And it doesn’t upset me.
“I promise you, you’re hitting all the ‘supposed tos’ very well.” She takes a sip of red wine. “Just be yourself. This is only dinner with another human.”
“You’re right,” I agree and sip the cool, tangy drink. “What about you? I’m curious as to why you’re single.”
“Never ask a woman that.” She wiggles her finger back and forth in front of her face. “That is an instant turn-off.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, confused. Shouldn’t it be a compliment that I think she has the personality and aura to have someone devoted to to her?
“Because it’s received as a character flaw. Like there must be something wrong with me because I don't have a ring on my finger.” Mallory speaks with ease and gentleness, not an ounce of condemnation or anger over the misinterpretedquestion.
But I can’t contain the laughter that flows from me at how completely different our thought processes are. “Mallory, I’m going to be completely honest. I meant that question as a compliment. I don’t think there is anything wrong with you based on what I’ve learned so far.”
“I know.” She grins, then shovels another forkful of food into her mouth. After she finishes chewing, she says with downcast eyes, “I’m widowed, too, you know? My husband passed away two years ago in a car accident.”
In that instant, when we make eye contact, it’s like a mutual understanding has been forged. I think of my mom and Henry. This is what it must be like for them. “An understanding only grief can create,” I reiterate my thoughts from earlier this week. She nods and smiles, shoving more pasta into her mouth.
“Do you want to talk about him?”
“Maybe one day,” she responds. “But I don’t think that's a first-date conversation to be had. Why don’t we talk about how handsome you are or how pretty I am and how cute our babies could be?” The lilt in her voice and crinkles around her eyes tell me she’s joking.I hope she is…
“I like your confidence and…” I try to find the right word, “bravado. It’s not over the top, and I find you quite fascinating.”
“You’re quite the charmer yourself, Mr. Knightley.”
“So, you grew up in Washington, D. C., moved to Juniper Grove a year ago to work on the president’s campaign, and you stuck around.”
After Mallory dabs her lips with a napkin, she says, “I liked the slowness of life here. D. C. can feel like you’re living at turbo speed. Living here feels like third gear at max.”
I nod. “I’ve spent some time in D. C., and I couldn’t imagine living there. I got into politics here because we didn’t have any great candidates, and I saw improvements that needed to happen in this town. I don’t think I’d ever pursue anything more. In fact, I think this will be my last term if I win reelection.”
“Maybe I can run for office after you, then.” She winks.
“You’ll have to beat the independent candidate, Jay. Jansen Johnson. He’s a formidable opponent. To be honest, I wouldn’t be upset at all if he won. Yeah, it’d hurt my pride if the people of Juniper Grove didn’t want me for a second term, but he’s a good guy and has done a lot for this town.”
I take a bite of my carbonara, wondering why in the world I’m telling her all of this. She’s so easy to talk to; I’m spilling all my secrets.
“Sounds like you’re just the man for the job. The best politicians are the ones who don’t necessarily want to be politicians.”
I shrug. “Maybe so. Oh, and if you want to win, you might need to become male and get married and join the Southern Baptist denomination.” It started as poking fun, but by the end of my statement, even I admit I sound a little bitter.
“Well, I am a part of the Southern Baptist denomination, and I am open to marriage, obviously. But I don’t think changing my gender is in the cards for me. I’m happily female, just as the Good Lord intended, and will continue living that way.” She laughs. “Do you have something against mydenomination?”
I squirm a little in my seat. “It’s nothing against the denomination. It’s more so against the new president of the local association. He misinterprets scripture a lot and seems to have a thing against me being Presbyterian.”
“How so? Forgive me, but I haven't been in the loop of evangelical happenings lately.”
“No worries. I wish I wasn’t. He is promoting Jay over me because he’s Southern Baptist and has a family. Vance Green, the president, has said on numerous occasions that he believes First Timothy 3:12 applies to all men who proclaim to be Christians in positions of leadership, not just those who are deacons. He’s subtly stating he doesn’t believe me to be a true Christian, and that stings to hear, you know?”
Mallory nods and offers a soft smile of understanding. “I can see how that would be hurtful. For the record, I think he’s completely wrong. The scripture is clear without his wacky interpretation.”
“Glad you agree.” There’s a pause in conversation, both of us taking sips of our respective drinks.
We make eye contact, and I realize there is no zing. Mallory is full of understanding and empathy, but she lacks…
What does she lack?
“Do you think we might be too alike, Knightley?” Mallory asks as if she’s hunting around inside my brain.
