Saturday came, and Cynthia stood under the large, dazzling neon sign outside the Old Monterrey. She was a little early. She stood and watched people go by and into the restaurant. She had her hair parted on the left with a short section of hair going across her forehead and curling by her opposite temple. The longest parts of her hair hung in relaxed waves nearly reaching her shoulders. Her knee-length light green dress had a fitted waist. The v-neck had scalloped sides with scalloped short sleeves to match. The skirt had large red roses with green leaves while the v-neck terminated in two roses - a red one and a pink one. She wore a strand of pearls that her mother gave her and open-toed high heel shoes with a tie around the ankle.
Cynthia looked at her watch. It read 7:10. She worried if Roger had forgotten or had stood her up. The fear was short-lived. He appeared almost at that moment.
"So, sorry. I lost track of the time talking on the phone to my parents," he said.
"That's alright. Shall we go in?" Cynthia furtively glanced at Roger's attire as they walked in. He really knew how to dress. He wore a white dress shirt with a black, narrow tie, both under a knitted, large, houndstooth-patterned vest. There were horizontal black accent lines on the four vest pockets and broad, black edges where the vest buttoned together with six black buttons. Over the vest he wore a loose-fitting and open black jacket, and black, broad, pleated pants with black dress shoes.
The maître d' who greeted them asked, "Table for two?"
Roger replied, "Yes."
The man grabbed two menus and walked the pair to a corner table. Roger pulled out Cynthia's chair and pushed it under her as she sat down. Then Roger sat down and the maître d' handed them both their menus. "Thanks," Roger said.
"May I get you something to drink?"
Cynthia responded, "I'll take a sweet tea."
"Same for me," Roger said.
The maître d' smiled and said, "I'll be right back."
"How are your parents? Are they okay?" Cynthia asked.
"Oh, yes. They're fine," Roger replied. "I talk to them regularly."
"That's good," she said.
"What about you?" he asked.
"What?" she asked.
"How are your parents?"
"They're fine too. I talked to them about a week ago," she replied.
The maître d' returned with the ice teas. "Your waiter will be right with you."
"Thanks," Roger said. He continued, "What are your parents like?"
"My father is a hard worker and owned a service station when I was growing up – still does. He's really good with mechanics. My mother worked as a seamstress and at a drug store. Both of them have strong opinions and are politically active," Cynthia described.
"Oh. That's very interesting. How so?" Roger inquired.
"My father used to be a Republican and my mother was a Socialist and now they are both Democrats. In recent years, they have supported and campaigned for FDR among other major and minor Democratic candidates." She continued, "My mother has always been interested in women's rights and cared about the poor and children."
The waiter appeared at their table, "Hi, my name is Ramón, can I get you an appetizer?"
Roger replied while looking quickly over the menu, "Ummm…," he said while looking at Cynthia, "How about José's Dip?"
Cynthia replied, "Sounds good."
"Okay. We'll have some of José's Dip," Roger said, looking back at the waiter.
"Thank you, señor," said the waiter and he went back to the wait station.
"What are your parents like?" Cynthia asked Roger.
"My father is a pharmacist and my mother is a housewife. Both are really sharp people. I wouldn't say they are politically active, exactly, but they are probably more Democratic than Republican. They are Methodists that worked to prohibit alcohol in the 1920s – teetotalers. I think they both experienced the ills of alcohol growing up, but they don't talk about it."
"So do you drink?" Cynthia asked.
"No. Never touched the stuff. I like to keep my wits about me and take my sorrows sober." He continued, "You?"
"Occasionally. My family is neither Methodist, nor teetotalers," Cynthia replied.
The waiter returned, "Have you decided on what you'd like for dinner?"
Roger replied, "Oh, no. Sorry. Actually, we've just been talking and haven't looked at the menu yet. Please give us some more time."
"Okay, señor," the waiter said and then left.
"We should probably look at this menu," Roger said as he smiled at Cynthia.
"Yes," Cynthia replied as she smiled back.
Roger looked over his menu quickly, closed it, and then inquired, "So, your mother is interested in women's rights?"
"Yes, she even gave me the middle name of Alice after Alice Paul," Cynthia replied.
"Oh yes, she's wonderful," he said. "A very strong woman."
"Definitely," Cynthia replied. "Is your mother a strong woman like mine?"
"Hmmm," Roger hesitated and frowned somewhat. "I think in her own way she is. She's always there for her children and husband, but isn't so strong for herself. I've always thought that she missed out on her dreams to take care of us."
"She probably did. A lot of women do. But maybe she's satisfied with that," Cynthia replied.
"I don't really think so. She's always been a melancholic person and I've always thought it was the result of giving up on her aspirations."
"Perhaps. Or she could just be a melancholic person," Cynthia replied as she closed her menu. "Have you asked her about it?"
"Not directly. I do know she wanted to be an architect in her youth," Roger replied.
"That was a pretty big aspiration in her day."
The waiter returned. "Are you ready to order?"
Roger replied, "Yes, I'd like the Enchiladas a la Michael." The waiter looked at Roger and said, "And for the señora?"
Roger replied as he looked at Cynthia, "The señora can order for herself."
The waiter replied, "Very good, señor," and he looked at Cynthia and asked, "Señora?"
"I'll take the Grilled Redfish."
"Thank you. I'll be right back with your appetizer," the waiter said and left.
"You said your family wasn't Methodist. Are they religious?" Roger asked.
"I would not say religious in the sense of practicing a religion, but my family is Jewish. Specifically, we are Reformed Jews."
"I know that's hard to be, growing up in Texas. Well, I don't personally know that, but I learned that from some of my classmates in college."
"It was challenging at times. Still is, unfortunately."
"It will change. I know it will," Roger said with a smile.
The waiter returned with the appetizer and placed it on the table with some corn tortilla chips and refreshed their ice teas.
"Do you practice Judaism today?" Roger asked.
"No. I would say that I am mainly ethnically Jewish. I prefer scientific explanations for the world around me, and I don't really care for ritual."
"You're a fascinating woman, Dr. Glass," Roger said.
Cynthia looked stunned but was silent.
"What? You act like you've never heard that before," Roger quipped.
"I don't think I have," she said, still looking stunned.
"You're strong. I mean, you'd have to be. Look at how far you've come in this day and age. You're smart. You're independent. And, yes, dare I say, you are beautiful."
Cynthia blushed and took a nervous drink of tea and gulped some down. "And you are direct and generous with compliments."
"Does it bother you?"
"I'm certainly not used to it," Cynthia replied.
"Too bad. It's all true. And my philosophy is that life is too short to not say what you mean," Roger replied.
"That's a good philosophy," Cynthia replied, not knowing what more to say.
"Cynthia, do you prefer to be called Cynthia or Cindy?" Roger asked.
"You can call me Cindy," she replied.
"Cindy it is," he said with a smile and popped a tortilla chip in his mouth.
The two ate their meals and continued talking in the warm light emanating from the candle on their table in the dimmed restaurant. They talked more deeply about their dreams for their careers, ideas about life, politics, religion, and family. For dessert, they shared a slice of tres leches cake with two forks. They stayed talking until they were the only two people left at a table in the restaurant.
Roger asked, "May I walk you back to your apartment?"
Cynthia replied, "Thank you. I'd like that."
Roger paid the bill, and escorted Cynthia out of the establishment back to her apartment on Commonwealth Street. It was around midnight. Roger placed his jacket on Cynthia's shoulders and walked beside her with his hands in his pockets. He said, "I had a great time this evening. I'd really like to see you again."
"Me too," Cynthia replied.
"How about next Saturday?" he asked.
"That will be fine," she replied.
The two reached Cynthia's apartment. Standing outside her door, she took off his jacket and handed it back to him. He slipped into the jacket. "Cindy, would you mind if I kissed you goodnight?"
"You're kind of a strange mix of broadminded male and old-fashioned, aren't you?" Cynthia said with a smile.
"Is that a problem?"
"No," Cynthia said as she took the initiative and leaned in to kiss him first.
Roger pressed his lips against hers and slipped his hands around her waist to her lower back. She put both of her hands on his chest as she kissed him. It was a sensuous kiss that made Cynthia breathless and Roger eager. He stopped kissing her, and with his hands still around her waist, he looked her in the eyes.
"Have a wonderful evening, Cindy," Roger said. "I'll probably see you around the hospital, but definitely next Saturday."
Cynthia straightened her dress and hair. "Definitely."