Date: Friday, March 1st, 2013
Time: 7:55pm
Location: Diego's Office, Grossberg Law Offices, Los Tokyo
At risk of sounding cliché, I think I finally understand what all those love songs and movies were talking about. It crazy to think, nearly 28 years old and I had still never felt that way before. Most of my relationship trajectories typically went the same way: meet, go out, gradually lose interest, and eventually break up. I didn't end my relationships on bad terms, for the most part, anyway. Andrea being a notable exception. However, there was never that level of connection I had hoped for, feeling more like friends or acquaintances by the end of it.
With Mia, things were different though. I'm sure if some older, more "mature" person were to hear this, they'd tell me it was too early in the relationship to know; we were just in the honeymoon phase. And, technically, they'd have point; it has only been a week after all. But I've never felt this level of attachment or codependency before. I think about her all day, and when I'm not with her, all I think about is when I can see her again. In some ways, it has made preparing for a trial harder: I can't focus as well when I'm so distracted. In other ways, it makes me a better attorney, so stupidly happy that I can counter any piece of evidence or argument thrown my way with ease.
Despite her initial reluctance to go out with me, I think she feels the same way I do. We've seen each other basically every moment of mutual free time this week. I pick her up in the morning, drive us to work, we have lunch together if I'm there, and we research the Hawthorne file in the evenings if I don't get too caught up with a trial. Unfortunately, my trial has been most of this week as I was assigned to a murder case and needed most of my evenings for three days to investigate. When the trial ended on Thursday afternoon, a narrow victory hard fought for my sad sack of a defendant who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, spending that evening researching with her felt like a welcome reprieve.
Since the three-day rule took effect a couple of years ago, it has essentially made all attorneys honorary detectives. If you don't take the time to investigate the scene of the crime or interview witnesses, you'll basically have nothing and be caught with your pants down at some point during the trial. Prosecutors investigate too, but defense attorneys have the rawest deal with our lack of access to police officers, who can do most of the dirty work for you.
In the past, I never worried myself about the time commitment: arguing in court all day and then re-investigating for more evidence and counterarguments at night. Depending on the wealth of the client, the money I could make with trials was obscene compared to any other job I've ever worked, and long hours were just par for the course. Besides, I had little else going on in my life. Other than Mamá, and the occasional outing with old college friends, there wasn't much to be missed. Since I had nothing better to do, I would go to the Bar Association after a trial a few times a week, have a drink, and chat with Candace, one of the other bartenders, or any lawyer friends or colleagues there. Now that I have someone that I want to see all the time, it was starting to hit me how unsustainable this pace I've maintained for the last two years would be long-term.
Mia, for her part, did offer to help me investigate the case, saying she would tag along with me in the evenings. After the Fawles case, I didn't want her to do that though. The crime scene was particularly grisly for this case: multiple stab wounds, a gunshot wound to the head, and blood spilled everywhere. Heck, I nearly threw up when I got there, it was so gruesome. Seeing it, I prayed that my client was the innocent man I thought he was, because I didn't know how I'd live with myself knowing I put an animal like that back on the streets. When I explained the situation, she agreed, but she still did some research for me, and we talked about the case during our morning drives to work or over text. Her perspective was pretty insightful and made my job easier when it came time to generate arguments later or look for clues. I did hope she'd reconsider her stance on criminal cases sometime soon though. She and I made a great team.
As excited as I was to see her Friday evening, the two of us hunkered down in my office, me at my desk and her at the couch and coffee table set up in there for one-on-one client meetings, we were both dog-tired after a long week. Luckily, each of us did a good job at keeping the others' spirits up. One of us would inevitably ask the other a question and from there we would go off on a tangent, getting completely off-track and joking about something unrelated for several minutes. We got a lot less done this way, but it made the night go by a hell of a lot faster.
At about seven o'clock, Mia had the idea to review her case files while lying down on the couch. She said it was too uncomfortable to sit up. I offered her my desk and chair instead, but she insisted that she was fine, that she reads like this all the time. Yeah, right before you go to sleep, I told her. About ten minutes later I asked her a question and, receiving no answer, I went over to check on her. She was asleep, her head turned towards the back of the couch, some papers lying on her chest, a few others scattered on the floor, and her open highlighter precariously bobbing up and down as she breathed. I grinned. Looks like I was right. I carefully removed the papers and the highlighter, recapping it, and then tidied everything into a neat pile on the coffee table. I thought about waking her up, but she looked so peaceful that I couldn't do it. I didn't have a blanket in there, so I grabbed the next best thing, my black wool trench coat, and gently laid it over her.
I worked for a bit more after that, but soon growing weary myself, I packed up my stuff too and just paced a bit, looking out at the view from my windows, before grabbing another coffee from the breakroom. Of all the days where I wished caffeine had an effect on me, today was a day where that feeling was felt strongest. When I realized she was going to be longer than an hour, I decided to surf the internet for a bit to pass the time. Having social media as a lawyer always felt a little gauche, so I just browsed the local news and checked some pro sports updates. I thought about streaming something, but I didn't have any headphones on me. Finally, around quarter to nine, I heard her stir. "Mia?" I asked.
She inhaled deeply and then sat up. "Did I fall asleep?"
I smiled. "You did. About an hour and a half ago."
"An hour and a half?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't you wake me up?"
"When I see a tired little kitten, I usually let it sleep." I joked. Despite her pushback to the pet name a couple of weeks ago, she seemed to soften to it now.
"Hmph," she scoffed, her smile betraying her true feelings. "You're sweet, but you didn't have to do that. You must be exhausted yourself." As she said this, she held my jacket up to inspect what had blanketed her before putting it on. She saw me look at her curiously and explained, "I'm cold."
"I figured," I said, grinning. Mia is the kind of person who could make a paper bag look good. Seeing her in my jacket, her arms drowning in the sleeves, made me incandescently happy for some reason.
"Did you make any breakthroughs while I was slacking off?" she asked.
"Not really," I said, rubbing my eyes. "Honestly, I was pretty tired too. Only did about a half hour more work than you. Had a cup of coffee and surfed around online before you woke up but, unsurprisingly, that didn't help."
"You weren't joking about that caffeine thing, huh? I guess you'll need something harder. Have you tried Adderall or cocaine?" She was completely deadpan as she said this. The juxtaposition of her emotionless expression and the absurd suggestion made me burst into laughter and quickly she joined in too. I was more tired than I thought; my laughter was nearly hysterical. "Okay, I was joking," she said, still laughing. "We should get you home, so you don't fall asleep at the wheel later."
After a few more chuckles, I responded. "Agreed. If you want to get your stuff, I can warm up the car and meet you outside." She nodded in agreement, and I began to head towards the elevator bank.
"Wait," she called out. I turned around. She sped walk over to me and handed me my briefcase. Then, she removed my jacket and laid it over my shoulders. "You can't do much without these," she said, smiling.
I slid my arms into each of the sleeves, exchanging the briefcase in each hand as I did. "Thanks," I said, before giving her a kiss on the forehead. I removed the car keys from my briefcase. "I'll meet you out front." She nodded and returned to the office. Instead of keeping her stuff downstairs in the commons, I told her to bring it upstairs while we worked. It would save her a lot of running back and forth if she needed anything. I actually offered her my office while I was at the courthouse this week, but she declined, saying people would gossip. Frankly, I didn't worry about that. From the first time I drove her to work in the morning, we were probably toast anyway.
The night air was a bit milder today than it had been in past weeks. It was the first day of March today. Maybe this was an indication that spring would be coming soon? Being as tired as I was, I honestly would have welcomed the colder air. It would have shocked me awake for a few minutes at least. I inspected the windows. There was some light frost, but I thought the heat would be enough to avoid scraping and hopped into the front seat, throwing my briefcase in the back. I turned the heat on full blast and let the ice melt on the windows before pulling the car up to the front of the building. When I saw Mia walk out the door, I revved the car engine. As she walked closer to the car, I could see her laughing and shaking her head.
"Men and their cars," she said teasingly, as she entered the passenger seat and shut the door.
"What?" I exclaimed jokingly. "Did you not hear this baby purr?"
"Oh, I hear it alright. I'm still surprised to see you have a black car. Was sure you'd have a red car to match," she said, gently pulling the red collar of my shirt peeking out from underneath my coat.
The car in question was a 1979 black Chrysler LeBaron sedan. Everyone told me how impractical it would be to have a 70s car between the piss poor gas mileage and the maintenance alone. There would be plenty of time to be practical when I was older, I told them. Besides, when I was a kid, I had seen a car just like this in a movie and always wanted to have one. I never dreamed I'd have the money to buy my own car and, when I saw this one for sale online and in decent shape with a low odometer, I pounced on it without much of a second thought. It's been a labor of love to keep it in working order and pay the obscene price to park it in the underground lot at my apartment building but worthwhile, in my eyes.
Once she was buckled in, I pulled away from the curb. "That's the thing," I said, "a guy in red coming out of a red car, that looks tacky. A guy in red coming out of a black car, now that looks cool."
"You've thought about this a lot, I gather?" she teased.
"Of course." In reality, this was the best deal I could find, and I just liked the color.
"What about a man in black pulling up in a black car? Still cool?" she asked, still grinning.
"Black on black is always cool. You've seen The Matrix, right?"
She chuckled. "I won't argue with you there. It sounds like you have this all figured out."
The rest of the ten-minute drive home, we bantered much in the same way, until we landed at her place. "I can walk you up," I said, putting the car in park. As I was about to turn the key in the ignition, she rested her hand on my arm.
"It's okay," she said. "You've had a long week. You should go home soon and get some sleep."
"You sure?" I asked.
She kissed me, and I removed my hand from the ignition so I could hold her face. She knew just how to distract me. "Positive." She unbuckled her seatbelt, grabbed her bag, opened the car door, and got out. "I'll see you Monday," she said brightly, readying to close the car door.
"Wait," I exclaimed. I felt like an idiot. I was so exhausted that I forgot to make plans for the weekend. I had wanted to take her out for a real date, none of this lawyer stuff, last weekend, but she had already made plans with her sister. "Are you free tomorrow?"
She leaned her head down and, still holding onto the car door, she asked flirtingly "what did you have in mind?"
Date: Saturday, March 2nd, 2013
Time: 11:10am
Location: Diego's Apartment, Los Tokyo
I had asked Mia if she wanted to go somewhere nice for dinner tomorrow and she agreed. After discussing the nuances of the word "nice", and what that meant for a dress code, we settled on a 7:15pm pick-up at her place and I drove home. I fell asleep shortly after I arrived, flopping backwards onto the bed, not even bothering to change clothes, brush my teeth or go underneath the covers. I woke up at 10:00am, groggy and unkempt. I got up, showered, brushed my teeth and changed, all things that I should have done yesterday, but my tired brain convinced me could wait. I couldn't believe I had slept that long, but I must have needed it.
After making some coffee, I decided on a French press brew today, and a late breakfast, I opened my laptop and began researching restaurants. I called up about a dozen restaurants and none of them had availability for 7:30pm tonight. Shit. I should have known that getting a reservation at prime time on a Saturday would be tough, but I didn't want to cancel. She seemed so excited.
After about an hour of searching and calling, I came across a listing for a fancy Italian restaurant, Molto Bene. It looked to be brand new with little written about the opening nor any reviews. I was hesitant to take a risk on a brand-new restaurant for a date, but after looking at pictures of the space and of the food on their website, it seemed nice. Every great restaurant has to start somewhere, right? I called up the restaurant and requested a table for two and they told me it was no problem. I breathed a metaphorical sigh of relief and texted Mia: "You like Italian?"
"Love it! :)," she replied.
"Perfect, see you tonight," I texted. With that settled, I could relax somewhat, catching some basketball highlights from last night's game, watching a few episodes of a crime drama I started a few weeks ago, and reading a couple chapters of this non-fiction book Mamá had recommended. It was about the dictatorship and civil war in the Dominican, events that preceded my time and part of her time. It was a fascinating read, but too heavy to read much of in one sitting. Most Saturday afternoons, I'd go up to the building's gym on the top floor and do a workout, but I had already showered and didn't want to be sweaty for the date.
When 6pm hit, I started to get ready: trimming my goatee, styling my hair, brushing my teeth, flossing, selecting a cologne, and choosing what I was going to wear. I always dressed formally for work but didn't want to wear the same thing for a special outing. I pulled a teal collared shirt from my closet, one that I never wear, and a black tie, and opted for a blazer instead of a vest.
I drove to Mia's place, arriving five minutes early. I didn't want to rush her, so I idled the car for five minutes. At 7:15, I texted that I was here, and she told me she was running late and that she'd buzz me up so I could wait. Strange, I thought, but I turned off the car and went upstairs, announcing my arrival with a knock before opening the door, and ducking my head inside.
When I walked inside, Mia was all dressed, frantically cleaning up some of her stuff and transferring some of the contents of her briefcase into a small handbag. She was wearing a dark purple knee-length satin dress and silver high heels, the neckline of her dress tied into a ribbon that lay onto her exposed back. Her hair was in waves and brushed to one side of her head. I swallowed and tried to keep my jaw from dropping; she looked incredible. "Can I help you with anything?" I asked, keeping my tone as relaxed as possible.
She turned around. "Hey, so sorry I'm running late," she answered cheerily. "I'm almost ready though. I guess you didn't have to come all the way up. I just thought I heard your car a few minutes ago and didn't want you to wait outside for me too long."
"No worries," I smiled, looking around her apartment. It was smaller than I remembered, a bachelor probably no more than 400 square feet. It was still filled to the brim with stuff but seemed a little neater today. Old takeout containers had been disposed of and the place had the lemony fresh smell of cleaning products.
She put her coat on, grabbed her purse, and walked towards me. "Ready!" she announced.
"You look beautiful," I said, smiling affectionately. I grabbed her hand and kissed it, before grasping it in mine.
She giggled bashfully, turning her head to the side, avoiding eye contact. "You clean up well yourself." She locked the door, and we walked downstairs, reducing the speed of my steps as I led her down by the hand, her heels slowing her down. I opened the passenger door for her and shut it closed once she was seated. As I moved to my seat and turned the car on, the time flashed on the car clock, 7:25. We were definitely going to be late now, and I hope they don't give away our table. There was no plan B.
We drove to the restaurant, and I tried my best to cut down on time, taking shortcuts where possible. Parking was a nightmare, but I found a spot about a five-minute walk away, without heels. As I turned the car off, it was already 7:35. Whatever will be will be. I helped her out of the car, and we walked to the restaurant.
When we arrived, a young waitress greeted us. She was dressed the part of a stereotypical Italian waitress, wearing a white dress shirt, a green and red tie, and a black skirt. The restaurant looked just as welcoming as the pictures, dimly lit and furnished with dark wood tables and red velvet booths. Operatic music played quietly on the speakers. Just like the pictures, though, there was no one inside.
"How can I help you?" she asked politely.
"I had a reservation for two for Armando at 7:30. Er, sorry for being late." I felt obligated to apologize for our lateness, but it also seemed wildly unnecessary given the emptiness of the restaurant.
"Right this way," she said, leading us to a small booth for two. She laid down two leather-bound menus for each of us, pointed to the smaller leather-bound wine menu on the table sitting next to a lit candle, and told us the special was a wild mushroom pappardelle for $35. We thanked her and she walked over to the host stand.
We both perused the menus, mostly in silence. "It's so nice in here," Mia said. She glanced around the room in awe, looking utterly precious as she did. She didn't have any right to be this cute.
"I agree," I said, looking around as well. It was a ghost town in here, but the place did score a 10/10 for atmosphere.
She lowered her voice to a whisper, "the food is really expensive though. I brought my wallet; I don't mind helping you pay."
"Pssh," I scoffed, waving my hand at her in refusal. "Get whatever you want, on me." The prices were eye-watering, but I had expected this when I asked her out.
"Okay," she said softly, returning her gaze to the menu. A few minutes later, the waitress returned to our table.
"Are you both ready to order?" she asked expectantly, looking over at each of us individually.
"Do you know what you want, Mia?" I asked.
"I'm indecisive. You order first and I'll decide."
"I'll have the brasato al barola, please" I said, attempting my best Italian accent as I read out the name of the dish. My Spanish somewhat helped.
"Anything to drink?"
"Just a coffee, black, would be great." I closed my menu and handed it to her.
"And for you, miss?", she asked, looking at Mia.
"I'll have the pizza Margherita", she said, pointing to the listing on the menu.
"Great choices," the waitress replied, grabbing Mia's menu. "Anything to drink?"
"Just water with a lemon wedge would be great."
"Are you sure that's what you want?" I asked politely. I didn't want to put her on the spot, but it didn't seem like a coincidence that she happened to order the cheapest thing on the menu.
"Absolutely," she beamed, too brightly, at me and the waitress. She was selling it, I'll give her that. "I love pizza."
The waitress nodded and smiled, before saying, "I'll be right back." She returned in a few minutes with water glasses for each of us, an ornate saucer of coffee, a basket of warmed bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and two side plates. "Enjoy," she said before hurrying back to the host stand.
We each took a sip of our drinks. My coffee was an Americano, okay in strength and roast. However, there was an unusually strong flavor to it. Like too much hazelnut flavoring or something. It wasn't undrinkable but I would never choose to order it again. I sipped on it slowly, barely drinking much on each sip. Mia's water seemed okay at least, but that should be a given.
The bread was surprisingly excellent. Warm rosemary focaccia with flaky sea salt. "What did you get up to today?" I asked, as I dipped a piece of bread into the olive oil and vinegar.
"Oh, not too much," she said. "Talked to my sister on the phone for a bit, watched some TV, cleaned my apartment."
I smiled. "Yeah, it seemed cleaner in there. To be fair, I had pepper spray in my eyes last time so that might have altered my perception."
She frowned sympathetically. "Yeah, I'm still so sorry about that. At least that guy didn't punch you in the face though, right?"
"True." I felt like I had that guy handled, but I wasn't going to rub her nose in it. "You catch the spring-cleaning bug a little early?" I joked.
"Something like that. I'm not used to having people up there. I felt it was time to clean up."
"Your sister coming up to stay with you soon?"
"Maya?" she asked, laughing. "No, there's no point cleaning up for her. She's worse than I am. No, I-," she faltered, not finishing her thought. It's like she realized that she said too much. Was she cleaning up for me?
Just as I was about to tease her for more information, for confirmation, the waitress returned. That was quick. "I have the Margherita for you", she said, placing Mia's dish in front of her.
"Thank you so much," Mia said gratefully, happy for an interruption.
"...and the brasato for you," she finished, placing my plate in front of me. I thanked her. "Do either of you need anything else? Some pepper or cheese?" We nodded no. She gathered the bread bowl and the side plates and left the table once more.
"This looks so great. I'm so excited," Mia said.
"Me too," I agreed. I debated asking her about the cleaning again but left it. If it was something innocuous, she would have just said it. The food, once again, looked as beautifully presented as the website. I took a forkful, brought it up to my mouth, and an odd smell filled my nostrils, like perfume and beef. I took a bite. It tasted exactly like it smelled. My instinct was to spit it out, but luckily for Mia, I stopped myself. I chewed the same bite 30 times, my body rejecting it, not wanting to ingest it. I looked over at Mia, and she was chewing really slowly too. "Uh, how is your food?" I asked hesitantly.
"Umm..." she paused. "It's uh, it's interesting," she said politely. Knowing the prices here, she probably didn't want to admit that it was the worst thing she had ever eaten.
"Does yours taste like perfume too?" I whispered. She nodded in agreement. Shit. "Don't eat that," I said.
"I don't want to be rude but, I think I'll be sick if I finish it. Maybe we can cut it up a bit and make it look like we ate more?" she suggested.
"That's a good idea," I concurred. We both got to work, furiously cutting up the food into little pieces and moving it around the plate. She signaled to me with her eyes that the waitress was coming back, and we both stopped what we were doing and took a sip of our drinks. The coffee still tasted bad, but less so comparatively.
"How are you enjoying everything?" the waitress asked.
Me and Mia both started to speak, and then she gestured to me, indicating that I should explain. "Great, great. We are actually really full already, so we'll just take the check. Just one," I clarified.
The waitress gave a knowing look and I felt bad for her. She probably goes through this song and dance with every guest. "Oh no," she said, "I hate when that happens. Do you want any takeout boxes to pack the rest up?"
"That's okay," I said. "We don't have a microwave at home, and we aren't much for cold food."
"For sure," she said. "I'll clear these away and be right back with your bill." She cleared the table and left, coming back only a minute later. "Sorry to impose, but the chef was wondering if he could stop by the table to chat about the food. We just opened and he's always looking for feedback."
We looked at each other and then back at the waitress. "I don't know," I said tentatively.
"Just for one minute," she pleaded.
"Sure!" Mia said enthusiastically. I looked at her again and she shrugged.
"Thank you," the waitress replied. "He'll be right out. In the meantime, I'll get the bill ready."
"Why did you say yes?" I whispered.
"I just felt really bad," she whispered back. "She seemed so insistent too. I figure the sooner we talk to him, the sooner we leave."
I worried that this could turn into a bigger ordeal than she was anticipating but it was too late now. I just nodded back in agreement.
The chef came out to greet us. He was a short, but large man, wearing what could only be described as a red chef jacket dress. He had a white chef hat and a green tie to match the Italian theme. He had a stereotypical Italian mustache and had slicked his hair back with too much hair gel. He introduced himself, "good evening, I'm Giuseppe Armstrong." His accent was thick but also incredibly fake, and between his red hair and pale skin, he didn't strike me as Italian. What kind of Italian has the last name Armstrong anyway? "I'd like to ask you about the food," he continued. "Did you enjoy everything today?"
"The bread was very delicious," Mia offered. Damn. She took the one good thing I had to say.
"Oh yes, I got that delivered from a local bakery," he said. Figures. The one good thing in the restaurant, and he didn't make it. "How about the meals?"
"They were...overwhelming," I said, technically not lying.
"In what way?" he asked. My right hand was resting on the table and suddenly he placed his hand on top of it and looked at me as he waited for a response. I looked at his hand in disbelief, then up at Mia who was trying not to laugh. All the power to you, buddy, but I'm not interested. I had thought about offering some honest critique but lying felt like the only option now.
"It was delicious, of course," I said through gritted teeth.
"Magnifico!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands in joy before grabbing my head and kissing me on my crown. I sat there stunned as he walked back into the kitchen. Mia was covering her mouth, trying to pretend like she wasn't laughing her ass off. I wiped my head and felt a residue. Was he wearing lip gloss?
The waitress came over with the bill. "Thanks for chatting with him. He just loves meeting the guests," she said.
"I'm sure he does," I said sarcastically. I looked at the bill. $87.74 for this trash? The bread provided wasn't even complimentary, itemized at $10.00 on the receipt. If there was fine print about that on the menu, I didn't see it. As an attorney, I consider myself good with that kind of thing. I thought about complaining but I didn't have the energy. Besides, it was the only edible thing we ate today.
"Will that be cash or card," she asked.
"Cash," I said. I pulled out a $100 bill and a $10 bill and handed it to her. She went to grab change and I told her to keep it. She smiled widely and said thank you before heading back to the host stand to deposit the money.
"You tipped her over $20, why?" Mia whispered. "The food was terrible."
"She didn't make it," I said. "Besides, she works with him every day. That's punishment enough."
She laughed. "Fair point."
We grabbed our coats and left, the waitress beaming again and wishing us a good night as we exited. Poor girl, she probably doesn't get tipped much around here. When we were a block away from the restaurant and out of earshot, Mia and I started laughing. "You should have seen your face, when he kissed you," she teased, "you were shell-shocked."
"I know. I don't think I'll ever recover from that," I joked. "Well sorry that place was such a bust. I called a dozen nice restaurants across town, and this was the only one with a free reservation. Guess there's no mystery as to why."
"Oh, so that's how we ended up here," she laughed. "And silly me, thinking you had this all elaborately planned."
"Yeah, we both got bamboozled here." I said tersely. I wasn't mad at her; I was mad at myself for wasting over $100 on inedible food and looking like a total schmuck.
She squeezed my hand. "I'm just teasing. At least we have a funny story now, right?"
I smiled. "Yeah, that's something at least." I looked at my watch. "It's not even 8:30, do you want to get something else? I'm still hungry."
"Sure! I'm hungry too. Barely ate today in preparation for our 'fancy dinner'." She gently elbowed me, jokingly. "Anywhere you have in mind?"
"Why don't you pick," I said. "Truthfully, I now have little faith in my ability to pick a restaurant."
"Hm," she thought. "Well, there is a ramen stand about a block away from where we parked. Maya has been going on and on about it after I took her there one time. They have this cheeseburger ramen bowl that she loves."
"Sure, why not?" I asked rhetorically. Cheeseburger ramen didn't sound appealing to me at all, but it couldn't be worse than perfumed beef. "Where will we eat it?"
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"It's a stand, right? Did you want to eat in the car?" I didn't particularly want to do that but, after our misunderstanding a couple weeks ago, I didn't want to suggest an apartment.
"Oh, right. Well, I guess one of our places would be better. What do you think?"
"You pick," I said swiftly. Ball is in her court.
"Your place is closer, right? Maybe that would be easier."
"It is. You sure?" I stopped walking and looked her in the eyes. "We could always grab our takeout and I can drop you off?"
"No, that's fine!" she blurted out. "It's still so early," she said, her voice lowering. She smiled demurely.
"Cool." I grinned. "Let's go then."
We walked to the rickety noodle stand and ordered our cheeseburger ramen bowls. The owner there was quite eccentric, his hat even shaped like a ramen bowl. Or was he just wearing a ramen bowl on his head? He seemed quite severe, but his face brightened as he saw Mia, greeting her by name. I offered to pay but she insisted, saying I had already suffered enough for one day before winking at me. Our food was ready in about five minutes and then we departed for the car. From the car we drove five minutes to my underground parking garage and up eight floors in the elevator to my apartment. I unlocked the door and turned the lights on, before setting our food down on the kitchen island.
"Wow," she remarked, looking around the apartment. "Your place is so nice."
"Thank you," I replied. "Coat?"
"Thanks." She handed her coat to me, and I hung it on the rack by the front door.
"So, I don't have a kitchen table..." I explained. "...But we can eat at the kitchen island or eat on the couch and watch something."
"I'll never say no to dinner and a show," she joked. She grabbed our food and placed it on the glass coffee table in front of the couch.
I went to the fridge and perused the options. "What do you want to drink? I have water, orange juice, milk, beer, and wine."
"Red wine?" she asked, laughing. "Goes better with beef."
"Right," I said, laughing too. I checked the cupboard. "I have a pinot and a cab sauv?"
"Surprise me." I grabbed the cabernet sauvignon, the corkscrew, and a wine glass and set it down on the table. "Are you not having any?" she asked.
I started opening the bottle, twisting until I heard a pop. "I have to drive you home later."
"Oh." She paused for a moment, watching me pour her glass. "I can always take a taxi. It's no fun drinking alone."
I raised my eyebrow at her. "Okay, if you're sure." I grabbed a glass for myself and poured. I was about to hand her one of the glasses before I pulled it back. "Make sure you eat before you have too much, of this. Okay, kitten?" She smiled and nodded, and I handed her the glass. We clinked glasses and each took a sip. I grabbed the remote and opened a streaming service to look at movies. We ended up talking about the movies for a half hour and had finished eating before we even selected one.
"What did you think of the ramen?" she asked.
"It was surprisingly good. It reminded me of that cheeseburger macaroni stuff I used to make as a kid while Mamá was at work."
She laughed. "I don't think that's the compliment you think it is."
"Well, the ramen was better than that stuff. Just made me nostalgic is all. Haven't had that stuff in probably a decade." We laughed. There was a beat. "Well kitten, you still want to watch something? At this point, by the time we pick something, it'll be at least two hours before you're back home."
"I do, I do." She grabbed the remote from the table and started scrolling through again. "There are just so many choices. How to pick?" She scrolled some more before landing on one. "What about this one?"
Grave of the Fireflies? "Little depressing, don't you think?" I asked, incredulously.
"What do you mean? My mom told me she saw it in theaters when she was pregnant with me. She said it was really good."
"It is, but did she also tell you she bawled her eyes out when she saw it?"
"Yeah, but, I mean, she was pregnant, right? That probably had something to do with it. You said, 'it is', does that mean you've already seen it?" she asked.
"I have. Growing up, I had a cable package, and a library card, I've seen basically everything."
"Did you cry?" she asked playfully.
"No, but I can probably count on two hands the number of times I've cried between turning 13 and today." On my 13th birthday, Mamá told me that men don't cry because they need to stay strong and stoic for their families. I've taken that to heart and have only cried under the most necessary of circumstances like, for example, getting pepper sprayed in the eyes.
"Two hands? I've cried more than that this year." She clicked on the movie and then read the description. "It does sound sad, but I don't know. I always wanted to watch it after she told me that. I kind of want to get it off my bucket list, you know?"
I poured myself another glass of wine, offered her more, and filled her glass. "Alright," I said, resigned. I grabbed the remote and pressed play.
"Wait!" she exclaimed. I paused the movie. She got up and turned the light off. "We need movie lighting." She sat back down close to me, our legs just grazing each other. I had already kissed her multiple times and yet it still felt so electric being this close to her. When I un-paused the movie, I could hardly focus for the first several minutes before finally getting invested. We made it about two thirds through the movie and I could hear Mia sniffling. I asked her if she was okay, but she insisted she was fine. By the last ten minutes, she was bawling her eyes out. "Are you made of stone?" she asked through tears. "How are you not crying right now?"
I gave her a hug. "It's okay. If I cried, I think it would only make you cry more."
She laughed and sniffled. "Okay, you're right, of course. I'm glad I saw it finally, but that was brutal." She shook her head. "I'm really sorry, I feel like such a disaster all the time. We've only been hanging out for two weeks and you've already seen me cry three times."
I smiled and reassured her. "Seriously, I don't mind. That's one hell of a movie, and we've had one hell of a two weeks," I joked. She laughed again through the tears. I wiped some tears from her face and held her face in my hands. "Do you want me to call you a cab?"
Then she kissed me. She really kissed me, pushing me backwards on the couch and straddling on top of me. We made out for over an hour, frequently shifting positions on the couch, lit only by the tv screen. Finally, she paused for a second, catching her breath, and then whispered breathlessly in my ear, "do you have something?" before she kissed me again.
Do I have something? Oh. That something. What happened to taking things slow? We're skipping ahead a few bases here. I paused this time, grabbing her by the shoulders, scanning her face, trying to read her expression. "Are you really sure?" She nodded yes. "Really, really sure?" She just kissed me back this time. "Okay," I whispered seductively between kisses. "How about we step into my office?" Still kissing her, I picked her up, her legs wrapped tightly around my waist, and carried her to my bedroom.