Chapter 6: Dinner, Drinks & Just Desserts
Sunday, October 26, 2014
It's not that long a drive to Linda's, so Patrick takes a detour delaying his arrival time. He stops at the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine, thinking it would be rude to show up for their date empty-handed. Once he's finished, the professor heads straight to her place; Linda lives in Vespucci in an apartment complex on Bay City Avenue; Patrick parallel parks on her street then goes inside the building. Since the elevator is out of order, he has no choice but to take the stairs. After climbing three flights of steps, Patrick's thankful that Linda only lives on the third floor.
When he gets to the front door, he pauses. Should I go in? Or should I knock? He decides on the latter, lightly pounding on the door.
"It's Patrick," he calls out for good measure.
Linda opens the door with a friendly smile on her face. "Come in," she responds, stepping aside.
As he enters, the sound of instrumental jazz music plays in the background, and the smell of a home-cooked meal filled his nostrils, causing his stomach to growl with hunger. However, the moment she closed the door behind him, Patrick began regretting accepting the date; judging from what Linda had on a cocktail dress, and high-heels she was already under the wrong impression. Compared to her, Patrick wore a pullover sweater, shirt and tie, khakis, and loafers. Linda stood there without speaking as if silently asking him for his input.
Patrick figures he'd better come up with a reply. "I feel underdressed," he jokes, trying to buy himself some time to come up with a compliment. Regretfully he says the first thing that comes to mind. "You look... gorgeous." He mentally beats himself up; knowing his response further encouraged the wrong impression.
"Thank you," Linda replies, gushing with confidence.
He offers her a bottle of wine. "This is for you."
She reads the label. "Riesling? Awww, how nice of you. You didn't have to bring me anything." To show her gratitude, Linda kisses him on the cheek then heads into the kitchen. "Please make yourself at home take a seat anywhere you'd like."
Patrick stood with his hands in his pockets while he looked around. "I see you've rearranged all the furniture in the living room."
Linda rummaged through a drawer in search of a corkscrew for later to open the bottle. "What? Oh yeah, I decided I wanted to make a change, so rather than move, I just moved some things around."
"You wanted to move? I thought you loved this apartment?"
Linda felt her apartment was far enough away from the boisterous city, but close enough she didn't feel disconnected from everyone else. "I did. I mean, I do. I just... I don't know. Eventually, you get tired of the same-old, same-old. Anyhow dinner is ready."
She led Patrick to the dinette set up like a romantic dinner for two, complete with candles burning, two place settings, and a floral centerpiece. He admired the spread on the table consisting of baked chicken, asparagus, scalloped mashed potatoes, and freshly baked dinner rolls. Both were seated dished up their plates, making small talk in between bites. They discussed the weather, traffic, and his drive over to her place. At first, the professor dreaded this evening, hoping Linda wouldn't bring up why he hadn't returned to campus, but as it continued to play out, he found himself feeling more relaxed in her presence.
Linda even got him to tell her a joke. "Please! C'mon, you must know one."
Patrick became bashful. "No, I mean, I know one, but it's not very funny," he admitted.
"How will I know if it's funny or not unless you tell me? C'mon, what is it?"
He gave in to her insistence. "All right here goes: A mathematician wanders back home at 3 AM, proceeding to get an earful from his wife. She yells, "You're late! You said you'd be home by 11:45!" The mathematician replies coolly, "I said I'd be home by a quarter of 12!"
Linda bursts into laughter. "You're right. That wasn't funny at all!"
"So why are you laughing?"
She shrugs, smiling. "Sometimes you've gotta laugh." As they finished dinner, Linda cleared the table then brought out dessert. "This is the only thing that I didn't make," she confessed, placing a tray of cheesecake in the center of the table. Before removing the plastic cover, she takes off the two plates and forks that she balanced on top then presents them. "Voilà dessert is served!"
"That looks delicious," Patrick comments.
"Shoot," exclaimed Linda, I forgot the wine and the glasses." She makes a second trip to the kitchen. When she returns, she pours him one, then one for herself, but as Linda reclaims her seat, and she noticed his smile has faltered. "What is it? What's wrong?" She quickly realizes her mistake, covering her mouth with both hands to prevent gasping. Linda removes them to apologize. "I'm sorry, I forgot that you didn't drink because of..."
"My mother?" Patrick finishes her sentence. He gave a nonchalant shrug. "It's all right; I know you didn't mean anything by it." He collects his fork and plate, heading for the living room. "Care to join me?"
Linda follows after him. They both set down their things on the coffee table. He takes a seat on the couch, but before she seated herself, she offers him something else to drink. "Perhaps coffee?"
"I don't think that would taste very good with cheesecake." Patrick pats the couch cushion beside him. "Don't be shy; take a seat."
She sat beside him cross-legged, nursing her glass of wine while he told her a story. Linda was only half-listening, occasionally nodding her head in agreement with what he was saying, but she's mostly lost in her own thoughts.
I forgot how kind-looking his eyes are. Was he always this charming? God, I missed his smile. I'll bet he smells incredible. Linda actually had to stop herself from leaning closer to smell his neck.
Eventually, Patrick caught on to the fact her attention was split. "Linda, are you all right? You seem a bit distracted."
She shook the thoughts she was having from her head. "Huh? Sorry anyhow like you were saying." Having finished her wine, Linda sets her glass down, noticing both of their plates are empty.
"I..." he began until she offered him more dessert. "No, thank you, I'm full."
Linda got up from the couch, collecting their dirty dishes to take back to the kitchen, and returned with another glass of wine. "I'm tired of listening to this jazz music. What do you say we listen to something else?" She popped out the instrumental jazz CD from the stereo, placing it back in its case. "What do you feel like listening to?"
Patrick shrugs. "That depends. What other music do you have?" He noticed that aside from owning CDs, she also had some vinyl as well. Linda picked out one of her favorite records, turning her back so he couldn't see. She placed the record on the turntable, dropped the needle, and waited for the music to start. "The suspense is killing me," admits Patrick. "What is it?"
"You'll know soon enough," Linda replied, slipping out of her shoes.
As the song began to play, Patrick's ears perk up, listening to see if he recognized the music. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. "Stormy Weather by Etta James? You hate me, don't you?"
Linda smiles back mischievously. "What on earth would give you that idea?" The irony of the song choice leads him to wonder. Does she regret the way things ended between them? As Patrick rises from the couch, he contemplates asking until Linda asks him to dance.
"Wait a second," she says, moving the coffee table against the wall to make more room.
Patrick extends a hand. "Shall we?"
They begin slow dancing as he takes her hand in his, placing his other around her waist. Linda is shorter without her shoes on, but she could hear his heart beating while nestling her head to his chest. She'd be lying if she didn't say she enjoyed being this close to him again. She laughs as he twirls her around then dips her backward. The pair stays frozen like that for a moment gazing into each other's eyes, and Linda contemplates kissing him. However, the moment is ruined when Patrick asks her to remind him why they broke up. They quit dancing, and he helps her to an upright position. Linda wordlessly stops the music. He's left standing there wondering what he did wrong. She walks past him swiping her glass of wine off the coffee table taking it with her to the kitchen to pour herself another drink.
Linda huffs. "We were having a good time until you brought that up."
Patrick feels bad. "I'm sorry, let's keep dancing."
"No, I've lost interest."
When she returns from the kitchen, he confronts her again. "Linda, you didn't answer me; why did we break up?"
She shrugs. Patrick takes her glass away before she has the chance to take a sip. "HEY!" Linda yells.
The professor looks at her pleadingly. "Forgive me. I want to know."
She sighs. "Fine. Time was a factor."
Patrick looked at her perplexingly. Linda tends to be vague, expecting him to know what she means. "What do you mean? We spent time together?"
"Not like this," Linda argued. "We hardly spent any time together outside of campus."
He thought about it; she wasn't wrong. Back when they were dating, the only time they saw each other was in between classes, and on rare occasions, weekends at each other's place if neither of them was bombarded with paperwork.
Patrick makes an effort to apologize. "I'm sorry. I should have made more time for you. For us."
Linda felt bad her intention wasn't to blame him. "I'm sorry I wasn't trying to place blame. Besides, time wasn't the only factor. Another reason we split was because of the faculty guidelines. Had the University found out we were dating, they would have made it a big deal forced us to work separately. Then we never would have been able to see each other or spend any time together."
Gradually as Patrick heard what she had to say, he understood. "I know you weren't trying to blame me. Now that you mention it working apart would have put more strain on our relationship. I'm thankful for the time we did get to spend together."
Linda gave him a look indicating she wanted her glass back. Patrick smiles, handing it to her; she tosses it back; he gets an unsettling feeling at the sight of Linda drinking. She heads into the kitchen to pour herself another one.
Patrick expresses his concern. "Linda, that's your third glass of wine tonight. Don't you think you've had enough?"
She had, but alcohol brought out the worst in her, including Linda's fleeting feelings of release that come with intoxication. Linda insensitively replies, "What are you, my mother?"
Something inside of Patrick snaps, finding himself taking her glass away pouring it out. The sight of Linda drinking triggered traumatic memories of his mother's alcoholism. He did the same to her whenever she would refuse to quit.
Linda protests his actions. "What the hell are you doing? Don't pour that down the drain!" Her eyes dart to the bottle.
They both reach for it but Patrick is quicker than she is. He holds it over the sink threatening to do the same unless she promises to straighten up. Linda knows he isn't acting right; the hand he's using to hold the wine bottle is trembling, and he's inaudibly saying something under his breath that she can't quite make out.
Linda quickly realizes he's having a traumatic episode but isn't sure what to do or how to handle it. "Patrick, can you look at me?" The mention of his name brings him out of his trance-like state. His eyes meet hers. She tries coaxing him. "Good look at me. I promise I won't drink anymore. Just... put the bottle down."
Patrick slowly but surely does as instructed, placing the wine bottle on the countertop. He turns away from Linda, wishing she hadn't seen him like this. "I'm sorry. I need a moment."
She places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"
He flinches at her touch, shrugging off her hand. "I'M FINE!"
Linda knew it wasn't like him to raise his voice or lose his temper. Patrick rakes his hands over his face running them through his hair. He turns to look at her without speaking, walking straight past her and out of the kitchen altogether.
"Patrick, wait."
He has one hand on the door, looks over his shoulder, smiles at her, and leaves. He races down three flights of steps through the lobby and out of the complex. Patrick's shaken up, fumbling to get his keys out of his pants pocket. Eventually, he manages to unlock the door, start up his car, and take off.
In light of recent events, the thought of buying dog food slipped Patrick's mind, so when he headed home empty-handed, he wasn't sure what to tell Michael. However, his fears became irrelevant once the professor saw the mess on the living room floor.
Patrick was shocked at the sight of feathers everywhere. "What on earth?"
"Yeah... about that," explained Michael. "The dog ate your throw pillows; I wasn't sure how to get it to stop."
"She daddy, not it," Tracey corrected, coming out of the kitchen with the dog trailing behind.
Patrick picked up the remains of one of the throw pillows. "Wait a second; you're telling me that one little dog did all this?"
Tracey tried reasoning that the dog didn't know any better; with some training, she'll stop, but her father advised the professor to take the dog back to the pet store.
Patrick sighed, glancing once more at the mess in the living room before making up his mind. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid your father is right. We have to take her back."
Michael couldn't believe it. "Wait, what?"
Neither could Tracey. "So much for not taking sides."
"I'm not taking sides," said Patrick. "In hindsight, the dog's intended purpose has been served partaking in a grand romantic gesture. I didn't plan on... keeping her."
While holding the dog, Tracey stared into its big brown eyes. "I guess you're right." She sets it on the floor. The dog jumps on the couch, circles a spot, and lies down. "Besides, I'm facing enough responsibility being pregnant. I don't want the added responsibility of taking care of a dog on top of it."
Tracey and Patrick kiss despite her father's presence. Michael clears his throat to get them to stop; he still isn't accustomed to their public displays of affection. "Anyhow, now that's settled, I'm taking off." He hugs Tracey goodbye then heads for the door, but Patrick stops him.
"Wait, I parked behind you; I've got you blocked; I'll have to move my car so you can get out."
As Michael backed his Tailgator out of the driveway, the professor recognizes his car as the same one he reported as suspicious-looking a couple of days ago. He attempts to flag Michael down, who mistakes his gesturing as waving, so Michael waves back before taking off. Patrick debates going after him to confront him, but instead, the professor parks his car then goes inside. He turns off all the lights downstairs, but one, leaving the one above the stove on in case either he or Tracey comes down in the middle of the night for some reason. While making his way upstairs, Patrick wonders which room to sleep in his or the guest bedroom. He heads for the guest room, sits on the edge of the bed, closes his eyes, and lays back, but just as he begins to relax, Tracey calls for him.
Patrick felt a twinge of panic moving with haste across the hall to get to her. "What is it? What's wrong? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine," replies Tracey, "I just thought you would sleep in here."
The professor is relieved to know that she's okay but leery towards her comment. Part of him missed his own bed, but another part of him doesn't want to give off the wrong impression. Tracey lies there awaiting his response. Patrick wordlessly enters the room, closing the door behind him. She has already claimed her side of the bed, so he walks around to the left.
As Patrick lies down atop the covers, Tracey points out that he's still fully clothed. "Wouldn't you rather take some of that off?"
"Why?"
"So you can sleep comfortably." Tracey suggests, "You should at least take off your shoes and tie."
Patrick figures she has a point. He sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed to take off his shoes. Next, he loosens his tie.
"There. Satisfied?"
"Almost," Tracey says, sitting up and crawling over to him. She sits behind him on her knees.
Suddenly Patrick feels her hands behind him, tugging at the hem of his sweater. "What are you doing?"
Tracey instructs him to stick up his arms so she can pull the sweater over his head. Patrick does as instructed. Static cling causes it to somewhat stick to his button-down shirt, but she manages to pull it off, discarding it to the floor. Next, she takes off his tie, adding it to the growing pile of clothes. Tracey snakes her arms around Patrick's waist, hugging him from behind resting her head on his shoulder.
"You seem... tense."
"I feel tense. I also feel tired. Can we please go to sleep?"
Tracey scoots back from behind him, making room for him to lie down. "What's wrong?"
Patrick rolls over on his side, facing away from her. "I don't want to talk about it."
Tracey doesn't press the issue any further, deciding that it's best to leave him be, so she gets under the covers and drifts off to sleep. Hours later, the professor jerked up with a gasp, his heart pounding. The nightmares had returned, or were there some reality to them? Had he really swiped a bottle of alcohol away from his mother? It all came racing back. Linda. Dinner. Wine.
He felt Tracey come awake beside him, disturbed from her dreams by the violence of his own. She slipped out of bed, turning on the light in the bathroom. Patrick knew how he must look wild eyes, disheveled hair, and chest heaving in and out as adrenaline coursed through his system. Tracey returned in a moment, not letting on that she'd noticed how frightened he was. She placed a cool washcloth on the back of his neck, pressing her forehead to his murmuring quietly.
"Want to talk about it?" Tracey whispered.
Patrick shook his head, gulping in the air. She handed him a glass of water, and he drained the cup setting it on the bedside table with shaking fingers. Tracey settled back into bed. He felt nervous, wound up, and considered going for a jog; the sun wouldn't be up for hours. Instead, the professor lay back down, slipping an arm around Tracey, his other hand on her belly. The position felt natural despite not having slept together in weeks. Still no movement from the child inside, but he knew that the baby was there, growing; developing limbs and fingers and toes becoming a reality. Patrick felt Tracey's body slowly relax and go limp, her breathing growing deep and more regular. As she slept, he lay awake waiting for dawn. No more nightmares, he prayed to the dark.
No thanks to her iFruit phone Tracey woke from her sleep for a second time. It vibrated on the nightstand from a notification alert. She had just received a new text from her friend Stephanie. Her eyes were still adjusting from sleep as she responded.
Tracey: It's a little late don't u think…
Stephanie: It's only like 3:37 AM since when do u have a bedtime
Tracey: I don't but… What do u want
Stephanie: Y haven't u been at school lately
Tracey: …
Stephanie: U aren't going 2 tell me. 😡 FINE! Some friend u r. I won't even bother telling u all the crazy things that have been going on since u've been gone.
Tracey: OMG like what?
Tracey: C'mon PLZ
Tracey: I wanna know
Stephanie: OK things have been weird.
Tracey: Weird. How?
Stephanie: Like u aren't the only 1 who hasn't been showing up on campus. No 1's seen professors Jefferies in like forever either.
(Well aware of this Tracey looks over at Patrick who's finally drifted off to sleep.)
Tracey: Maybe he's sick
Stephanie: As if… Would they investigate a sick person
Tracey: Investigate?!
Stephanie: Uh, yeah, the campus has been crawling with more security than usual. Apparently there's some investigation going on, but they won't tell us anything
Tracey: Have they asked 2 speak 2 u
Stephanie: No y would they
Tracey: I just figured since it was an investigation they'd be interviewing people including students
Stephanie: I think u mean "interrogate," but no nobodies pulled me aside 2 talk. U still didn't answer me. Y haven't u been at school?
Tracey: I… Can I trust u?
Stephanie: Totally
Tracey: 4 real? Like, what I'm about 2 tell u is strictly between u & me
Stephanie: YES I swear
Tracey: I haven't shown up 4 school cuz I'm pregnant…
Stephanie: Very funny
Tracey: Steph, I'm NOT joking. I'm seriously pregnant like 8-weeks
Stephanie: 😱😱😱😱
Tracey: I know
Stephanie: OMG! Who's the father? Is it Ryan?
Tracey: No. It's not Ryan
Stephanie: Then who is it?
Tracey: Stop guessing cuz I'm not gonna tell u
Stephanie: WTF I'm ur best friend & ur not gonna tell me?
Tracey: I told u that I'm pregnant. Can't we just leave it at that?
Stephanie: Sorry ur right. I understand. I'm here 4 u.
Tracey: Thnx we'll talk more 2morrow
Stephanie: TTYL
Tracey: Bye
