Chapter 8: Buon Appetito
(The music for this chapter is also a little funky. The songs "Just What I Needed," and "That Old Time Rock and Roll," are mostly here in case anyone was curious what they sounded like. You can let "Just What I Needed" play during its spot in the queue, skip "Old Time Rock and Roll," and you'll be fine. Or you can skip both and do whatever you want instead. Either way, I'd recommend starting the next track "Come Prima" right when Dick and Brielle walk into the restaurant. Other than that, this chapter's music starts with "Mia Invites Lilly to the Ball," and ends with "Too Young.")
It was finally Friday. I can never sleep in on important days like this; days that make my heart start skipping rope and my feet dance down the hallways. I was so happy I'd thought to buy all those cosmetic products. But then it hit me… I had no idea what the dress code for tonight would be. And I didn't have a phone to ask Dick about it. Major oversight. Gah!
I passed Damian and Duke in the hall on their way to training, and I ended up sitting alone at the table—Alfred coming and going between the dining room and kitchen—trying to figure out what to do. I could go semi-formal, but what if it was just a regular restaurant? Go casual? Nice-casual? But what if he sprang for a fancy restaurant? I hadn't exactly bought my wardrobe with dating in mind. There were some nice pieces, but if things took a formal turn, I'd be doomed. And I didn't have any jewellery or accessories either. And then there was… my hair… my long, waist length hair that I rarely knew what to do with… I suppose I could curl it… that was about the only thing I could think of.
Alfred came in again and found me splayed out along the table chairs.
"Admiring the woodwork, I see," he quipped dryly.
"Alfred," I said, getting up and clutching the back of the seat. "If you didn't know where you were going out on a very special occasion, how would you prep your wardrobe?"
"Am I to assume that this 'special occasion' is with Master Dick?" He smiled.
"Maaaybeee," I blushed. "But I've never actually been on a dinner date before, and I told him to surprise me, and now I'm slightly panicking, because I have no idea what to wear!" My forehead hit the wood of the chair with a quiet "thunk."
"Hmm," said the butler, setting down a cup of tea for me. "Miss Brielle, I have known Master Dick for nearly fourteen years. I believe I could guess as to where he might think to take a young woman on a first date."
"You can?" I asked hopefully.
"That, and he came to me asking for my opinion."
I smiled and put my hand over my mouth. Dick was so cute!
"Come along. There's much to be done, and very little time for doing it."
"Where are we going?" I asked, following him out of the dining room.
"I assume you want to look your best?" He asked slyly. I nodded. "Then grab a coat and slip on some shoes. I'll inform Master Bruce that we will be out for the day."
Another day out on the town with Alfred? This man had to be one of my new favourite people in the whole world!
He made some phone calls as I got ready, and then half an hour later, we were in the car, speeding toward Gotham. It looked like it was going to be a perfectly clear summer day, and the ground was still a little cold and dewy from the morning mist.
Our first stop was the nail salon. Alfred left me in the hands of some very kind ladies while he went out on a separate mission. This salon—it could have been called a whole spa, or a cosmetic palace—it was the most elaborate and classy salon I had ever set foot in. My older sister would be so jealous.
We started on the nails, and I got a French manicure. Classy and cultured. Though, the ladies did have some difficulty with my weird toenails. They had gotten a little banged up from all those wilderness camping trips I mentioned before. Turns out, when you jam your big toe in a hiking shoe over and over again for hours, it actually traumatises the toenail. I mean, I was traumatised just looking at it. But I suppose it wasn't anywhere near as bad as my dad's feet. (Two words: Toenail. Fungus. I know, the less said the better.) The seats there were also massage chairs, so I sat back and relaxed for a good hour.
Next up, did some waxing. The armpits, eyebrows, legs—the works. Not as fun as the mani-pedi, but I figured it was a necessity.
Then we did a quick facial scrub (it wouldn't get rid of the bits of acne on the outskirts of my face, but it supposedly would give my skin a "healthy glow") and I ended up chatting a bunch with the ladies there. They asked about what the occasion was, and I told them I was going out for my first dinner date, then they all immediately started trying to guess which wealthy/famous guy it was. I sadly had to shoot down all of their ideas. He was a gymnast. And the most gorgeous man I'd ever met. I… may or may not have gone on about him for… let's just say, longer than I should have. Heheh… they were very patient with me.
It was getting close to lunch time when I was finished, and that's when Alfred returned, carrying a garment bag over his shoulder. I was speechless when he showed me what was inside. It was a spaghetti strap, knee-length, form fitting, navy blue, silk dress that shimmered like nighttime waters. And, bonus, it looked like the flat neckline wouldn't reveal any of my white abnormality. The back, though… I would need to wear my hair down.
I couldn't stop thanking Alfred. I literally hugged him there in the salon. He was a true saint!
Took a brief pitstop for an early lunch, but we didn't have time to dawdle. Hair and makeup would take the longest, and Dick was picking me up at six, so we needed to hurry.
It was funny though—I would only realise how significant this was much, much later but—when we arrived at the restaurant, and Alfred asked if I wanted to sit outside, I declined, noting the lilac bushes prominently on display. You see, I have pollen allergies, and lilacs specifically are my worst enemy. One time, a friend brought a huge bouquet of them for my mom, and I was dying for a whole week. I was thrilled when I was told I could finally throw them out. After telling all of this to Alfred, I noticed that he excused himself before we ordered, and I caught him on the phone outside.
Then, it was time for makeup. Now, I feel like a broken record saying how many things I'd done up until now that I'd never done before, but a professional makeup job was definitely one of those things. The stylist was this very quirky, very charming man with a suave moustache and glasses who complimented me on my delicate, blonde eyebrows.
He asked about the colour of the dress I'd be wearing, and then asked Alfred about any jewellery (he said silver) and he plotted out the colour choices accordingly. I'm not a makeup expert, but I guess I have one of those special skin tones that apparently looks good with a bunch of different colours of lipstick? Particularly bright colours.
When he started bringing out what looked like some heavy-duty supplies, I asked him to please make sure not to make me look like an entirely different person. I really just wanted to amplify my natural features as much as possible. He simply smiled and said, "Naturally, darling. Leave it to me."
When he was done, I… I wish I had a picture to show you. I did look different, but not in an extreme way. It was honestly like having one of those snapchat filters, but real. I looked good. And we hadn't even gotten to hair yet. But speaking of which, we did need to hurry, because that was going to take the longest out of any of the appointments I'd done yet.
For hair, I requested a down-do, and the ladies set to work, washing, conditioning, highlighting, washing again, drying, cutting, curling, and doing a whole lot of gossiping. Alfred stepped out again to finish "one last errand" so he missed the grand reveal of my date-night look, but it wasn't like it was going to look worse five minutes from then.
I was speechless. I looked like a Hollywood celebrity. My soft brown hair, with the blonde highlights, falling in perfect waves—it was like I really was turning into a Disney Princess.
"You are a miracle worker," I told my hairdresser, looking myself over in the mirror. I almost didn't recognise myself. Was this really the same girl from Podunk California? The one who shared one bathroom with her six siblings and wore hand-me-down dresses for most of her childhood? Just crazy.
Alfred was waiting by the salon entrance and said I looked lovely. I never know what to say in response to his compliments other than a sheepish, "Thanks." He was like this loveable, English grandad. Not unlike my own grandad, actually, except he wasn't nearly as reserved or sassy as Alfred was. And, of course, when I say "sassy" I mean that in a very dry, British sort of way.
It was five thirty now. Cutting it pretty close.
We had to race to get back to the manor in time, and even then, I knew I might still be up in my room getting changed by the time Dick arrived. But that's why Alfred was there to run interference. He handed me the dress, the shoes, and the jewellery box he'd brought home, and left me alone to change.
Okay.
Dress—smooth and silky. Check.
Silver one-inch heels—potentially dangerous, but classy. Check. (I fall over in anything taller than that.)
Silver charm bracelet—double check.
I didn't have a clutch, due to the fact that I currently didn't have anything I needed to carry on me, like a wallet or a phone, so… not check, I guess.
Then, a white shawl in case it got chilly. Check.
I was ready.
I took one last look in the mirror, trying to see if there was anything terribly out of place. I really hoped my hair would actually cover the skin on my back the whole evening, too. Only one way to find out.
This was it. Outside that bedroom door, a new world was waiting for me. One where Brielle Blanchette could potentially say that she had a… a… boyfriend.
When I stepped out of my room, Alfred was just coming around the corner.
"He's waiting downstairs." He paused when he got close and looked me up and down. "Absolutely stunning," he smiled. I did too, and I hoped Dick would feel the same. Oh, this was giving me the butterflies something awful. "One last thing." Alfred reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny white box. "The final touch." Inside, there was a silver necklace, set with a deep red ruby heart pendant.
"Alfred," I breathed. "It's beautiful."
I turned around as I let him put it on me, and then I was finished.
"Now go on, get down there," he smirked, nodding toward the stairs. I pulled him into one last hug before I left, and he whispered, "Good luck."
I had to remind myself to breathe as I walked down the hall, and as I walked down the stairs. Dick would be waiting in the foyer by the front door, so that's where I was headed. I hadn't come down the grand staircase (which, looking back, would have been way more impressive) but instead I came in through one of the side rooms, and… there he was. Standing there, back to me, mid-pace, wearing a dark blue suit and navy tie, pinned with one button in the front. A sneaking feeling told me that Alfred had something to do with this inexplicable outfit coordination.
He stopped when he saw me.
I stopped too, holding tight to my shawl. Oh my gosh… this was really happening. Oooooooooohhhhhhh, I had goosebumps. He looked perfect.
Then I remembered that we actually needed to be more than ten feet apart before the date could start and I began closing the distance between us. I wondered if he could see the blood rushing to my face through the makeup, cause I could definitely see it in his.
"Hi," I said, resisting the urge to bite my lip and ruin my lipstick.
"…Hi," he breathed. Then he blinked. "U-uh, here. I brought these for you." He handed me a lovely bouquet of red roses, one of the few hypoallergenic flowers on the market.
"Thank you," I said, stifling a giggle. Wow. My first bouquet of flowers… and roses, no less. He really didn't need to, dinner was enough… and yet he had. He'd wanted to buy me roses… it was so sweet…
Oh no, was I going to tear up? NO! No no no! Not on a first date! We hadn't even gotten out the door yet! I held back my watery eyes like there was no tomorrow—there was no way I was about to let this expensive makeup job get ruined after the first minute. It was a shame, though, because to keep back the tears… I needed to subdue this big, warm, happy feeling inside my chest. Undoubtedly the source of the water in my eyes.
"Allow me to take those for you," said Alfred, suddenly beside me, and he elegantly plucked the roses from my hands.
"Thank you," I said to him, meaning it for far more than just the roses. He winked at me.
"Okay… should we get going?" Dick asked.
"Lead the way, Monsieur," I said with my best accent, feeling giddy all of a sudden.
He gave a cute little laugh as he opened the front door for me. "That was actually pretty good. Do you speak French?"
"Un peu," I said, unable to stop smiling. "My mom new some, and she taught me."
"Tu le parles bien," he replied.
I put my hand delicately over my mouth. He spoke French too?! Like, fluent French?!
The sun was still very much out—it was late July after all—and the light was glinting off the windshield of a black Porsche parked on the gravel driveway, just past the front steps. Now, again, I didn't know very much about cars, but I gathered that it wasn't a Toyota Corolla.
Dick opened the passenger side door for me. I said, "Merci beaucoup," and then he got in the driver's seat and started up the engine.
Oh, I really hoped I would enjoy myself. I hoped that he would too. It felt like there was a lot of pressure riding on this first date, especially with how much prep work had gone into it. What if something went wrong?
No… no. The more I thought like that, the more likely it was to happen. I just needed to enjoy each moment as it came. There's nothing life can throw at you that you can't learn to roll with. Or else, throw back. Spitefully. I would be determined to make this date work out perfectly fine, whether I tripped and broke my nose or spilled water all over the table. Besides… it was those unexpected moments that made spending time with people memorable, and a good attitude made those memories worth cherishing.
"What?" Dick suddenly asked, and I realised I had been grinning to myself.
"Oh, nothing," I said quickly. "So, where are we going, anyway?"
"I thought you said you wanted to be surprised?"
"Alright then, keep your secrets." (Yes, I did just quote Lord of the Rings, because I'm a huge dork.)
All of a sudden, sitting there, I felt a horrible sneeze start to rise in my nose. I tried to hold it back, but it came out anyway. "ACHOO!"
"Bless you," Dick said at once.
"Thanks." I sniffed. The car had a certain… almost floral scent to it. Like just a hint of pollen. Might have been from the flowers, I don't know. It didn't smell quite like roses, though.
It was my second time driving into the city that day, but it wasn't like we were going down the exact same streets. There were all sorts of things to look at in a busy city, and as I often tend to do, I spent my time in the car watching things and people go by, instead of making conversation. I don't know, cabin convo just doesn't come easy to me. I'm much more used to being alone with my thoughts when I travel.
"Penny for your thoughts?" He asked after a while.
I smiled, remembering how I had said that just the other night. "Just looking."
"At what?"
"The city." And I tried to look up as high as I could through the window, getting a better view of the skyscrapers. "It's so big." So big in fact that I couldn't even see the tops of most of the skyscrapers from here. It had a similar feeling to when you look up at a grove of tall trees, towering above you. You feel so small by comparison.
I pulled back from the window and watched some hotels and stores go by, all the while getting more and more excited to find out where we were going. I might have even been bouncing in my seat just the tiniest bit.
We stopped at another long, red light and that's when Dick decided to turn on the radio.
"…I kinda lose my mind… it's not the perfume that you wear…" I sang along under my breath. "…It's not the ribbons in your hair… I don't mind you coming here… wasting all my time… hmm hmm hmm." I loved the sound of that little riff right there. I didn't even remember what the name of this song was, I just knew I'd heard it a million times.
"I don't mind you coming here," Dick suddenly sang. "And wasting all my time, time." I smiled at him. He had a great voice! "Cause when you're standing oh so near… I kind of lose my mind, yeah… It's not the perfume that you wear… it's not the ribbons in your hair… and I don't mind you coming here… and wasting all my time… I guess you're just what I needed!"
"Just what I needed!" I echoed.
"I needed someone to feed," we sang together.
"I guess you're just what I needed!"
"Just what I needed!"
"I needed someone to bleed."
I went into air guitar mode as the solo played, and I think I might have gotten an odd look from the people in the car next to us.
"So when were you planning on telling me that you could sing?" I asked.
"Thought I just did," he replied, turning to me, his hand still on the wheel. Oh, those sweet, sweet blue eyes of his and that million dollar smile. Heart… melting.
The next song came on and I found myself singing harmony for "Everybody Wants to Rule the World," while Dick did the melody.
And then after that, "Livin' on a Prayer," and then "Don't Stop," then "September," then "Old Time Rock and Roll."
"Today's music ain't got the same soul… I like that old time rock and roll!" I sang, bobbing my head along to the rhythm.
"Is there a single song you don't know the words to?" Dick chuckled as the traffic came to another stop.
"Call me a relic, call me what you will," I sang, smiling at him. "Say I'm old fashioned, say I'm over the hill… today's music ain't got the same soul… I like that old time rock and roll! Blame it on my dad, he made me listen to all the classics."
Then, as "Hit Me with Your Best Shot" was just finishing, we pulled up to this restaurant with a second story balcony, overlooking the bay. The sign on the outside read "Piatto di sole," covered in climbing ivy. It looked lovely.
Dick opened my door for me and I steadied myself as I took his hand. This was it.
He hadn't exactly offered, but I took his arm anyway as we walked inside. I was so used to doing it with my dad that I guess it didn't even register in my brain.
The inside of this place made me light up. Very tastefully done, lots of windows and warm light, a fireplace, red cushioned seats, wine glasses, the whole deal. Not everyone was dressed as spiffy as we were, but that was okay. I liked dressing up, even if not many others did.
The host took us to our table out on the balcony, and I could smell pasta cooking in the kitchen. The view from up here was magical. All the boats on the water, the hint of wind in the air, the lattice wall of ivy by the entrance, the canopy of lights set above the tables, the bright sunshine warming everything up, seagulls soaring overhead, but more than anything else, Dick was there. I couldn't imagine anyplace more perfect.
"Okay, you gotta tell me, did you know, or was this a total coincidence?" I asked him as we sat down.
"Know what?" He looked like he didn't know whether to be worried or relieved.
"Italian cuisine just so happens to be one of my favourites," I grinned, still wondering if maybe Alfred had something to do with this or if it really was just pure happenstance. But I'd never mentioned anything about this to Alfred… it had to be an accident. Right?
"Maybe I can read minds. You don't know everything about me," said Dick, looking over his clasped hands as he leaned against the table.
"Alright, what am I thinking right now?" I asked, matching his posture. The waiter set down our menus and then left us be.
Dick squinted and raised an eyebrow, about to put on a show. "You're thinking, 'wow, what an amazing guy this is! He's so tall and handsome and muscular!'" I covered my eyes with my hand as I started to laugh. "'And he has such great taste in cuisine!'"
"No," I said, my cheeks hurting from smiling so much.
"Yes," he retorted, tilting his head slightly and smirking at me.
Well… he had been kind of right… but I wasn't about to say that out loud. And besides, my thoughts had been a little bit more specific than that…
"Is this just going to become a regular thing with us?" This whole "yes/no" thing had happened just about every time we'd gotten together, purely by accident.
"Maybe," he shrugged.
"Maybe?"
"Maybe."
I picked up my menu and started reading over the options. Now, my Italian isn't exactly perfect, but I was pretty sure that the word "basil" was mentioned somewhere in there. I'm just kidding. I saw "spaghetti" too.
"So, have you eaten here before?" I asked.
"Once," he nodded.
"Anything you'd recommend?"
I mean, I figured I'd like most of it, but I'm always somewhat afraid of ordering something mediocre when I could have ordered something really good, and then I end up leaving the restaurant disappointed, and… yeah.
"Depends on what you like," he replied. Helpful.
"Okay, well…" I knew that shrimp wasn't gonna be on the menu, that was purely an Olive Garden thing—which was a little sad because I love shrimp, but anyway—so then I thought about how much I like plain ol' spaghetti, but that was the safe option. I was out at a real, fancy Italian restaurant. I ought to live a little!
While I was still deciding, the waiter came back over and asked us what we'd like to drink.
"Oh, uh, just water is fine, thank you," I said.
"Not one for wine?"
"No, I'm a bit of a teetotaller."
"Well, that'll be music to Alfred's ears. How come?"
I sighed. "I just never cared for the taste of alcohol very much, and I know myself too well. I can have… impulse issues from time to time. Like the night with the brownies. I just know that if I ever developed a taste for it, it would be very hard to keep myself from sliding down that particularly slippery slope, so, I figure I can circumvent the whole thing by just not even going there."
"Sounds smart."
(I noticed that he had neglected to take any wine as well.)
"And would you be interested in any appetisers this evening?" The waiter asked, finishing with our water glasses.
"We'll take the Bruschetta al Pomodoro fresco e Basilico," Dick said without stumbling over a single letter.
"Do you speak Italian too?" I asked suspiciously, the waiter jotting that down and leaving.
He just shrugged. "Maybe."
"Of course. Maybe." I looked briefly back down at the main courses and asked, "So how many languages do you speak exactly?"
He let out a thoughtful breath and squinted. "Eleven? No, twelve." My eyebrows shot up. "But I'm more fluent in some than others."
"Okay, okay—so," I said, waving my hands in front of me, then I started to count. "French, Italian…"
"Spanish, German, Russian, Farsi, Japanese, Mandarin, Cantonese, Swahili, and I'm still learning Romani."
"But that's only eleven," I said, recounting in my head just to be sure.
"I'm counting English."
"Ah. So twelve is, like, the resume answer then?" I chuckled. "I'll put that on my next job application: Can speak English."
I loved seeing Dick laugh. He had such a handsome laugh.
"I can also breathe and hold things," I went on, doubling down on the self-deprecating humour.
"Ah, come on, you can do way more than that," Dick said kindly.
"Well, I can't speak twelve languages," I said, with heavy emphasis on the word "twelve."
"No, but you can cook, you can bake, you can sew, you can draw, you can sing—you've got a lot of talents."
I smiled, flattered of course, but it still didn't feel quite as impressive as being able to speak Swahili or do the flying trapeze. Actually, my skills sounded downright boring compared to his.
"Hey, I know what'll cheer you up," he said, noticing my distant expression. "Let's order some pineapple pizza."
"No!" I chortled, covering my nose and mouth. "Absolutely not!"
Then he actually raised his hand, trying to flag down the waiter. "Excuse me? We're ready to order!"
"Dick!" I whisper-yelled, still red in the face from laughing. "Don't you dare!" But it was too late now. The waiter was already coming over. I was slumped back in my seat, hand over my eyes, shoulders shaking with stifled giggles.
"Yes, I'll take the Penne all' Arrabbiata with the green salad," he said, all at once back to acting normal, leaving me looking like a cackling lunatic.
I straightened up and quickly scanned the menu again, clearing my throat. "I'll have the tagliatelle pasta with porcini mushroom sauce please. And the chicory and rocket salad."
"Very good. Your bread should be out soon."
When he had gone again, I looked back at Dick who was acting all innocent. "You. Are very. Cheeky."
"You're saying that like it's a bad thing," he said with a slightly pouted lip.
"No, I'm saying it like it's a cheeky thing."
"Mm, or, are you saying it like it's a sexy thing?"
I dropped my head, trying very hard not to laugh.
"Uh oh, I think we found our winner!" He announced.
"No—no!"
"Yes."
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
We were both laughing again, faces as red as spaghetti sauce.
"It's not—Mm! You know what, never mind—never mind," I was saying, wiping tiny tears out of the corners of my eyes.
"You think I'm sexy," he went on, very childishly I might add.
"I—I-I think you're very handsome," I said, trying to sound more like a grown up, but also not daring to look into his eyes. "And polite and charming," I added as his smirk grew bigger.
"…Go on."
I realised I'd said too much.
"Oh look! The bread's here!" I cried as the waiter came over with our appetiser. Finally. What had taken them so long? I grabbed my water and took a large gulp while Dick's head was turned, and then the sliced garlic bread was set down between us.
"So how about travel?" I continued, trying to push the conversation forward. "You speak all these languages, have you been to many of their native countries?"
Dick gave me a sly look, but answered, picking up a slice of bread, "Yeah. Some, more than once. But don't get too excited. I didn't exactly go around eating baguettes under the Eiffel Tower or anything. Most of my trips usually involve… well… murder." He gave an embarrassed laugh at the end there, one that I reciprocated.
"So romantic," I said, wistfully looking off into the distance. "You always say the sweetest things."
"There were a few nice trips, though," he said, his laughter slowing down. "Like the time I went to Egypt. Saw the pyramids. Ate some shawarma."
"Was that just a pleasure trip?"
"Not exactly. We were on our way back from a mission in the Middle East—me and Bruce—and the jet needed to make an emergency landing. Apparently it'd gotten damaged during a fight and we were leaking fuel, so we ended up staying a night while it got fixed. Naturally, we couldn't do very much—didn't want word getting out that Bruce was miraculously in Egypt when he was supposed to be down sick with the flu—but he did squeeze in a little visit to the pyramids after I begged him for about fifteen minutes."
I smiled fondly, figuring that this must have been when he was Robin.
"How about you?"
"Oh, you know," I sighed sadly. "We never had the cash to go to McDonald's, let alone another country, so our vacations were mostly road trips or tours, where you get to wave at all the exciting things as they pass by. But it's not like we never did anything. We had an annual camping trip that briefly got replaced by some extreme wilderness camping trips, which was nice, but I think I prefer resort vacations now."
"Let's back up to the 'extreme wilderness camping trips' for a second," Dick grinned. "What's that all about?"
"Oh, you know, after the cozy family trips stopped, my brothers got the bright idea to go out and camp in the true wilderness, surviving on nothing but their ingenuity, their will, and a whole lot of potato soup," I chuckled. "And then, of course, it was my idea to actually go and do it."
"Your idea?"
"Yeah, I'm a bit of an instigator. People propose ideas, and then I say, 'why not go do those things?' and then, next thing you know, you're sitting on a toilet in the mountains wondering if this is how you die."
Dick nearly spit out his bread. "Okay, context please."
"We got to the campsite, after hiking all day, and we noticed that there's this little path off to the side. We follow it, and sure enough, there's a toilet. A regular, white, plastic toilet, sitting over a giant tank buried in the ground."
"For firefighters or… Boy Scouts or…?"
"I have no idea. It's not like there was anyone around we could ask. We just used it and carried on. But that first night, I was getting a little spooked, being so far from home and all, and it was dark, we were in the middle of the woods, miles away from civilisation, and, yeah, I needed to go in the middle of the night, so there I was, thinking that at any moment I could get mauled by a bear or something. Which I know is completely irrational, but, it… was what happened."
"Hmm."
"What?"
"Nothing, it's just—and don't take this the wrong way, but—I'm having a hard time picturing you out in the woods with a bunch of sweaty guys, roughing it."
"That's probably because I didn't really 'rough it,'" I said sheepishly. "Me and my sister had a nice tent and sleeping bags and pillows and—heheh—actually, the first full day we were there, everyone was starting to work on a project, right? To keep busy. One of my brothers was digging the fire pit, another was chopping up fire wood while someone else started carving the log bench to make it more comfortable, but meanwhile, I still needed something to do. Did I go fishing? Did I start prep on the food or go collecting drinking water? No, of course not. That'd be silly! I had decided that the campsite was too dirty. So—" we were both laughing again, "—what I did is I found a decent sized stick—you know, something long—and then I gathered up a bunch of spindly pine branches that had fallen down, and I took some of the rope we had brought and started tying the branches around the end of the stick."
"Oh my gosh," Dick was chuckling. "You made a broom?"
"I did! And it was really good! No, really—I used that bad boy to sweep paths all around the campsite so that we wouldn't have to worry about stepping on pine needles or rocks or anything, and you wanna know something else? Next year it was still there, and we used it again, and it still worked perfectly fine!"
"Right, because, naturally, that's what I'd think to do too, in that situation."
"To this day, it is still one of the best, most useful things I have ever created, and I learned how to do it by playing with dolls. These are the important life skills, people!"
"That's amazing," he was sighing, taking a sip from his water cup.
"And hey, if you ever need a custom broom commissioned, you know who to ask."
"I'll be sure to keep you on speed dial in case of a broom emergency. Speaking of which, I was realising, getting ready for tonight, you still don't have a phone, do you?"
I shook my head. "'Fraid not."
He looked thoughtfully at me for a moment as I grabbed some bread from the little plate in front of us and took a big, carby, garlicy bite. For a moment, I looked out over the bay, sparkling in the sunlight, and I breathed in the salty air. This was nice.
I looked back at Dick and he was watching the bay as well. I loved the way the light fell on his face like that; on his warm skin. The way it fell into his eyes and made them seemingly glow. The way the wind gently tousled the ends of his longish, black hair…
He turned back to me and frowned, amusedly. "What?"
"Nothing," I said, smiling.
"Okay, I see how it is."
"What? You mean men don't like a little mystery?" I asked, directly paraphrasing him. That got him snickering.
"Well played."
Then I thought about something. "So, you and the… others." I had nearly said, "other vigilantes," until I remembered that we were in public. "What exactly is the exact nature of your relationships exactly?"
"Well, I was adopted by Bruce, and so were Jason and Tim—I think you've met them. You've definitely met Jason—the one with the streak of white hair?" I nodded, remembering the morning he had… you know… intruded. "And then Damian is Bruce's biological son. There's also Cassandra, she was adopted too, but I don't think you've met her. Duke is almost adopted, but not officially. Short version: the paperwork still needs to be signed. And then, of course, you know Stephanie, she's Tim's girlfriend. There's also Barbara. Not adopted, but she's basically like family. I should actually introduce you—I think you'd get along really well."
This was a lot of information to try and process all at once, but I did my best to nod and go "Mmhm!" whenever he stopped.
"But yeah, like I said before, it's one big—very dysfunctional—family. But I love 'em. They're all siblings to me… and they're the only family I've got."
It was sweet the way he talked about them. I had often wondered what it would be like to have an adopted or step sibling or something in that vein, and… to be honest, I'm not entirely sure how well it would go. It was different for me. I already had a bunch of siblings—birth siblings—and we all understood each other really well, so bringing in someone new brought with it the risk of that person feeling a little alienated. But something like that had never happened to me, so I guess I would never know for sure.
"You didn't have any birth siblings, did you?" I asked, trying to remember if he'd mentioned that before.
"No, I was an only child."
I nodded.
"Which is funny, because, I had always wondered what it would be like to have siblings, and now, ten years later, I've got seven!"
We both smiled.
"Is it anything like how you imagined it?"
"Oh, absolutely not. But to be fair, I don't think anyone could have possibly foreseen everything that ended up happening."
Yeah… I don't think anyone in my family would have been able to guess where we'd end up either.
"Do you have any strained relationships with your siblings?"
I gave a tight laugh. "You could say that." I leaned on the table as I started into the inevitable story. "My older sister and I never really saw… eye-to-eye. She's ten years older than me, and she'd wanted a baby sister for so long, having to put up with all four of our brothers until I finally came along. It was fun for the first few weeks, right? Oh, the sweet little new baby sister and everything. Then two years later, it's 'don't touch that!' 'Get out of my room!' 'Stop being so loud!' I dared to act like a toddler, and break things and draw on things and be loud and… annoying. And she made sure I knew that she hated me specifically, more than anyone else. The youngest—Libby—she was always the quiet one. The one who went along with everything everyone else was doing without complaint. Erin loved her, and spent plenty of time with her and intentionally went out of her way to exclude me. I was the 'problem child.' The 'spoiled little brat,' as she put it. …My mom told me once that the reason she didn't like me was because she was jealous, but… you know, regardless of the reason, she still hit me and called me names and locked me in my room whenever our parents weren't around."
"Have you gone to see a therapist about this?"
"I've thought about it. I even asked my dad if we could make it happen once, but I think most of the money is currently being given to my step mom's therapy sessions, so… nothing's really come of it for two years."
Yup. There it was. The first major part of my tragic backstory. Isn't childhood trauma just so much fun?
I was gently fiddling with my manicured nails and staring past the bread board as I spoke, all those familiar, sour, depressing feelings coming back to me. I could have honestly launched into a whole rant about it right then and there, but I didn't want to bring down the mood any further. This was a first date, after all.
"So… I guess that's why…" Dick started, gently rubbing the cuff of his shirt as he leaned against the table. "The other night… when you'd asked about…" When I'd asked about whether or not I was annoying.
"…Yeah. I guess so." I looked up at him, feeling all kinds of bitter ways, and missing the sweet taste of jovial conversation from just a few minutes ago. "But you don't have to feel bad about it. It's my emotional baggage to work through. I'll get over it."
He reached across the small table and took my hand, pushing aside the bread board. He was looking intently at me, as if trying to impress something very important upon me.
"You are not annoying. Okay? I don't want you believing that for even a second."
As his thumb gently caressed the top of my hand, I felt that sweetness rising in my chest again. And in my eyes. I had to take a breath to keep from falling apart. He could be so forceful sometimes, like me being happy and self assured was the most important thing in the world to him. How could I say anything other than,
"Thank you."
"But… you should know…"
He seemed nervous, so I reached out until we were holding on to both each other's hands across the table.
"The reason I… was so distant…"
He wasn't looking me in the eye, so I tried not to make it feel like I was putting any pressure on him by staring and instead looked down at our hands.
"…It's not always easy for me to… express what I'm feeling… people say I tend to hide behind humour… especially when I'm scared."
"I thought you said you didn't get scared?" I asked, finally looking up at him, and our eyes met.
"I said there isn't much that I'm afraid of… but…" his ears were turning pink again, "…talking to a beautiful… caring… wonderful woman like you just so happens to be one of those things."
Is it possible to feel like your whole body is blushing?
He tried to smile as he continued, "After that first night… I kept looking for reasons to talk to you… I wanted to… but I never knew what to say… and then there was work and… people around…" His gaze fell, but only for a moment. "I don't think… I've ever met someone quite like you, Brielle. And, I know, that probably sounds like a crazy thing to say after having only met a week ago, but… I-I don't know, there's… something special about you." He dropped his head into the crooks of his arms. "This sounded a lot better in my head."
I wished there was a way—verbally, physically, or otherwise—for me to communicate to him the way I was feeling right then. The way he was making me feel. How much I wanted to let him know that what he was saying wasn't corny or sappy or anything like that at all. It was… it was…
"Dick," I said softly, finally letting my emotions take over. The first tear fell right as he looked up at me. "That was one of the nicest things anyone's ever said to me." Really, it was. My dad says sweet stuff from time to time, like on special occasions, and I've received some nice compliments here and there, but by and large… I'm not the girl who has guys falling at her feet, or the girl everybody wants to hang out with, or the girl who's big brothers act all sweet and cuddly with her. I'm the girl who's always the butt of every joke, the foil for the quippy, sassy characters—the idiot, the imbecile, the person with the "kick me" sign stuck to the back of her shirt. Outside of my dad… not many people thought much of me. Or, if they did, then they rarely, if ever, expressed it. So to hear Dick say that… to hear him genuinely say that… it meant a lot. Hence the tears.
"Darn it," I grumbled, reaching for my napkin and swiping at my eyes as carefully as I could. "I told myself I wasn't gonna cry." Dick still had a hold on my other hand though, and was rubbing it soothingly.
"I'm sorry."
"No, don't be sorry! Dick…" and I looked at him, mustering as much composure and sincerity as was physically possible for me. "…you are the best person I've ever met. You're so kind and thoughtful and funny and I feel better whenever I'm with you. The only thing I don't like… is how lonely I feel when you're not around." Was it normal to be this honest on a first date? Well, it's not like I have a track record of listening to societal convention, so why start now? Besides, it felt good to get this off my chest. I wanted him to know. "So don't be sorry for making me cry tears of joy. Don't be sorry for making me feel happier than I've felt in years. Dick… don't be sorry for being wonderful."
Both my hands were back in his, and I held on to him tenderly. As we looked at each other—at those ocean eyes—it felt like my heart wanted to leap out of my chest, like I wanted to hold onto him as tightly as I could and never let go. I didn't even know it was possible to feel this way about someone.
"Wow," he breathed, almost like he was in shock. "You're a lot better with words than I am." Was this some of what he had mentioned before? About deflecting with humour? I didn't mind, though. That had gotten awfully raw awfully quick. "But… thank you."
There was no limit to how much I enjoyed seeing him smile, and not just with his lips, but the kind of smile that reached into his eyes and made his bushy brows curve up just the tiniest bit. I loved his rugged features, the sound of his strong voice, the way those few little strands of hair kept falling across his face, the smell of his cologne, the rough feel of his big hands holding mine, but most of all…
"I love your eyes," I said impulsively. There wasn't even any time for me to panic or cringe, all I could do was own it. "Have you ever heard that old myth? That the eyes are—"
"—The pathway to the soul," he finished. "Yeah…"
Something told me that he believed it. Or else, why would he be looking at me like that? I believed it too. In fact, I believed it more in that moment than ever before.
How had any of this even happened? When had it started? I couldn't remember. It didn't really seem to matter as much as just being there with him right then. I could've watched him for a million years… and then his eyes spotted something behind me and they frowned just the tiniest bit.
"What is it?" I asked, turning around, and only seeing other restaurant goers.
"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just a seagull." However, something told me that it very well might have been an actual something, because after that, he was excusing himself from the table to go use the restroom. "I'll be right back," he had said. "Don't go anywhere."
I laughed and jokingly called after him, "Then don't be gone too long!" But inside, I knew he'd seen something or someone that had… I don't know… upset him? Was there a crime in progress and he needed to suit up? Was there a villain somewhere in the crowd? Were we safe? I discreetly scanned over the balcony area, trying to find whatever it was he had seen. Everything looked pretty normal to me—normal people, normal wait staff, normal city noise—I couldn't think of what might have elicited such a reaction… until I spotted this one person sitting two tables behind me.
To avoid arousing suspicion, I picked up my water glass (round and curvy) and held it casually, like I was debating whether or not to take a sip. In the distorted reflection, sitting in the sunlight, I could just make out a head of blonde hair topped with a fedora, wearing sunglasses and a moustache. There was something oddly familiar about this person…
Then the waiter came by, carrying two steaming plates of pasta and salad and I took a good, long look at him. He seemed… different than what I remembered. His ginger hair had been slicked back to the point it almost looked fake, as did his obviously dyed eyebrows. His skin was pale, his eyes were blue, and although I couldn't say that I recognised his face, the more I thought about it, the more I felt that I had heard his voice somewhere before.
"Buon appetito," he said with an accent, and then left.
There was something funny going on here. And not funny "ha ha."
What should I do? Investigate or let Dick handle it? Would I make matters worse by interfering? Well, what would interfering even look like? Going over and talking to the lady in the moustache and glasses?
Wait… why did that sound like…
Dick was straightening his tie when he came back up onto the balcony a few minutes later, and I smiled when he sat down. "Told you I wouldn't be long," he said lightheartedly, and the two of us started to take out our knives and forks. He wasn't saying anything, so… it must not be anything dangerous, otherwise he'd be trying to get me out of the restaurant. Instead, he was acting like everything was perfectly normal. Alright. Act normal. Got it.
"Did you miss me?" He asked, somewhat slyly/somewhat sincerely.
"Honestly?" I said, my shoulders rising. "Yes."
"Oh, no, no, no," he said, looking at me.
"What?" I laughed.
"No face that cute can be legal. I think I'm gonna have to take you in."
I put a hand to my chest in mock surprise. "Surely it's not a crime to look a certain way?"
"I don't know. They say some looks can kill."
"What, like 'fedora' over at table twelve?" I hadn't been thinking—I'd just blurted it out.
Dick suddenly gave a huge cough right before taking his first bite of penne.
"Are you okay?" I asked quickly.
"Fine," he spluttered, reaching for his glass of water. "How's your food?"
Actually, I hadn't eaten yet. "Well, it looks and smells amazing," I said, taking up my fork. I guess he was just trying to keep the date moving forward, so I decided to put the unexpected guests out of my mind for the time being.
"Mm," I said, taking my first bite and closing my eyes. Tagliatelle is a flat noodle, like fettuccini, and porcini is a kind of mushroom, so think rich and meaty and woodsy and full-bodied thoughts. Plus, there were all the other ingredients to consider. "You can't go wrong with garlic, butter, and pasta. That's just science."
Dick tried to chuckle, but it sounded a little forced.
"Is the penne good?" I asked, eyeing him a little.
"Yeah, it's pretty good. You wanna try?"
"It's spicy, right?"
"Do you not like spicy?" He asked.
"Depends on how spicy it is."
He had two noodles on the end of his fork and I nodded when he gestured to them. I was willing to try most anything once. So he reached across the table and I took a bite from his fork—another thing I've never done before. It was distinctly peppery, with notes of sweetness from the tomato sauce, and creaminess from the cheese.
"That's really good," I said, covering my mouth slightly. "The spice isn't so bad." I did take a drink of water, but I've tasted far worse. "Wanna try mine?"
"Sure."
I twirled a couple noodles around on my fork and then stabbed a mushroom on the end before bringing it carefully to his lips.
"Mm… very rich," he said, nodding.
"So," I started, thinking of a new conversation. "What's your stance on pets?"
"Like, in general?"
"Yeah, like… are you a dog person, cat person—indoor pets, outdoor pets—all that stuff."
"Well… I do have a dog."
Oh?
"Her name's Haley. She's a pit bull puppy—very small—not at all like Titus or Ace."
Hmm… I took another bite of my pasta. "Do pit bulls shed a lot?"
"No, not really. No more than I do, anyway, heheh." There was another pause. "Would it be a leap to assume you're allergic?"
"…Well… the professionals at the asthma clinic say I'm not, but… my reactions to excess pet hair always seem to say different. Maybe it's more so the dust mites and pollen that can get trapped in their fur? I don't know…" I didn't like how I was totally bombing this part. The guy says he owns a puppy, and I'm here listing all the reasons why I wouldn't want a puppy. I sighed. "It's not like I don't like puppies, or smaller dogs, it's just… well, come to think of it, I've never really spent a lot of time with them. Or even owned one. We have a cat—oh my goodness—THEO!" I suddenly cried, putting my hand to my forehead. I'd completely forgotten. "How many days has it been? U-uh, eight? Ooohhh," I was leaning against the table now, head in my hands. "He's probably been tearing up the house… or worse."
Just then, I thought I heard Dick pull out his phone, his thumbs tapping away at something. Seriously? Right now?
"What's your address?" He suddenly asked.
Confused, I told him, and he tapped away again. What was he doing? I waited until he was finished for him to offer some kind of explanation.
"Aquagirl is on it. Don't worry."
"Really?" A superhero going to my house on a mission to rescue my step mom's cat? "Thank you!"
"Hey, that's what heroes do, remember?" He smiled.
"I still can't believe I forgot, though…" You'd think that with something so important, I would have remembered a little sooner. But then, I've never been a huge animal person, or had a very green thumb. Which also reminded me… "Hey, as long as she's stopping by the house, could you ask her to check on the strawberry plant in the backyard? Make sure it's still alive and watered?"
"Sure," he pulled out his phone and typed out another message. "Just the one?"
"Yeah, I never got around to giving it a bigger planter, even though it needs one. But if I let that die, on top of everything else…" Now it was my turn to lower my head. "And of course this happens in the summer, because my life is a series of deja vu."
"What do you mean?"
I lifted my head sadly. "That summer… the summer… when life kinda imploded for me… First, my mom passed away, then we all got sick with a nasty flu, and from that flu, two of my brothers got pneumonia, and they had to go on antibiotics. One of the things of pills was faulty in some way, it made things worse, and I don't know if that triggered it or what, but that's when things got bad enough that my brother was finally diagnosed with ulcerative colitis. And then my oldest brother finds out he's diabetic. And then our pet cockatiel, Muffin, escapes the house and flies away. On top of my youngest brother recently suffering a seizure in the middle of the night. And then I got an ear infection, because why not. Just feels like whenever we're down, life keeps kicking us until we're out." Boom. There's the second part of my tragic backstory. We all keeping track?
Dick was breathing slowly. "Hey, chin up. This summer's not over yet. Things could still turn around."
"I hope so," I said, trying not to think about how much death I could potentially be surrounded by any day now, just as soon as the bad news was confirmed. And then there would be the funerals to plan and letters to send out and… ooooh, nope, nope, nope, not going to fall down that rabbit hole. Not right now. We were keeping things positive.
I took another bite of pasta and a drink of water. "But so, what's Haley like?"
"Oh, well, she's still a puppy, so—"
There was a loud crash behind me—I have no idea what from—because when I turned around to see, Dick suddenly cried, "Brielle!" I turned back to look at him, more than a little confused, partially because he seemed almost just as surprised as I was. "Ahem, do you need anything? Parmesan? More bread? More water? Anything?"
I tried to refrain from squinting. "No, I'm fine at the moment, thank you." I wanted to look around, but for whatever reason, he didn't want me to. Why? Was it important? How important? And did it have something to do with the fact that the "man" in the fedora was now quickly shuffling off of the balcony area. Hmm. I wonder who might have been responsible for making that loud noise.
"But Haley's super sweet, and energetic, and curious," Dick went hurriedly on. "I haven't met a single person who didn't like her."
I nodded, desperately hoping that that streak wouldn't end with me. I mean, no one wants to be that person who hates dogs—that's, like, seen as a universal red flag—it's practically a sin to some people—but there were certain things I knew that I was already going to not like about her, no matter how adorable she was. That's just the way me and dogs were, unfortunately. And pit bulls? Couldn't it have been something cuter and safer, like a toy poodle or a corgi? But I kept that to myself.
"Well, I'll have to meet her sometime. Who knows? Maybe she'll end up curing my fear of big dogs."
Dick smiled. Clearly, that was exactly the route he wanted me to take. I just hoped it would actually be possible, for his sake, mine, and Haley's.
"But, so, in general, I take it you're more of a cat person?" He asked, getting close to finishing his food.
"Yeah. That one started early on. There was this neighbourhood cat that we took care of for a while—we have a picture of me with him when I was about two or three—and I was just hugging him around the belly. It was super cute." I smiled as the fuzzy memory played in my mind's eye. "You know, it's funny, I can almost remember that moment. Specifically, I remember how soft and gentle he was." Oh, wow. I hadn't realised how much I preferred that in a pet. Or, in general.
Dick chuckled again. "I feel like my introduction to animals may have been a little bit more… hectic."
"Yeah?" I smiled.
"Well, you know, it was the circus. We had all kinds of animals—monkeys, elephants, horses, lions, bears—no tigers, though, I forget why. But, so, with a menagerie like that, you learn to be comfortable with big animals real quick."
"Did you have a favourite?" I asked curiously.
He pressed his lips together as he thought about it. "Well… there was this baby elephant named Peanuts."
"Aw!" I cried, picturing it clearly.
"He was born a few years after me, so we were pretty close. I don't know if his mom liked me very much, though."
"Why not?" We were both gently laughing again.
"She was always grabbing things with her trunk, always feeling people's faces, messing with their hair, and so one day when I was about four, her trunk was in grabbing distance."
Oh, I think I knew where this was going.
"So I grab hold of her—arms and legs—and she starts freaking out a little, and swinging me around, but of course, that only makes me hold on tighter, and next thing you know, everyone's gathered around, shouting and trying to calm Priscilla down, all the while I'm screaming bloody murder as she raises me up into the air, and it took a good twenty minutes at least before my mom was finally able to swoop in and grab me."
"I can't even imagine," I was saying, chuckling. I was vaguely aware of a loud "clink" in the background from someone setting their cup down heavily. "And elephant trunks are strong, right?"
"Oh yeah. They've got over a hundred muscles—I probably felt like less than a sack of flour to her." He laughed again. "But, so then, after that day, she always kind of gave me the stink-eye, and she always made sure to lift up her trunk whenever I got close. It looked like she always had her chin up in the air whenever I walked by, right?" He mimicked the way she had looked, sticking his nose into the air and making me laugh.
"Hm! I've heard that elephants really do have great memories, and that they hold grudges."
"Oh, yeah. They definitely do."
"Especially against circus owners who lock them in cages," someone else said. We both turned to the table right next to us, where what appeared to be a young girl was sitting, eating ravioli.
Dick gave a cough. "We did our best to treat our animals humanely."
"Forcing them to perform for the sick pleasure of entertainment is hardly humane!" The girl cried, whipping around angrily to reveal an all-too familiar, boyish face.
"Damian!" Dick cried, getting up at once and dragging him by the arm off the balcony before he could say another word.
Well that had been… interesting. But also… I couldn't help but laugh. I hadn't been expecting that at all. And the way he had turned so suddenly, his wig bouncing around his intensely angry, little face! Pfft!
Tonight certainly wasn't going anything like how I'd hoped, but that didn't seem to bother me. Actually, it was rather… fun. Were there going to be more surprises?
Apparently so. The waiter had just come back.
"Everything to your liking?" He asked, carrying a water jug.
"So long as it's not poisoned or drugged or anything," I quipped, making him appear nervous.
"Haha! You are funny! Enjoy the rest of your meal!" He said, then he walked off, taking quick steps.
…Okay, but now I actually was worried about my food. I hadn't tasted anything odd in it…
"Sorry about that," said Dick in a hurry, adjusting his jacket and sitting down again. "Where were we?"
"We were getting reprimanded by a twelve-year-old in a wig," I said, unable to keep myself from poking fun at the incident.
Dick, adorably, dropped his head and sighed. "Family, right? Can't get rid of 'em."
"It's okay," I said gently. "You want to know something?"
"What?"
"My first ever date, one of my brothers tagged along and spied on me too."
"Really?"
"Yuuuup. He's always been protective of me. It's sweet. Although, I will say, he knew better than to eavesdrop," I added in the direction of the waiter, who just spilled a little water on a nearby table.
"Oh my gosh, Tim," Dick muttered, placing his face in his hands as he turned red. My guess was he hadn't been aware of the "waiter" until just now. "And here I was thinking I'd just get to have a normal…" He sighed. "We don't have to stay here if you don't feel comfortable."
"Oh, no, I'm fine," I said, a cheeky grin rising on my lips. "In fact, we can finish our food and talk about how much we love each other for a few more hours." I made sure to eye Tim as he walked by when I said that bit. Dick caught on quick.
"Or we could make up pet names?" He suggested.
"Ooh, I like that!"
"Snookums?"
"Baby bear?"
"Sweetie pie?"
"Honeybunch?"
"Darling?"
"Dearest?"
"Wildflower?"
"My sweet baboo?"
Suddenly, the nearest wall plant came alive as someone tumbled out from behind it. "Okay! You win! Just stop talking!" Jason cried, pulling his earpiece out with a jolt and marching away, right as a dark haired girl rolled out from under a table and slid down the side of the balcony, out of sight.
I gave a childish cackle.
"Who's cheeky now?" Dick asked, lifting an eyebrow at me.
"I blame you. You're a bad influence," I said, taking a drink.
"I'm a sexy influence."
He caught me mid sip. Cue an almost perfect spit take into my glass, spray and mist going in all directions, with some of it nearly going up my nose. "Don't start that again!" I said, reaching for my napkin and quickly mopping up the mess I had made.
"You okay?" He laughed.
"Just a little damp."
"You didn't get any on your dress, did you?"
"No, it remains unscathed." And a good thing too. I'd hate to let anything happen to this dress. It was honest-to-goodness the most beautiful thing I'd ever worn in… well, you know.
"You look beautiful, by the way."
I looked up at him with another flattered smile. "Thanks. Though, between you and me, I think the dress is doing most of the heavy lifting."
"Oh, come on," Dick sighed. "What is it with you ladies and the self deprecation talk? Is it really so hard to believe that you genuinely look amazing?" He stopped, having apparently realised he'd said that out loud.
"Well," I said slowly, lifting one shoulder a little higher. "I don't know. But… maybe if… you could be more specific?"
Dick's smile softened. Then he opened his mouth and his ears went pink again. I waited patiently for him to eventually work out the words, "I… just think… you have a great smile… and… long hair… and…" He stopped when our gazes crossed. It was like he had run out of the courage to speak as he stared at me, half my face illuminated by the sunlight. But I didn't need him to go on. Just looking into his eyes was enough.
I found myself thinking of that song from Cinderella.
So this is love?
So this is love?
So this is what makes life divine?
I'm all aglow, and now I know, the key to all Heaven is mine.
"You really are wonderful," I said dreamily.
Again I felt my heart wanting to run toward him, clear across the table, and I knew he felt the same. I thought about the promise I had made to myself… about waiting until I had a husband before I let myself get too carried away… but when I made that promise… I had no idea how hard it would be to keep. This truly was one of the most powerful feelings in the world.
"What do you want to do for the rest of your life?" He asked, still gazing at me. "I-I mean… like… what are your dreams?"
With a smile, I said, "I'm not entirely sure. I have a lot of ideas. But most of them involve telling stories for a living. Stories that touch people. Make them happy. And…" I bit my lip, "…there was always the dream of settling down with someone special. Maybe have…" I stopped. I'd made this mistake once before. Never again. I'd since learned that this wasn't the sort of thing you bring up on a first date. "What are your dreams?"
He breathed in. "I want to help people. Really help people, in ways the current systems can't. I want to leave this world a better place than when I found it. And… I've also thought about… one day… you know…"
"Yeah…" I figured it must be hard for him to try and pursue both those dreams at the same time, or else, why was he still single? It must be hard… like Bruce was saying… but I wanted to make it easy. I wanted to give him every happiness and comfort; to be the best part of his world. Again, not that I said any of this out loud, but… I really, really wanted to.
Does that make me naive? Starry-eyed? Immature? For thinking all that? Because the way I see it, it makes me bold to dare to believe that a picture as good as that could really exist in the world, let alone in my world. It was a dream I was willing to fight for—to build, and to keep.
"Hypothetical question—purely hypothetical—but," I said, playing a bit with my salad, "What would your dream house look like? If you could live anywhere in the world, in any kind of building, what would it be?"
"I don't know," he said, his hand resting at his chin. "I mean, I'm happy with just my current apartment. You?"
"Well, places like the manor are pretty extraordinary, but I've also thought that a little cottage or ranch by some quiet woods would be nice. I'd love to live somewhere tropical, or at least just warm. Somewhere with a beach."
"Do you like the ocean?"
"I love the ocean. It's just so… I don't know, there's so many things about it. First of all, it's beautiful. Coral reefs, white sand, turquoise waters—oh, it's just gorgeous! Then there's all the unique marine life—the turtles and the dolphins and the jellyfish—dumbo octopuses, marlins, yeti crabs, sperm whales, blue whales, beluga whales, sea urchins—and a million others that we haven't even discovered yet because exploring the bottom of the ocean is more difficult than exploring outer space! Plus, there's water sports, like surfing and wake boarding and tubing and jet skiing—and I've been talking for a solid minute now—sorry."
Dick just grinned, though. "You're fine, keep going."
"Well, then there's just how vast and powerful it is. Tsunamis are absolutely terrifying—one of my worst fears for a long time was actually drowning, ironically enough—and yet it's something we play in every day. It's vital for transportation and vacation destinations, and yet it's one of the most deadly forces of nature on the planet," I chuckled. "…But it's like it connects us all, you know? For their entire childhoods, my parents lived by the ocean—him in California, and her in Auckland—and they had no idea that for all those years, they were looking at each other from across the Pacific… I just think that's pretty cool."
"How did they end up meeting then?"
"In Texas, if you can believe it. They both went to the same school." I smiled thoughtfully. "Almost like magic." At least, that's how I felt about it. But I do tend to over-romanticise things a smidge. "What about your parents? How did they meet?"
"I think they met in high school. She immigrated to the States when she was in her mid teens, and my dad had been doing the trapeze for a long time at that point. All I really know about it is he convinced her to run away with him to the circus, and the rest, as they say, is history."
"That's so sweet," I said, leaning on my fork. I'm a sucker for old romance stories and cliches like that. (Unless it wasn't obvious.) "Makes me think of a lot of stories I've read—mostly during the turn of the century, back when you could hop a train car and wake up somewhere totally new. Back when there were still cowboys riding the prairies… going on adventures… Feels like the world's changed so much since then."
"You have no idea."
For a second, I wondered what he meant, until I remembered that he must have had a front row seat to all of the crazy things happening in the past few decades; all the supervillains and aliens and other dimensional stuff that had somehow become "normal." Who knows what else there was, too. After all, I doubted (like many others) that every secret the Justice League had ever collected was out in the open for everyone to see.
"Although, I am excited for space travel to finally become accessible," I went on. "Figures the first thing they think to do with it, though, is build a Space Resort on the Moon."
"Well, they couldn't exactly put it on Venus," Dick gently chuckled.
"Why not? Do something 'Cloud City' style, floating above the noxious gases? It's possible, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but probably a bigger potential lawsuit if it decided to become the new Titanic. Plus, it's further away, which means more fuel, which means more money down the drain."
"True, true." Then I thought about it some more. "Gosh, it's just still so crazy. Casually talking about space travel like we're going to Disneyland."
"Who says it won't be both in a few years?" Dick quipped. "You know they would if they could."
"Oh, they absolutely would. Can you imagine?"
"But speaking of space, is there anywhere out in the great beyond you've ever wanted to visit before?"
Well, there's a question you don't get asked very often, and from someone who currently has access to Faster Than Light travel no less. I really had to think about it. "Well, just going around the Solar System would be exciting, really. Seeing a nebula could be cool. Maybe New Mars? Honestly, I'm not too familiar with all the options."
He quietly "hmmed" and there was an excited feeling quickly rising in my chest.
"Why?" I asked slowly.
"No reason. Just wondering," he said, taking a bite of salad.
I had to remind myself that he very well could have just been posing a hypothetical question, but at the same time, I had to be at least a little suspicious.
The waiter came—noticeably not the same waiter as before—and took away our mostly empty plates. "Can I interest i due ragazzi with a dessert this evening?" He asked us.
"What do you have?" I asked.
"We have a lovely pannacotta with chocolate sauce, a tiramisu, and a torta della Nonna."
"Ooh, I've always wanted to try tiramisu," I said hungrily.
"One tiramisu, please," Dick ordered
"Very good. We'll have that right out for you."
When he had gone, I looked back at my date and said, "Thank you for doing this, Dick. Thanks for taking me out tonight."
"It's my pleasure," he smiled. "Really."