Authors: Ever McCormick
The dining room was spread out across two floors of an old country mansion, including some tables out
side on the white wrap-around porches. It was if someone had built an English garden out here in the middle of nowhere, and a few hundred years later, someone had turned it into a restaurant. Before the meal was even served, I felt like the trip was a success in terms of relieving my mountained-out-itis. No one—not us or any radio announcers—had mentioned Roadsie since we'd left, and as a result, he stayed off my mind.
Both Adam and I ordered cocktails and my eyes widened when he spoke to the waiter. I'd never seen him speak to another person before the woman in the store and now the waiter. In fact, this trip was the first time we'd been in the company of anyone other than each other. We sipped our drinks and scoured over the menu, reading the creative descriptions aloud to each other.
Adam had tried several of the dishes and explained some of their finer points to me. I ended up ordering something I never would have tried before tonight. I decided based on how interesting the tastes sounded rather than my usual routine choices. I guess there was something about putting on a beautiful dress that made me more confident about trying new things.
The waiter seemed
impressed by what we ordered. Perhaps the service was always this amazing at this level of quality restaurant, but I felt like royalty.
When our first course came, we picked at each others' masterpieces. They were beautiful
works of art that tasted artistic as well. The whole night felt like a dream.
"I
s this a date?" I asked at a totally inappropriate moment when we weren't speaking of anything that had anything to do with dating. I immediately felt embarrassed and his hesitation told me that feeling was fitting.
"I don't know," he answered. "I'm not a dating expert to tell you the truth." He looked at me conspiratorially and whispered, "
Is
this a date?"
I laughed and he grinned. "It looks like a date," I told him, taking a long glance at his sharp suit and then down at my designer dress. "But it doesn't feel like a date."
"How so?"
"I don't feel jittery and nervous. Our conversation is easy.
It feels like hanging out with a good friend." I took a sip of my drink. "The first time I went out with Michael, I was so nervous. I tried to help the waitress get a plate off of her tray and ended up knocking the entire tray and all of its contents to the floor."
To my surprise, he chuckled.
"That sounds terrible. That's why I don't date much."
"Well, you don't have many options."
"Even when I had options, I was a serial monogamist. I think it's just how some people are wired."
I thought about the orgy-fest that was my college. While my friends had experimented
—sometimes with each other—I had been 100% loyal to Michael since freshman year when we began dating.
"I'm like that too," I said. "Maybe it's beca
use first dates are so horrible. I want to avoid them at any cost, even if that means—" I couldn't say the words that came at the end of that sentence out loud. I thought them before I realized how mean they were. It didn't matter though because Adam said them for me.
"Even if it means being with the wrong person?"
I nodded.
"I think my problem was
—" He sat back while the waiter cleared his plate. Then, keeping eye contact the entire time, he leaned in closer than before to continue. "I'm not saying this is your problem by the way, but I've had a lot of time to think about mine. My problem is that I cared way too much about how I was perceived. I worried about what women thought of me, but I rarely asked myself if these women were who I wanted in the first place."
"So what are you saying
— you've never been head over heels in love with someone — not even your fiancée?"
He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know. Perhaps. Alena was beautiful and smart and driven. She was a woman any man would want.
I was proud she wanted me."
I ignored the jealousy that swept through my belly and bloomed like a
painful flower when her name crossed his lips. I didn't even know this woman. Why should I envy her?
The waiter brought out another course and set it down in front of us. He took my empty glass and I nodded when he asked if I'd like another. Adam ordered a water and for some reason that made me smile, that he was being safe, that he wasn't going to throw back a few drinks and then attempt to drive us all the way home.
"The way you describe it," I said, "dating is a lot like marketing. It's all about the creation of the perception in someone else of who you are. It's all about making the other person feel like they need you. They can't live without you. They must buy you!"
"And that's problematic," he said.
I
t was like we were so in sync that he was finishing my thought for me, like we were one person speaking his or her mind, not two people having a conversation.
"
I don't want to sell myself."
"Honesty in advertising," I quoted my dissertation. "If we could use the influential power of advertising to improve people's lives rather than rob them blind, we could improve so much as a society.
If we stopped trying so hard to convince people how much they need us, and just try to be people worthy of being needed—well, maybe if we could do that, the divorce rate wouldn't be so high."
"Maybe," he agreed. "What is
it that you miss most about—"
"Michael?"
He nodded, sipping his water.
"I miss feeling like someone believed in me. It's like even though I've always doubted my talent, others around me
—but especially Michael—always assured me I was destined for great things. Now, everyone is looking at me funny. I've lost it. I've lost everybody's confidence. They see me for what I am—totally blank. I thought I had everything figured out. Now I see I was deluded. Even Michael was part of the dream."
"Having Michael made you feel like you had it all together?"
"No," I corrected him. "Having Michael helped me look like I had it all together, even though I didn't. Still don't."
He nodded his head in agreement. "I know what you mean, but what's interesting is that now I
feel
like I have it together. I don't have the library that was a part of my New York condo, but I have all the books I love on my homemade wooden shelves. My friends don't bother with me anymore. They think I’ve gone nuts. Their perception is that I've gone from having it all to being a recluse, but none of my old New York crowd visit me, so they have no idea. The truth is I've never been happier."
"I hope I can say that one day," I admitted, "and mean it."
Adam watched me for a minute after that. He didn't tell me what he was thinking. He just changed the subject to something lighter and handed me a scallop from his plate. The flavors burst in my mouth. The guy knew how to order.
Adam discretely pointed to a
couple that was obviously on one of the horrible first dates we'd spoke of earlier. Their discomfort was palpable. We leaned in close to each other and whispered in funny voices to each other, making up the uncomfortable dialogue the couple was likely saying to each other. Adam's comments made me laugh so hard, the couple glanced over at us, and we guilty sat back in out chairs and then laughed for a full minute. He made me so happy to not be on a date.
My taste buds were more alive than ever with all of the exotic new flavors and my blood tingled with an alcoholic buzz. The air, although cooling with the night, was warm enough to go bare-armed without catching a chill. As the sun had set, the fireflies had come to life in the meadows around us and before we got up to leave the restaurant, I asked if we could walk around the cobblestone walkways for awhile. The setting was so beautiful.
Adam agreed. Then he stood and came over to my side of the table, pulling out my chair sweetly and holding out his hand to help me up. It felt like something out a Jane Austen novel. He leaned down to whisper something in my ear and the feeling of his breath trickling down my neck and chest gave me chills. He placed his other palm on my lower back to urge me in the right direction. "I never said how beautiful you make that dress," he said, "I'm sorry about that." He shook his head. "You never stop surprising me. You never stop stealing all of my attention and showing me another of your stunning dimensions."
He didn't meet my eye this time
, which was good because I may have melted into a puddle right in front of him if he had.
13
His wide hand occasionally returned to my back during our walk around the restaurant's grounds. I found myself staring at his pr
ofile in the light of the sunset and wondering if it was the magical night or the booze that was making me feel like this not-a-date
was
a date. Whatever it was, I never wanted it to end.
The gruff Adam from the mountain
had been shoved off like a coat at the end of winter, and underneath was this sculpture of a man from an expensive underwear ad, who also had intelligence and a kindness that made me swoon. It was like stumbling across a secret garden in your own backyard.
Soon, the sky was getting too dark for us to enjoy the scenery any longer, so we made our way back to the street where we'd
parked. At night, the quaint town took on a new appearance. We stopped to appreciate artistic storefronts and read the menus posted in front of the quirky restaurants. Small white lights twinkled in the trees that lined the sidewalks and excited conversations and uninhibited laughter erupted from the al fresco diners.
I leaned back my head and laughed at something Adam said and then felt his hand reach down and grasp mine. His fingers interlaced with mine and squeezed, and my breath stopped for a second. As much as we'd flirted and danced around the idea of a romantic pairing between the two of us, no lines had been crossed. That moment in the water, that massage in bed, they were all innocent enough that we could retract back into friend status, but this night was revealing itself more and more to be a date. And dates ended in kisses. And a kiss seemed like a step in a definite direction.
He grinned at me in a sideways glance and then squeezed again, seeming to agree with me in his eyes. He was taking the dangerous first step of reaching out to someone to see if they felt it too.
We walked down the street for a few minutes like this, not saying anything, just enjoying the early summer night on a beautiful street where we knew no one and no one knew us, and we might have j
ust been some happy young people who had never been hurt. Every once in a while, we'd look at each other and smile in unison because of the sheer perfection of the moment.
I kept thinking of how brave he was to be taking that first step, reaching out. He was always teaching me how to be brave. I thought about pulling him into one of the cute little alcoves sprinkled down the streets. They seemed just small enough for a stolen first kiss.
"Look at that," Adam said.
I followed the direction of his gaze to a square where people milled about laughing and talking. A post stood in the middle where advertisements and posters for local bands hung, letting people know what was happening in the area. An old long-haired man sat with his eyes closed under the post. He played a forlorn song on his guitar and seemed to be living through a painful time in life as he sang. I thought Adam was pointing out the musician. He truly was a sight. But when I looked over to Adam again, I noticed his gaze was focused on something higher. Then I spotted the advertisement above the man's head.
The poster was a large white expanse with bold black lettering and a paragraph of basic text underneath. It was an extremely understated design—just my style—with a few red accents to add some interest. But the design wasn't what grabbed Adam’s attention, obviously. It was the bold headline: "Honesty in Advertising."
I stared at the poster for a second without moving. Had someone taken that viral idea and run with it? Was someone having a thriving career with my idea while I wasted away in anonymity? Anger, confusion, and jealousy began to swirl in my stomach before I even knew the whole story. I pulled my hand away from Adam's and marched over to the poster to get a better look.
I read the paragraph, but didn’t understand a word of it. I was so angry that I wouldn't have been able to comprehend the meaning of it if it hadn't been my own damned idea regurgitated back to me in rousing copy. I looked down at the signature logo of the ad: This manifesto brought to you by the honest advertisers at Mackenzie Marketing.
My stomach dropped to the ground. My heart, still fractured down the middle, rebroke into two distinct parts. Mackenzie Marketing, where Michael had recently begun working, had suddenly, coincidentally stolen my ideas and created an advertising campaign for their own stupid company with it.
I felt Adam's hand on my back again and I spun around. He pulled his arms back. Seeing my expression, he stepped back and threw his arms in the air like someone who had a gun pointed in his direction.
"I'm going to kill him," was all I could say. I stomped past Adam down the street to where the truck was parked.
Adam caught up with me. He knew better than to try to touch me.