him closer to her. Her hand was looped through his arm and she had zipped his jacket to keep away the wind. It was nearing three in the morning, the darkest hour of the night, Mac always thought, and with that, the coolest hour as well.

"I have one on my hip," she said slyly, and Mac rolled his eyes. "That one is a little dragon."

"Cliché," Mac winked.

"Not this dragon," she retorted quickly. "The other one is behind my shoulder." She waited for a few moments and Mac was silent. She clearly wanted him to ask about it, so he didn't. He was enjoying the game. She cleared her throat and Mac raised his eyebrows. "You swear to god you don't have one?" she teased.

"I don't have one," Mac insisted, the corners of his lips turning up. He didn't mean to smile; he was telling the truth. He was just enjoying the conversation and he found he couldn't stop smiling.

"You do too," she said, eyes wide, mistaking the smile for teasing deception.

"I don't," Mac insisted, laughing now. She narrowed her eyes and looked into his. Mac struggled to impose a serious expression on his face.

After a moment, she nodded. "Well, I thought all Marines had tattoos."

"You thought wrong."

She leaned into him and gushed, "I'm having such a good time. I don't think I've stayed up this long talking with anyone in … like forever. You're just … I like talking to you." Mac liked talking to her too, but, ever in his mind, was the fact that this woman was eight years younger than him. Legal, yes. But barely. And any sort of relationship would be inappropriate, at best, and Mac didn't do inappropriate relationships. They could talk, maybe even be friends, but that was it. That was it, he repeated to himself.

Suddenly, Claire turned to him and said, "Do you want to see my tattoo?"

"The one on your shoulder, I presume?" Claire giggled but nodded. Mac pointed towards a street lamp. "When we get over there, I'll be able to see better." She hurried over to the light, and Mac followed behind. They stood near each other, a faint yellow glow casting dark shadows around them. Claire took his jacket off and handed it to him. Then she pulled at her white v-neck t-shirt to display the tattoo. He looked, ignoring the fact that her bra was bright purple. He would have guessed black from the outline it displayed through the t-shirt. "It's cool," he said with a nod.

She arranged her shirt again, and started to spin the silver ring around her thumb. She was nervous, Mac realized, and he didn't know why. She asked, "Do you know what the symbol is?" He shook his head. "Do you want to know?"

Mac tilted his head. "Is there something you want to tell me?" he asked quietly, sensing it was a heavy topic for her.

Her eyes flitted to the ground and then back to his. He was still staring at her. "It's an adoption symbol. The triangle stands for the birth parent, the adoptive parent, and the child. The heart, obviously, is love."

"So are you adopted?" Mac asked.

"No." Again, Mac tilted his head. She swallowed and then said, "It's for the baby I gave up for adoption." Mac was surprised by the revelation. He chewed on his bottom lip and then nodded. She said quietly now, "I got pregnant in high school. I was planning to go to NYU, if you can believe that. But, Tim didn't have any plans. None really at all." She laughed a little. "That's why he was so fun, to be honest." Mac chuckled through his nose. "So, he said he'd join the Marines and we'd get married and be a little family. My parents were against it from the start. They thought I should go to college anyway and give the baby up for adoption. I could live at home the first semester, but move on campus for the second semester after the whole 'pregnancy thing' was behind me." Mac nodded in sympathy, urging her to continued. "But, of course," she paused dramatically. "Of course, I picked Tim. Stupidest move ever. It was fun to play house for a while. But as soon as we got down here, it was clear it wasn't going to work out."

"Why's that?"

"Well, maybe I just got my head on straight. I mean, I barely know the guy. It would have been pure insanity to get married." She pressed her lips together and then said, "I used to have goals, you know? And I gave all those up. And then I was just working at Wal-Mart so I could pay rent for the both of us and he would go out every night while I waited at home. And honestly, Mac?" He waited; the story was as old as time. "Honestly, I just looked around me and realized, I wanted my old life back. And I certainly couldn't have a baby with him."

"So you didn't get married, and you gave the baby up for adoption," Mac finished quietly.

"Right," she said with a small nod. "So," she said, a mock cheerful voice again. "So here I am. All by my lonesome in small town North Carolina. A thousand miles from home and from the college I wanted to go to. I don't have a degree and my job, as you know, sucks." She turned away from Mac but reached for his jacket. He handed it to her and she pulled it around her body. She zipped it up and reached into her purse for another cigarette. "And I smoke too," she said in irritation, flicking the lighter three times before it caught the cigarette. "I managed to stop while I was pregnant, but now I smoke all day long. I'm going to have yellow teeth and gross hair and … and cancer too."

She started to walk. Mac stood in place for a few moments and then jogged slightly to catch up to her. He grasped her left elbow. "So when did this all happen?"

"We broke up in August. And I had the baby in October," she said, not facing him. She took another deep breath on the cigarette.

"Like four weeks ago October?" Mac asked. Claire nodded. Mac blew air out of his mouth and then wrapped an arm around her shoulder to turn her before he pulled her close to him in an embrace. She hugged him back with one arm, the other one held at bay so she didn't burn him. He kissed her cheek and whispered, "Well then, I guess you've had one hell of a fall."

Claire sat in the front seat of Mac's car, the window open just enough for the smoke to snake out the window. They sat in the parking lot of a diner, the sun beginning to rise in the east. Claire was finishing her cigarette before they would go in for breakfast. She asked, "So after hearing my dramatic sob story, what do you think I should do?"

He hesitated before answering, "You should do what you think is best."

"You're starting to annoy me," Claire said, taking another long drag. He raised his eyebrows, amused. She seemed genuinely irritated. "I don't usually ask for opinions, but I asked for yours, and now you're going all Switzerland on me." Mac chewed on his bottom lip but waited. "I'm sorry," she laughed after a second. "I'm hungry and tired so now I'm crabby." He smiled, shaking his head at her. "Please, give me a real opinion."

Mac nodded once and then, reaching towards her hand, ordered, "Give me one of those cigarettes first."

"No," she said, pulling the pack away from him. "You quit. You need to make it one more hour without one."

"Then I get one?" he pouted.

"If you still want one. I'll give you one after breakfast," she said, nodding towards the clock on his dashboard. "You can wait that long, can't you?" Mac winced as if he was in pain, but he nodded. "So," she started again. "What do you think I should do?" She paused but before he answered, she asked, "Do you want me to put this out?"

Mac shook his head. "It's fine. Really. I can handle the way the nicotine is absorbed through my nasal passages and into my blood. By the time it reaches my brain and starts to tell me what I'm missing, I'll be okay. I'll be able to handle it."

"Good," she said, taking one more long breath on it. Then she tossed it out the window.

"Thank you," Mac said sincerely. She nodded. "Okay, so you really want my opinion?" he asked for confirmation as he opened the front door. She nodded, stepping out of the car herself. "I think you should go home then."

"To Brooklyn," she said, slamming the door.

"Yes," Mac said. He leaned against the car and rest his elbows on the top, folding his hands. "I think you go home and move in with your parents. It sounds like they're good people and they want you to move forward. So get yourself into school. Try a few classes, meet some friends. Don't let Tim-the-asshole ruin your life so you're working at Wal-Mart forever because you don't finish school."

"I know," she said softly. "It's just a pride thing," she said with a frown, tapping the pack of cigarettes on the top of the car.

"I get that," Mac said with a nod. "Damn, Claire, I want that cigarette," he asserted.

"Why'd you quit?" she asked, moving the pack to inside his jacket pocket.

"My dad was diagnosed with lung cancer this week," Mac said simply.

"Are you kidding me?" Claire exclaimed. Mac held his hands up matter-of-factly. She walked towards him and grabbed his arm. "So your girlfriend dumped you and your dad got diagnosed with cancer? All in the same week?" She was horrified.

"All in the same day even," Mac said with a nod.

Her jaw dropped a millimeter. "Did Julie know?" Mac smirked a little and then nodded subtly. "What a complete bitch," she said, eyes wide. Mac chuckled. Claire chewed on her thumbnail before asking quietly, "Tell me. Was she pretty?"

"Gorgeous. In a turn-heads kind of way too," Mac confirmed.

Claire stuck her tongue out. "I hate her."

Mac's eyes sparkled. "She was blond with blue eyes, and tall. When she wore heels, she was taller than me. She liked to call herself willowy."

"And she's modest too," Claire teased sarcastically. They entered the diner and Mac held out his hand, signaling to the server that they were a party of two. "Does she smoke?" Claire asked. He shook his head. "I bet she hated that you did."

"She nagged me all the time," Mac winked.

"You have to quit now," Claire ordered. "It's payback. Show her that as soon as she's in your rearview mirror, you can quit. Let her think it was the stress of dating her that led you to smoke." Mac smiled at her revenge-plot as they followed the waitress to the table and sat down. Claire opened her menu in silence and Mac nodded at the offer of coffee. Claire declined. While they decided between pancakes and French toast, Claire asked, "Does your dad smoke?"

"Yep," Mac said. "Like a chimney." Mac reached his hand behind his head and squeezed his neck as if to get rid of a pain. "And I don't think dying of cancer will change that habit either."

Claire closed her menu and leaned across the table. "Is it that bad?" she asked quietly, hearing him acknowledge his father would die of the disease.

"Is it ever good?" he replied with a sad smile.

Mac watched Claire as she helped herself to the maple syrup, fully saturating her French toast. After sliding the stainless steel pitcher of syrup towards him, she licked her fingers to remove the stickiness. "So," she said, a bite of breakfast already in her mouth. "This," she said, gesturing with her fork between them. "This is really bad timing." Mac raised his eyebrows and waited for her to explain. "You're looking for a rebound. I just had a baby, for God's sakes." Mac shrugged a little, but agreed with her. "By the way," she said casually, "I haven't even been medically cleared for sex." Mac cleared his throat and refused to make eye contact. "Does that make you nervous?" she pressed.

Mac raised his eyes and gazed at her. "I wasn't aware sex was on the agenda," he said, amused.

"Oh my god," she said, her eyes wide. "Did you think I meant that?" Mac went back to spreading butter on his waffles. He ignored her question. "I just meant that I'm not really in a position to be in a relationship," she explained. "And, I'm pointing out, that maybe you're not either." Mac didn't reply, but one corner of his mouth pushed up in amusement.

He took a bite of his food and then said seriously, "I guess we have to be just friends then."

"I guess so," Claire said. Mac heard the disappointment in her voice and was tempted to say more but remained silent, considering his words. "But everyone has to have that first relationship after a failed one, right?" Mac looked away; he wasn't going there with her. She bit her lip and then asked bluntly, "Is it because I have a ton of baggage? Is that why you're not interested in me?"

Mac blew air out of his mouth and then took a drink of his coffee. After a moment, he said, "I'm interested. Very." She smiled. He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. "But it's not going to work out," he said, looking in her eyes. "And I thought you were going home anyway, right?"

Claire took a deep breath and nodded. "Can we keep in touch at least?" she asked in disappointment.

"Yeah," Mac said. "You can write me letters. And I'll call once in a while." She smiled in disbelief. But she reached across the table for his bacon. "And why didn't you order your own?" he asked. She laughed and flipped her hair before she popped the bacon in her mouth.

He stood just outside her apartment door, holding his jacket over his arm. "So this is it," Mac said. She nodded. "I wasn't kidding," he said. "I really think you should go home."

"I know," she said. "I plan to. I just … I have to get through Thanksgiving before I admit to my dad that he was right." He nodded and hesitated a moment. Then, he kissed her cheek gently and turned around and walked away. He stood at the stairs and lifted a hand to wave when she called, "Wait." He stopped and she jogged a few steps to stand in front of him. She gripped his upper arms and then asked, "It's the age thing, right? That's why this isn't going to work out. You think you're too old for me." Mac's eyes flitted to the ground. "But I think you should know, I'm really mature for my age," she said. Mac looked up and met her gaze. Her eyes were sparkling, and Mac had to smile. Then she added quietly, "And I think you're the best guy I've ever met."

He smiled and then reached his hand out and touched her cheek. He pushed her hair behind her ear and said, "Claire, you're amazing. I've enjoyed every moment tonight." He swallowed and took his hand back. Then he confirmed, "But I'm too old for you."

She nodded. "I know," she whispered. Mac turned again to leave. She scratched her eyebrow and then asked, "You wouldn't change your mind or anything, would you?" He turned back, one step down, and he scowled at her in jest. "How about a kiss? I mean … if this is it, then it doesn't matter, does it?" Mac laughed, and Claire walked over to him. He looked at her awkwardly, still not making a move, and she said, "Fine then. You be the gentleman. And I'll be the kisser."

She leaned over and pressed her lips against Mac's, winding her fingers around his neck to find a home in his hair. She pulled him closer to her and rest her other hand on his cheek. After a moment, she pulled back for air and rest her head on his shoulder and hugged him. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm going to miss you."

Mac didn't turn back again, leaving the front of the building without another glance. But, as he started towards his car, he had to admit he would miss her too. He stuffed his hands in his jacket pocket and frowned when he found Claire's cigarettes. He turned back, intending to return them when she called from the second story window, "I'm quitting, Mac. I'm not dying of cancer."

"So why'd you leave me with these?" he asked in mock annoyance. "Did you forget about our revenge plot?"

Claire giggled, her laugh echoing across the parking lot. "I'm glad you remembered. I remembered that I promised you could have one after breakfast."

Mac exhaled audibly with a scowl on his face. He stopped at the nearest garbage can and dropped the pack. He looked back at her and extended an arm in a one hand wave. "Call me from Brooklyn," he said in farewell.