Dear John,
I don’t know where to begin. I suppose I can start with a simple thank-you. Thank you for suggesting that we meet outside of our workplace for dinner last night. After kissing you so unexpectedly on Friday night, I needed some reassurance. You gave me plenty of reassurance before you even knew exactly why I was feeling so nervous. You were reassuring, just by being you. Thank you for that.
I pulled into the restaurant parking lot ten minutes early. I saw you standing outside, waiting for me. You were early. I remembered that during one of our small-talk conversations you’d told me that one of your most irritating pet peeves is tardiness. Really, I’d shown up a few minutes early because I wanted to make sure the table that was reserved was in a suitable location. A quiet corner, versus being out in the middle of a busy restaurant floor. And there you were, waiting for me.
You recognized my car and started walking towards me when I parked. The way you smiled at me made my heart race. You smile like a movie star, a big, bright, eye-catching smile that lights up your entire face. I know I’m not the only one to have noticed that. Our secretary once saw you smile at the both of us while you walked by, caught up in a conversation on your mobile, and she commented that all you have to do is flash that smile at any female and you’d catch her attention immediately. Perhaps even the attention of a few males who feel so inclined.
I didn’t know how you’d greet me. I didn’t have to guess; as soon as we were close enough you reached your arms out to me, offered me a light and polite split-second embrace and kissed my cheek. We said hello. You told me that I looked beautiful. All of the polite first-date greetings. I said thank-you. You repeated yourself and said no, really, I looked beautiful. I blushed. The memory is making me blush again.
I found myself thinking that perhaps I’m not the only one who has no “chill”?
We lucked out and were seated in a booth. A corner booth to boot, quiet and intimate. The staff kept saying hello to me. You grinned at me, a knowing smile. I sheepishly admitted that I tended to frequent the restaurant, especially on Friday nights. Guilty. I brought you to a spot that isn’t neutral; it’s kinda “my turf”.
You told me that, in a way, you were flattered that I’d bring you around to a spot where everyone knew me, and would see me having dinner with you. It never occurred to me that I was allowing myself to be seen with you in a spot that I was bound to return to.
Perhaps I’m not the only one who over-thinks everything?
Dinner was excellent. We made small talk. You made me laugh with a story about your Dalmatian, Moxie, dragging you into a creek in hot pursuit of a pair of ducks. I asked you about wine, and you told me that all you knew about wine is that some of them are delicious, and others, not so much. After a few more getting-to-know-you questions and figuring out what we both wanted for dinner, I asked for a bottle of the Primitivo and crossed my toes, hoping you’d like it and assuring you that I wouldn’t be offended if you didn’t. You had two generous glasses and took a note of the label. I guess that said it all.
I managed to wait until the wine was poured, but didn’t quite make it to the food before giving you a sly look and telling you that I’d been dying to ask you why a handsome, successful and charming person such as yourself happens to be single. You paused. You took in a breath. You sighed into your wine glass. I told you, gently, that if that was too bold of a question we could leave it for later and move on to you telling me exactly why you have a grudge against pesto sauce. You smirked at my circling back to the fact that you told me that you truly do not like pesto sauce. Then you became noticeably quiet, and told me that after thirty-two years of marriage, your wife had left you. The look in your eyes. The quiet tone of your voice. It’s still a painful subject for you. I very gently apologized, just in case I’d touched on something that you weren’t ready to discuss. I’m good at handling delicate situations with grace. I care.
You gave me an exceptionally warm smile. You told me that your wife had left five years ago, and the only residual hurts were traces of your pride still feeling wounded. She’s ten years younger than you, and left you for someone twenty years your junior, a co-worker of hers. You told me that the marriage had gone stale at least a decade before she left, and that she had shown signs of no longer being interested in you. You tried couples counseling, you tried family vacations, you tried romantic weekend get-aways, but nothing sparked that connection any longer. You told me that you knew she just wasn’t interested in you, romantically, any longer. And that you didn’t know what to make of that, because you still loved her. You told me that when she finally told you that she had met someone else, and that she wanted to end your marriage to be with him, that the love you felt for her was shattered. You told me that you took plenty of time to focus on your sons and yourself, that you’ve gone through a healthy amount of counseling. You told me that you’ve been dating a bit over the past year or so and felt ready to date again should you meet the right person.
You then paused, blushed and apologized profusely for what you called “a dumping session”. You polished off your first glass of wine, even though our plates hadn’t arrived yet. You’d been so candid, so open and vulnerable that I’d been hanging on your every word. When you caught yourself and realized just how much you’d shared with me, you looked embarrassed. I had to touch you. I reached out across the table and placed my hand over yours. I told you that even though our date had just started, I was already hoping to see you again. I told you that your honesty made me feel that you’re sincere, and that alone was making me want to see you again. I threw in the fact that, “Plus, you’re hot” - and you laughed appreciatively. You blushed. You looked at me in a way that made me feel wanted. Appreciated.
Our meals showed up. I took a deep breath and apologized for bluntly asking you about your marital status. I told you that I’ve never married and I don’t have children, and that my reasons make for a long story that I’d touch on later. In that moment I wanted to explain exactly why I was so concerned about your marital status. I told you before I joined our firm, I’d had a fourteen year career at a firm in the next State over. We hired a new member. He was charming and intelligent and a bit of a flirt, but he seemed to pay extra attention to me. We dated for three months, and then, one day, out of nowhere a woman stormed right into my office, mid-day, and shouted my name, demanding to know which one of us was me. I told you that I walked right over to this woman, who was trembling with rage, and asked her how I could help her. She shouted that I could help her by no longer fucking her husband.
You gasped a little. I found myself talking to my wine glass, the weight of the humiliating story making my gaze too heavy to make eye contact with you. I told you that the man I’d been dating was in his office. I was out in the main conference room, having a meeting with several colleagues. You could’ve heard a pin drop. I saw the secretary scurry out of the room. I stared at the woman who was accusing me. I felt like a deer in the headlights. I wanted to die right then and there. Instead, I took a deep breath and felt pity for this wild-eyed woman. I told her that she didn’t know me, but that in all honesty, I had no idea that her husband was a married man. I told her that I would never, ever have hurt anyone to that degree. And, I told her that I was going to leave the firm immediately and that I’d never, ever contact her husband again. I apologized. And that’s as far as I got before Isaac stormed into the room, grabbed his wife by the elbow and growled at her, telling her that they were leaving. His wife was determined to humiliate him in front of his colleagues. Fortunately he managed to drag her outside. The whole thing felt surreal for me at that point. I was gawked at by so many people. There were so many different looks, so many different gazes. Embarrassment. Pity. Disgust. My Manager was there. She asked me to step into her office with her. I did. She told me that whilst she appreciated my career with her firm, she thought it was a good idea for me to take a few days off and figure out where I wanted to go from there. I agreed. I quietly collected my belongings from my desk and left.
I never went back. I wasn’t going to expose my colleagues to that kind of petty drama. I had entirely too much respect for that firm, it was the firm that helped me mold my career. I wasn’t going to stain and dirty up the place by turning it into some bad episode of trash tv. I still had my pride, and I was determined to salvage it.
I took three days and treated myself to a solo retreat at a hotel by the beach, where I could have a spa day, excellent food and ample amounts of time to walk along the beach and gather myself. Dust myself off. Lick my wounds. I called my mother. I called my girlfriends. I told them that I was taking a few days to shake things off, and then I was going to look into a new firm. I told them, no, I didn’t want to move back home. Not yet.
I told you that after I’d cleared my head and came back with my skin glowing and a new sense of determination, that I drafted a letter of resignation. I worked from home, preparing my clients and accounts to be transitioned to my superior whilst she searched for someone to replace me. She was very understanding. She told me that if she had to choose between myself and my former fling that there would be no contest. She asked me if I could find it in me to stay. I told her, no. I told her that she and my colleagues don’t need that kind of drama, and that I couldn’t handle the humiliation. And so, two weeks later things were wrapped up, neat as a pin. I left the firm that had been the backbone of my career. I took my resume to a professional service. Eight business days later I was contacted by an aggressive headhunter. Three days after being snatched up by that headhunter I was offered an in-person interview in a City four hours away from where I’d been living, for the firm that you and I are both working for.
And that, dear John, is why I was so up-front about your marital status.
Yes, I looked into counseling. I was completely blind-sided. I was shocked. And I wasn’t sure how to handle the emotional shitstorm that’s bound to happen after such a shock. The therapist told me that I handled things well. That I seem to have strong coping skills. I didn’t know this. I was raised in a solid, loving family, and it seems to be in my nature to be able to duck, weave and pivot easily. I think fast on my feet. But, I’m still a human being. I’m still checking in with this therapist, because I don’t feel confident in myself. Not quite yet.
I’m pretty sure that we can all benefit from a little counseling. When I said that out loud you raised your glass and agreed. Cheers to that.
You were a wonderful listener. Your gaze was gentle, and open, and shocked during the appropriate moments, and kind when all was said and done. You murmured that you couldn’t quite wrap your head around what it must feel like to be humiliated to that extent. To have something that should’ve been lovely and fun completely decimate a career that I cherished. I shrugged, smirked and told you that we just never known when Life’s going to make us fall flat on our faces. I darkly informed you that I wasn’t about to let some deceitful playboy keep me down for long. You chuckled and offered me a hearty, “Good. Good for you”.
We polished off that bottle of wine. I told you that our dumping sessions warranted splitting a dessert. You heartily agreed. I told you that chocolate is my ultimate guilty pleasure. Your eyes lit up and agreed that you’d been eyeballing the flourless chocolate cake. A little sweet, a little espresso and we were both relaxed and full and just enjoying each others company. You asked me if I had time to go walk off the indulgent food. I told you that I’d love to.
That walk was lovely. Exactly what was needed to come up for air and remember that really, we were just out together to enjoy each others company. The City lights are starting to shine for the holidays. You’re handsome in that perfectly tailored pea coat that you wear, classic black. A polished, professional look for polished, professional you. You asked me if I have plans for Sunday. I told you that I’d planned on taking a nice, long walk. You asked me if I’d like to take that walk with you and one very hyperactive Dalmatian. I told you that I’d love to. You paused, and asked me if it was too much, too soon. I assured you that no, it wasn’t too much, too soon. Not for me. I told you that I’m enjoying your company. I do enjoy your company.
And then, there I was, gazing into those big, dark eyes of yours. And, there it was, that attraction, that connection, that pull. This time you stepped in towards me. This time, you gently cupped my face in one hand and gazed into my eyes, intentionally gazing at me. You ran your thumb along my lower lip. You leaned in and kissed me. Every movement slow and intentional, and full of sincerity. I was putty in your hands.
Our first date ended sweetly, walking hand-in-hand back to the restaurant parking lot. You walked me to my car and kissed me again, lightly, tenderly. You kiss with incredible sincerity. It makes my heart sigh.
And now I’m off to have brunch with you at a greasy spoon that you call your “guilty pleasure”, then we’re taking Moxie for a good long walk on a local, paved hiking trail. Something more casual. I told you that I love to hike, that I can walk for ten or even fifteen miles on a good day. You laughed and said that the trail you have in mind leads to a pond where Moxie can dive for and retrieve her favorite neon pink tennis ball until she drops from happy exhaustion. It won’t be a ten mile loop. It’ll be a four-mile loop at best.
It’ll be a short walk for me.
I’m still ordering pancakes.
See you soon, handsome.
Always,
Jane
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