Face Time – Chapter 3

Laura

This is definitely a date. My heart raced and my stomach clenched as Lee placed his hand over mine in the car and insisted on paying. Fuck, this seems like a bad idea. I am in a bad place in my life to be dating, and he lives so far away. I should let him take the lead though. Let him enjoy this. Let me enjoy this. It’s been a long time since I was out on a good date.

I’ll throw caution to the wind. I’ll take caution, throw it on the ground, and stomp on it. I’ll push caution into the next sidewalk grate and hope I never see it again. Caution has been my best friend for too long, and I used to be more impulsive. I’ll just pretend like nothing is waiting for me at home later.

I didn’t anticipate East Village curry, and, not wanting to do the same places every tourist does when they come here, I forgo the crazy, seizure-inducing, twinkling lights of Fourth Street, and direct Lee around to Sixth Street and Brick Lane Curry House. Miracle of miracles, there’s no wait for a table, but even 7:00pm is on the early side for Manhattan dinners. I usually don’t eat until eight.

“Tell me, Lee. What kind of food do you like to eat? Is there a food you just won’t touch?”

I was sitting all day at my desk thinking of things to ask him, to keep the conversation moving. I figure food, weather, and hobbies are pretty good neutral ground, and we can branch out to families if the date is going well, though I’d prefer to hear more from him on this. My family is always the first thing that turns a date off about me. I can see it in his eyes when I explain my family situation. The conversation goes from sadness to pity to incomprehension pretty quickly, and then I’ve lost him. Whole past relationships of mine have lived and died within the time it takes for me to hold back any and all information about my family.

Lee picks up the menu. “Not really. I’ll eat anything, which is a good thing I guess.”

“Yes. There are McDonald’s in Asia and India but I’m sure that’d get boring after a while.”

“There are Starbucks now in China. My family was in China a lot when I was younger and there was nothing even vaguely Western about it.”

Running my finger down the menu, I head straight for the vegetarian options. I had meat at lunch. “I feel old whenever I talk about how things were when I was a kid, and I’m not even that old.”

“How old are you, Laura?” Lee folds his menu and directs all his attention to me with the same intensity he must put into being a lawyer. I need a sip of water.

“Thirty-two. Last December. You?”

“Thirty-five. Last October. I don’t even know your last name,” he says with a smile, and I relax my tense shoulders. For a moment, I wondered what he was thinking. Was he judging me for being unattached in my early thirties? But no, he’s single too or else we wouldn’t be on this date.

“It’s Merchant. Laura Merchant.” Leaning over the crisp white linens and lit candle on the table, I whisper, “Is this weird to you, having dinner with a complete stranger?”

“No.” His face softens, and he leans a little closer to me. “I don’t think we’re complete strangers anyway. This is better than a blind date.”

“Okay.” I return to the menu again, hiding my sickly sweet and totally flattered smile. Our waiter arrives with water, and Lee orders tandoori chicken. I’m hungry enough for samosas too, so I order them with Malai Kofta, and we both get draft Kingfishers.

“I like a girl who likes to eat,” Lee says, placing his napkin on his lap. “I can’t tell you how many women I know that starve themselves.”

I shrink inside and try not to let revulsion show. I almost starved to death once, and never again. “I love to eat and cook, but I work it all off at the gym, and I walk everywhere.” I prop my chin on my hand while waiting for the beer to arrive.

“What’s your favorite exercise?” he asks.

The real answer to this question is, of course, sex. I love it, and I miss it a lot. I’m thirty-two years old and not been laid in my thirties yet which is a damned crying shame. But that’s not the answer he’s looking for.

My hesitation and inward smile (I’m a horrible liar) though cause him to pause, a knowing glint to his eye that makes me blush.

“Yoga, spinning, running,” I blurt out before taking a sip of beer. “I’m also trying this new thing called Bar Method once per week that I like. I need to be active. I’ve always been like this. Track and field, soccer, and tennis in high school. Hiking and running while traveling. Now, I’m addicted to the gym.”

These are things I don’t normally tell a guy when I first meet him. Some men are intimidated by women who like to workout especially if we lift weights. But Lee looks fit. Yes, fit in alllllllll the right places. I recross my legs under the table.

“I belong to a gym back in Seoul, but it doesn’t get much use. When I travel, I use the hotel gyms, and I run if it’s safe.”

“Do you do races? I’m always training for races in the city. There are several each year.”

“I try to do 5k and 10k’s in Seoul when I can. It’s hard to know when I’ll be in town for them.”

I sit back in my chair once the food arrives and let Lee ramble on about all the different places he’s run in his lifetime, on the beach in India, through the streets of Bangkok when he almost got run over by a tuk-tuk, and, of course, Seattle where he grew up. I get the feeling he’s been traveling for a while now without any companionship because his face and hand gestures are so animated describing every scene to me, every turn in the road, every misstep he took and got lost.

“I love my iPhone. It works pretty much everywhere in the world. I’ve used it to help me find my way when I was lost several times.” He picks up his phone and swipes it on. “Smile for me.”

I sit up straight, hoping I don’t have any curry on my face, and smile lightly at him as he takes my photo. He stares at his phone, his eyes squinting and taking in every detail of my reflection. It’s so sweet. He wants to remember me even though we only met last night.

I stare hard at his iPhone and then down at mine. We both have them. Maybe this connection between us doesn’t have to end tonight. Caution is obviously beaten to a pulp in a dark, back alley.

“Lee, let me send you my contact information. What’s your iMessage email address?”

His head tilts, and he’s probably weighing whether or not this is an element of his privacy he’s willing to give up. But, a moment later, he smiles and spells out the address, and I double-check it before starting a text to him.

I type, “Hi there,” and add a blushing smiley face. Send. I go straight to my contacts and text him my information. It has everything: my emails, my mailing address, my phone number, and where I work. I don’t know why, but I trust him. Sometimes I trust too easily, but this time I hope my instincts are right.