Chapter Two #3
Two Gatherers employees dressed in all black walk quickly through the dining room, wearing full masks and gloves, and exit the restaurant just as fast. They each take an arm of the man, and then all three promptly disappear down the sidewalk.
I turn back to face Maisie. “That was weird.”
She shrugs a shoulder. “Must’ve answered the diarrhea question wrong.”
The laugh exits me with such force, it’s startling. A few other patrons glare at me in reproach, but Maisie shares a private smile with me, and I find I don’t mind the others’ stares quite as much.
“So, what are the odds of this GI-27 virus hitting us like the last pandemic did?” I kick myself for asking as her smile melts away. “I don’t want to know, do I?”
She shakes her head. “But you eat pretty healthy, right? That appears to be a big risk factor for the virus.”
“I do. As unprocessed as possible. It’s really important to me.
” The words momentarily get stuck in my throat from the grief accumulating there, and also the frustration.
No matter how much time passes, or how inappropriate the context, grief can sneak up and throttle you, its fingers wrapping around your throat and making it impossible to breathe.
“Me, too,” Maisie says softly. “It was really important to my mom.” She seems to withdraw into her own sadness, conveniently missing mine.
When she returns to this moment, it’s sudden, like a face reappearing in the window.
At first, I’m scared she’ll ask more about my choice of diet, but instead she summons a flimsy smile, completely disconnected from the feelings still swirling loose in the blue sky of her eyes, and wields it like an axe, neatly severing the food conversation and moving us on by force.
I am incredibly grateful, and also struck by how similar our reactions were to the same impetus.
Did she also lose a loved one to colon cancer, and now food additives and thickeners and forever chemicals keep her up at night, too?
It makes my heart go out to her even more, and suddenly, I wish that this whole date was going differently for her.
That I was different, too. Charming and flirtatious, the kind of man she was hoping she’d meet instead of the broken one she did.
Our plates are nearly empty, the date’s energy winding down.
But I find myself not quite ready to go back to my sad, empty house, and the night’s still young.
There’s something about Maisie that makes me want to know more.
Her strange attire, her lack of pop culture knowledge, the grief that seems to catch up to her the same way it does to me.
She feels…different. From anyone I’ve ever met.
“Well. This has been nice,” Maisie says, her voice stiff again as though she senses the end of our date, too.
“It has,” I agree, surprising myself. “Maisie, can I ask you something?”
She blinks. “Um, sure.”
“Why now?”
“What do you mean?” she asks, her water glass lingering in front of her lips. She looks alarmed and a bit guilty, like she’s just gotten caught doing something naughty. The expression plucks something deep inside of me, making a low, resonant twang.
“Why go on a date, with me of all people, on the brink of this crazy pandemic?” I’m genuinely curious, and for some reason, hopeful. Like maybe her answer could change everything. “How did you know you were ready to?”
The peach heat returns to her cheeks as she seems to weigh how much of the truth she’s willing to give. I’m holding my breath for her answer, and I don’t even know why.
“I’ve fallen into a rut, I guess. It’s too easy to do the same thing, day in and day out.
Log on to work, exercise, read, and sleep, all on repeat.
It’s lonely, and I’m tired of being too afraid to live my life.
I want to travel for once, explore new places, meet new people.
” Her blush is nearly nuclear as she adds, “Learn new things.”
The way she said “things” sounded so suggestive, I’m about to ask what things when she reaches into one of her many cargo pockets and pulls out a slim navy-blue booklet. “This just came in the mail,” she says, the pride evident in her voice. “My first one.”
I reach for the new passport and flip through the empty pages waiting for Maisie’s adventures and smile wistfully before passing it back.
I can’t remember the last time I wanted to go anywhere, or worse, do anything.
And here’s Maisie, this hopeful person at the brink of a new life, wasting her time with someone who’s forgotten how to live.
“That’s great.” My throat tightens. “Do you have plans to travel soon?”
She sighs, then slips the virgin passport back into her pocket. “I had a trip to New York City booked for next week. If that went well, I was going to drive up to Canada. Maybe fly to Paris next. Just find a ticket and go, no getting nervous and backing out.”
“But the travel bans…” I trail off, understanding.
“The travel bans,” she agrees. “It’s not fair, this virus happening right after I finally got the nerve to live my life. When you messaged me to go out, though…” She pauses, her small, shy smile reappearing. “Well, that was an adventure I could still have, right?”
Could she? The idea of anyone looking at me with my stubbly jaw and unkempt professor hair that falls over my forehead in one big, defiant swoop no matter what I do and thinking “adventure!” makes me want to laugh in disbelief.
And yet, Maisie’s looking at me. Not with pity, like the women in my department, or concern, like my old friends.
Her eyes flit over every feature of my face as though she’s memorizing me, taking every bit of me in.
The idea of Maisie taking anything of mine in sends an arc of nervous, giddy lightning straight to my dick.
Whoa. I force myself not to glance down at the crotch of my pants. That was surprising.
“I was wondering,” she begins, that peach blush returning full force. “Would you want to—”
A loud gurgling sound from my left makes us both flinch as a woman leans over and vomits into her purse.
Maisie shoots to her feet, and I do, too, both of us instinctively reaching for the new masks the server left with the bill.
More than one face appears gray and mottled in this dining room as cries of distress fill the air.
The woman’s now alternating between apologizing and barfing, and more employees dressed in black appear from the back, ready to escort her out.
I throw down a handful of twenties and back away from the retching woman.
Others are rising all around us, the beginnings of a panic setting in.
Maisie’s eyes are huge and full of alarm, but then cool steel enters her gaze, as if she’s decided something.
“Let’s get out of here,” she says, breathless.
I barely have time to nod before she grabs me by the arm and hauls me out the door.