Once we round the entryway to the hostess desk, I notice it’s bustling. Saturday night at peak dinner rush time, and it looks like date night is on everyone’s itinerary. I cling to Andrew closely, using my other hand to grip his bicep. He gives a gentle tug. A clear sign we won’t get separated.
He tells the hostess his name and that we have a reservation, and we barely have a minute to ourselves before we’re following a young man in a white dress shirt and pressed slacks holding large menus to a small, secluded table for two.
Large glass goblets and polished silverware are systematically placed on the table with a votive candle in the middle. The lights in the restaurant are low, creating a muted effect. It tints the room with secrets and intimate rendezvous, all behind dark shadows. I look across the table, and the engrossed scowl on Andrew’s face is adorable as he looks over the menu. I reach across the table and hook my fingers over the top of his menu to lower it. He looks at me and the deep furrow between his brow vanishes, a sweet smile in its place.
“It’s really nice here.”
He grins, lighting up the dullness around us. “I wanted tonight to be special.”
“And it is, but I just want to tell you,” I add. “It would’ve been just as special at home. I like your home-cooked meals.”
“You haven’t gotten tired of my grilled cheese sandwiches?”
I shake my head vigorously, expressing how far from the truth his question could be. “I appreciate this too. I just don’t want you to think I want this all the time.”
“I know.” He reaches for my hand, grazing his thumb over my knuckles, and a small part of me wishes we were home. Where we’d be in private and the darkness would be from watching movies with the lights out to create a theater effect, not overdone ambiance lighting.
“I’m going to go to the little girl’s room,” I announce. “Can you order me a?—”
“Ketel vodka?”
I smile. “Yes please.” I lay my napkin on the table next to my shiny forks and sashay away to the ladies’ room, knowing Andrew is watching me. The bathroom looks like an extension of the restaurant with its shimmery white countertops and rich afterglow. It smells like plumerias inside instead of the usual stench of toilet water most bathrooms have. As I’m finishing up and washing my hands, a young woman who doesn’t look a minute over the age of twenty-one stumbles out of a stall. Her dress, much like her obvious youth, is a direct contrast to mine. It’s a metallic kind of color, one that looks like it should be draped around a ball and hung over the center of a dance floor. She smiles at me, giggling a little sloppily. Her alcohol consumption seems to make her as friendly as it makes her bold.
“Oh my god, that dress is gorgeous,” she gushes at me as she’s towel drying her freshly washed hands. Her hand trails my arm, and her friendliness oozes into my own pores.
“Thank you,” I tell her with a smile. “Yours looks amazing too.”
She glides her hands over her dress, running over the curves that are showcased with its sleek design. “Oh, this,” she comments, brushing me off. “It cost a pretty penny too.” She leans over the sink and touches up her makeup with a tube of glittery lip gloss. “The guy I’m here with tonight bought it for me. It’s not usually my style, but when he whipped out his black AmEx, I thought, ‘Why the hell not?’”
I laugh, appreciating her candor. We both face the mirror, touching up our makeup and fluffing our hair. I’m patting my lipstick on my puckered pout when she wiggles her index finger at me and comments, “I hope whoever brought you out tonight knows how lucky they are.”
“He does,” I tell her shyly.
“Good.” She turns to leave but changes her mind and faces me. “I’m Kimmy by the way.”
“Grace.”
“It was nice to meet you, Grace.”
“You too.”
She dashes off, the clicks of her high heels clacking away as it fades in with the bustle outside the bathroom. I tuck my lipstick back in my clutch and head back out.
Kimmy’s right. I do look amazing. And while my dress does much to complement me, it’s more than that. It’s the glow of someone falling for another. I haven’t felt this in a long time. When I’m with Andrew, I feel completely myself. I don’t worry about making a fool of myself. I don’t feel insecure or self-conscious. I feel confident and sure. He considers me in so many aspects of his life. When he stocks his fridge, when he buys his usual bathroom toiletries. Even when he cooks dinner. He tries to brush off my preference for his homemade meals by saying all he can really prepare is grilled cheese sandwiches, but he’s actually really good at other things too. I can tell it’s all a first for him, but he takes the time to look through recipes. He doesn’t just settle for takeout or air-fried food, he actually cooks. He even leaves out his old shirts for me to wear when I’m at his house. He knows what I like, and he doesn’t try to pressure me to do things out of my comfort zone. If that’s not love, then what is?
Is that what this is? Love? Has our relationship already steered that course into love? That’s pretty serious. And yet, it doesn’t scare me. It doesn’t seem to scare Andrew either. Hetold me before that being vulnerable seems scary and daunting, yet he seems to be his barest form when he’s around me. Maybe it’s because this is stepping into love territory. We’re taking it one step at a time, dipping our toes instead of fearlessly cannonballing in.
I’m smoothing out my dress as I turn the corner back to our table. I catch Kimmy take a healthy pull out of a glass tumbler, and when we make eye contact, she waves at me. I grin and quickly wave back, eager to get back to Andrew.
“Grace?”
My heart drops all the way down to my feet when I hear that voice. The voice that used to mock and tease me. That used to belittle me into thinking the things I wanted in life were too complicated and purposeless.
I look beyond Kimmy’s confused face. Right to the seat across from her where Frankie, my ex-husband’s, smug smirk greets me with discomforting keen interest.
“Wow,” he exclaims through a disbelieving chuckle. “You look amazing.”
I look at Kimmy, and she catches on to my uncomfortable posture. My tight shoulders and the dumbstruck look of shock on my face. I see a frown wipe away what seemed like her usual bubbly demeanor, and it’s directed at Frankie with disapproval.
