Page 75 of I Love My Mistake
One More Wonderful Hour Later
Mark sits opposite me at Tre Dici Steak, a hip Italian steak house in Chelsea. I want to tell him I was at another Italian place last night, and while the food was amazing (and the company crap) – I much prefer this place and this company. I should keep this feeling to myself. He already met Grant which was sooooo much fun. And he saw a painting of Michael, which was enough to tell Mark I think about Michael enough that I had to paint him. So, really. Mark doesn’t need to hear I was on a date last night, too. I mean, how many men am I seeing anyway? There’s Jason and Zach – my current go-to’s. Oh damn. I almost forgot about Tom. Should I be feeling slutty right about now? The concern twists me for a second. But fuck it. I’m a grown woman and I get to do what I want with my body. And those guys are my friends, too. Except for Tom. Met him at a party and fucked him in the bathroom. It was okay. I can probably get out of that by not returning a text or two. Jason and Zach, though. There will have to be a conversation. Wait a minute… what?
“Are you fine with a zinfandel?” Mark asks, looking up at me from the wine list. The light in here is beautiful and his face looks so gorgeous as he waits for my answer.
The server – twenty-five, stocky, Italian – crosses his hands one over the other, looking at me like there are a lot of other tables he has to get to. I look from him to Mark, trying to figure out what they’re waiting for.
“What?”
Mark smiles, eyes dancing. “Where’d you go?”
Down my sexual past. “Nowhere. I’m right here.”
He laughs. “Zinfandel good? Do you like red?”
“Oh…mmhmm… sounds nice.”
Mark looks back to the server and they discuss the options while my mind fades back to spin-mode. I can’t remember. Did I already tell Mark I was on a date last night? This is frustrating. See, this is the problem with meeting someone good. I have to find ways of wiping all the other men under the rug. Nothing to see here! No – don’t look! Seriously. Nothing’s under there but a hairball…spit out by my imaginary cat. Who’s big. Like, really big. Like five-men-from-my-immediate-past big.
Yeesh.
I switch my focus to the room. Focus on this moment. I read The Power of Now and he said that now is the only reality anyway, that everything else is only in our minds. If that’s true, then those other men who’ve been in my pants don’t even exist anymore. Huh. I can see why he’s a bestseller. I feel better already.
Looking around, I fall in love with the décor. Red walls, dark leather chairs. There’s a 1920’s vibe in here, like you could film a scene from Boardwalk Empire and not change a thing. It looks as though at the next table there should be an illicit card game with men in old-fashioned tuxes and women in glittering gowns standing by, their gloved hands rested on the men’s shoulders, egging them on to win.
“I think I’m being romantic.”
Mark leans back in his chair, the picture of happy. “How so?”
“I’ve got visions of The Prohibition Era going on. This room! Look over there. Doesn’t she have the face of the women from the 20’s? Tiny cherub mouth, round face? Cut her hair shorter, curl it, put a shiny headband on her…and bam!”
He glances over, amused. “It does feel like a speak-easy.”
“That’s what they called them. I couldn’t remember. A speak-easy. Wow. I’d love to go back in time and live there for a day. Those dresses. So glamorous. Well, I’d go back if the Civil Rights Act had passed in the late 1800’s, anyway.”
His expression darkens. He understands my meaning. “Yeah, things were very different then, weren’t they.” It’s more a statement, than a question. He looks at me. “Thank God they’ve changed.”
I look down at my napkin, opening it and laying it on my lap. “Yes, thank God… and thank a whole lot of people who fought for it. Things were very, very different for my Mema.” I rest my chin on hands, staring off into the memories of her. “She was a force, though. You always knew where you stood with her and she held the bar up high. Said that in order to inspire change, you had to know you were responsible not only for yourself, but for the people you came into contact with. Treat them well, and if they aren’t right in the head – if they’re doing things to hurt people – stand up for the people they’re hurting. Especially if one of those people is you. But she could also be very kind and comforting. My momma wasn’t strong like her… but maybe it’s because Mema was so strong, Momma felt she had that covered. I don’t know.” Thinking of my momma always makes me a little sad. I wish I could have helped her have more courage.
Mark leans forward and lays his hand on the table, palm up. I rest my hand on his. He curls his fingers around mine and holds them. “Your mema sounds just like you.”
I look down, embarrassed by such a tremendous compliment. “Thank you.”
I had never thought I might be like her. Am I? The idea is so hard to believe. It’s like Mark just spoke in a different language.
Mark gives my hand a squeeze, his eyes soft above a crooked smile. “I’ve had such a great day with you, Nicole.”
My fingers caress his. “Me too. It’s been really… unexpected.”
We sit back in our chairs as the server returns with the bottle of wine. He goes to pour a taste for Mark to try. Mark raises his hand to stop him. “I’m sure it’s fine. You can go ahead and pour.” This simple gesture impresses me; no pomp and circumstance to it, just easy confidence.
The server pauses and takes this in for a brief moment. He nods and pours my glass first, then Mark’s. “I’ll give you guys a minute to decide.” I notice that he said guys, like we’re more his peers now. Mark’s rejection of pretense was a social leveler. I’m fine with that. I’d rather have a nice easy-going night where everyone’s comfortable and having a good time. ‘Status’ just annoys me sometimes. I mean, what’s the point?
Mark raises his glass to toast. “To meeting such an unbelievable woman.”
A shy smile spreads across my lips. “Thank you. To a beautiful day.” I bring my glass to his and clink it softly, holding his eyes. The wine goes down nicely; a very dry, full bodied red with more than a hint of cherry. It leaves that chalky taste in my mouth that I love. “Mmm. This is good. You know what? We should go wine tasting in California. Sonoma County, right? Wouldn’t that be fun?”
He grins, leaning back in his chair. He runs his hand through his soft, sandy brown hair. “That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.”