Page 8 of Alarm Fatigue

“I am not sure, but it looks like you are having some kind of shrimp pasta thing…is that wise, at night?”

“I meant you, but yes, you guessed correctly. And I do not know about its wisdom, but my meal is delicious, no offense.” He does not choose to take the bait on the likely defrosted shrimp from God knows where.

“None taken. Okay, so I have here a salad and some kebabs I made for my lunch yesterday.”

“No pita or anything?”

“Did you just text me so that you could have some bread? Sorry to disappoint but I do not bring bread to the hospital because I do not want to take the chance that I may not have time to pray after I eat.”

“Ah.”

A quiet settles over the room.

“Did you want to talk about anything else?” He is looking down again, but I can feel there is still something on his mind. Not that I am good at reading Mark cues. With that I realize this is probably the first meal we have shared since Eli died. Not counting the cafe meet-up of recent memory.

We make eye contact and hold it for what seems unnaturally long.

“Mark.” I might as well start us off. “Look, this does not have to be awkward between us. It was an accident. My best friend selected my dates for me, as she and my daughters have this misguided notion that they need to get me out of my house more. In short, it was an accident that we were set up together…it just does not have to be a big deal, right?”

He continues to look at me before he tucks back into his pasta.

“Sure thing.” He says, pulling his eyes back to his food.

Another pause stretches between us. “Rachel, the thing is…” And then, both our phones start to ping.

“Shit,” he says, shoveling as much food into his mouth as he can before making his way to the desktop computer. I pack up everything except for one kebab that I start to gnaw on as I throw everything else back into my bag.

And just like that, this moment between us, or whatever the hell that was, is gone. Whatever the thing is he is referring to will be tabled for now. Or maybe indefinitely, which is likely for the best.

Chapter 7

A gorgeous man is standing up as I follow the hostess between a maze of tables. Once I realize he is rising to greet me, my heart skips a beat and, while I am aware that there cannot possibly be any actual butterflies residing in my stomach, it certainly does feel that way. There are just those people, that are almost too good-looking, and I find it fairly unnerving to be in close proximity to one of them. Seeing them on my television is one thing but actually being at the same table, to have dinner with me, on purpose, is something else altogether.

The nervousness is primarily because he is a stranger to me as much as the fact that he is ridiculously handsome. Walking towards him, I am just tall enough in my heels to see he is wearing a kippah, which is notable. As I get close enough to take in his appearance properly, I notice a dusting of freckles across his cheeks, and that the wavy head of hair that initially appeared brown is actually a dark chestnut. His eyes are a light amber color and I see a kind and welcoming expression warm his features on my approach. He is about a head taller than I would be without heels, with broad shoulders and muscular arms clearly outlined beneath his impeccably tailored dark-grey suit. His arms are reminding me that a muscular build was, at one time, my kryptonite. When I arrive at my chair I am thankful I chose my favorite navy dress as it complements the wearing of a suit perfectly. With a three-quarter sleeve, fitted bodice and an A-line skirt that reaches to my mid-calf, it is flattering without explicitly demonstrating my curves. So far, he is literally setting the opposite tone to my last date, and I exhale a sigh of tension I did not realize I was holding.

As if that fiasco could even be called a date.

“Rachel?” He cocks his head to the side and takes me in as I fiddle with the handle of my clutch. Stop fidgeting, I chide myself, and I smile, trying to shut down the wave of inner voices that are my constant companions.

“Guilty,” I smile. He frowns so briefly, I almost miss it, and gestures to the chair opposite him at the table.

I sit, and smooth the skirt of my dress as he returns to his seat.

“Pleased to meet you Rachel, I am Seth.” We briefly nod at each other, rather than shaking hands. Also interesting. “I am so glad you agreed to meet at this restaurant—it is one of my favorites. Have you been here before? Do you need some time with the menu?”

I smile back at him. “I have been here and enjoyed what I’ve had before. I actually know exactly what I would like, so I am ready to order when you are.”

He nods to a hovering waiter and we order. I choose a princess filet with a side of roasted Brussels sprouts. It is not often that I will go out to a kosher steak house and I am more than happy to plan on enjoying this meal, whatever else happens. After we have placed our orders he turns his attention back to me.

“So, your friend, Amalie, I believe it was, confessed that she had set up your profile with your daughters in an attempt to ‘launch you back in the world’, I think were her words?” He smiles broadly while waiting for my confirmation nod, without any indication of judgement. “She also indicated that the element of surprise had not worked so well previously, so she reached out to let me know you had not yet seen my profile and know very little about me. She also assured me she is a high-powered attorney who may or may not have run a background check on me.” Thankfully, he is still smiling while relaying this.

I blush and look down. “Well, she is very protective.” Which is all I can think to say. The less said about my first “date,” the better.

He chuckles kindly. “So what would you like to know?”

As we talk, I learn that Seth Aaronson is a patent attorney, which almost seems the opposite of the type of law Amalie works in as a criminal prosecutor. He is a partner in his firm and has also been widowed several years, but without children. He is close to his siblings and what sounds to be an innumerable amount of nieces, nephews and their families. I learn they are mostly located in Baltimore, predominantly in Pikesville, and he returns there for most holidays. As he is talking I am trying to listen but he is so beautiful, I almost lose track of what he is saying several times.

As we continue to discuss our lives, I sense strongly from him a desire that I avoid any topics that are sensitive. He seems to want to herd me away from any self-deprecating talk or even just too much honesty, unless it is something positive. He is a complete gentleman, but it is as if he is telling me I am allowed to be imperfect, as long as he is not subjected to all the details. I tuck this away to discuss with Amalie later; I mean this could be completely normal behavior from a healthy individual on a first date. How would I know? Part of me struggles against the notion, however, that I am expected to be a better version of myself than I actually am. A warning bell chimes in the back of my mind as I know I am way too messy to keep that level of pretense up long-term. I may even be unable to keep up appearances for one night. We will see.

---