I hung up the phone, closed my eyes, and screamed a giddy, girly scream.
“Holy shit. Go, Tess,” Cate said. “I mean, technically you should have told him you had plans already. Next time, at least mute the phone and pretend to consult your calendar. And never agree to day-of plans . . .”
“Cate!” I said, racing to my closet. “We don’t have time for a dating tutorial. I have to find something to wear.”
Cate grinned. “Padded bra, black thong, stilettos.”
“Fine on the padded bra and thong . . . But we’re going to a place called ‘Burger Joint.’ Not so sure the stilettos will work.”
Cate looked crestfallen as she followed me to my closet. “Burger Joint? God, I hope he’s not cheap. Sort of defeats the purpose of dating a doctor.”
“He’s still in school,” I said. “And I love burgers.”
“Well, if he’s as fine as you say he is ... he can pull it off.”
“He is,” I said. “He’s that fine.”
“Well, then,” Cate said, rifling through my clothes. “Let’s get down to business.”
Hours later, I was standing in the chilled lobby of the Parker Meridien wearing jeans, a black tank, and jeweled flip-flops, a casual look that would typically not meet with Cate’s approval, but one she okayed that night on account of the grungy venue and the last-minute invite.
Still hot from my muggy cab ride, I fanned myself with my hand, inhaling my new perfume, bought earlier that day with Nick in mind, determined not to commingle old scents with fresh starts. Then I found the entrance to the restaurant, took a deep breath, and dramatically parted the floor-to-ceiling drapes sequestering the Burger Joint from the lobby. And there he was, standing before me, even finer than I remembered, his beauty a high contrast to the yellow lighting, vinyl booths, and random newspaper clippings taped to the faux-wood paneled walls.
He stepped toward me, smiling, then looked down at my left hand and said, “No ring.”
“No ring,” I said, nothing more, remembering Cate’s admonition not to talk about Ryan.
“I like you even better this way,” he said, smiling.
I smiled back at him, rubbing my thumb over my naked ring finger, feeling an affirming rush that I had done the right thing. Then he asked me what I like on my burger and when I told him just ketchup, he nodded and pointed to the only free booth in the corner. “You might want to grab that for us. This place fills up fast.”
I followed his direction, taking a few steps over to the table, sliding into my seat while I kept my eyes on his back and tried to decide what I admired more about him—his take-charge attitude or the perfect fit of his faded jeans.
Minutes later, he joined me with two burgers wrapped in foil and a pitcher of beer. He poured two glasses, then raised his and said, “Here’s to the best burger you’ll ever have.”
I smiled and thought, Here’s to the best first date I’ll ever have.
Then his face grew serious as he said, “I’m glad you called . . . I didn’t think I was going to hear from you . . . I thought you’d go through with it.”
“Why’s that?” I asked, fleetingly disappointed that he hadn’t had more faith in me.
“Because most people do.”
I nodded, thinking of my brother, but deciding not to air my family laundry right out of the gate. It was one of Cate’s many rules—no “my parents got a divorce” or “my dad cheated on my mom” or other hints of dysfunctional-family talk. I ticked through the other rules—no asking about his exes, no excessive talk about grad school or work, show interest in him without interviewing him.
“I usually hate to be wrong,” Nick said—which he would later tease was my official warning of his biggest character flaw. “But in this case, I’m glad I was.”
Three hours of conversation, two pitchers of beer, and a shared brownie later, he led me to the Columbus Circle subway station, down the steps, and over to the turnstile where he inserted two tokens and motioned for me to go first.
“Where are we going?” I shouted over an approaching train, feeling tipsy from a good beer buzz.
“Nowhere,” he said, smiling. “We’re just going to ride the subway.”
And so we did, making our way onto an empty train, but still opting to stand, holding on to a metal pole together.
“Think it’s the same one?” he asked at one point.
“Same what?”
“Same car? Same pole?” he said, right before he leaned in for our first kiss.
“I think so,” I said, closing my eyes and feeling his lips against mine, soft and sure and amazing.
Later, I called Cate and gave her the report. She calculated the cost of the night, dubbing it a ridiculously cheap date, but still deeming it a success—a romantic home run.
“I think it’s a sign,” she whispered into the phone.
“Of what?” I asked, hoping that I had just kissed the man I would someday marry.
“Of hot sex to come,” Cate said, laughing.