Chapter 9
FRANKIE
It’s taken me nearly a week to figure out how to ask Sofia out again.
I know it has to be something epic, something sweet and timeless to sweep her off her feet.
I want to prove that I’m romantic, but also adventurous.
Since we live in the city, my options on that agenda are either the zoo or the park.
We could go to the zoo and get to know each other a little better while we look at the exhibits, but there’s something about a picnic date that screams romance. So that’s what I decide on.
After texting Sofia and getting her reply, I hurry downstairs to pack a lunch.
The cook is on break, but the lunch she prepared is still warm.
I carve off a few slices of the chicken and grab a container and lid for the coleslaw.
There are two other salads that look delicious, so I portion off a bit of each one into its own separate box.
I grab two water bottles and some napkins, two cookies, and two apples for dessert.
Now all I need is something to put all the food in. I rummage around underneath the kitchen island. I don’t know exactly what’s in there or what I hope to find. A picnic basket would be nice, but I would also settle for a small cooler. But the only thing I find is cookware.
“What are you looking for?” Marlena asks, surprising me more than she should.
“I didn’t know anyone was down here,” I mutter.
“Surprise,” Marlena jokes. “Are you doing something secret?”
“No,” I respond a little too quickly, trying to look casual. “I’m looking for a picnic basket.”
“A picnic basket,” Marlena repeats, a smile brightening her face.
Now, suddenly, I’m self-conscious. She thinks I’m a fool, or worse, some kind of pansy. Her husband, my father, would never arrange for a picnic lunch. He probably took her on dates to the shooting range or some other toxically masculine venue.
“You don’t have to make a big deal out of it,” I snap.
She looks hurt, and I can see that maybe I’ve made a mistake. Maybe she isn’t judging me for wanting to take Sofia out to the park. Maybe my father and I aren’t really that far apart when it comes to how we court women.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
Marlena sniffs. I suddenly realize that she’s about to cry. I rush to her side, putting a hand on her shoulder.
“Hey,” I soothe. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“No, I know,” she says, looking away. “I wasn’t making a big deal out of it.”
“No, it’s silly, right?” I say, pointing to all the food I’ve piled up on the counter. “I just need somewhere to put all this food.”
“You’re having a picnic?” Marlena asks with a sob.
I’m not sure how to get out of this. Whatever I said to make her upset seems to have something to do with the picnic, but I can’t figure out why. Is she remembering a particular time that she enjoyed? Or one that she hated? Is there some kind of picnic-related trauma I’m missing?
“Do you have…memories of a picnic?” I try, doing my best to address her concerns tactfully.
“Your father and I,” Marlena begins, placing a heavy hand on the counter as if the house’s gravity has just shifted. “We had a picnic in Italy.”
“Okay,” I say, encouraging her to tell me more.
“It was lovely,” she moans, putting her head down.
I have no idea what’s going on. If I’ve just stumbled onto a scenario where a picnic went horribly wrong, or whether there’s something she’s not telling me, it’s obvious that there’s more to our conversation than meets the eye.
After a moment, Marlena pops back up. She wipes tears from her eyes and gives me a brave smile. “I’m sorry. You didn’t need that.”
“No,” I assure her. “It’s fine. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” she asserts. “I’m just having one of those days.”
“Right,” I say, as if I have any clue what she’s talking about.
But then she puts her hand on her stomach, and it all becomes clear.
“Your baby,” I exclaim, putting two and two together.
“It’s the pregnancy hormones,” she tells me.
I exhale in relief. “Thank God. I mean, I’m sorry that you have to go through that, but I was thinking that there was some deep, dark picnic secret that you were about to reveal.”
Marlena laughs. “No. It was a lovely picnic. You should definitely take your friend on a picnic.”
I love the way she says the word, ‘friend.’ It’s like there’s an unspoken pact between us not to discuss my love life any further.
Marlena has to know that this isn’t a simple friend situation.
No matter how much you might enjoy spending time with a friend, it’s unlikely that you’ll go on a picnic with a casual acquaintance.
Picnics are for lovers. Everyone knows that.
Of course, Sofia and I aren’t lovers, but I hope we’re moving in that general direction.
Marlena’s letting me off the hook by steering clear of that whole discussion.
“So, do you know if we have a picnic basket?” I ask, now that we have all that sorted out.
“Upstairs in the attic, I think,” Marlena says.
“Great,” I declare, hurrying past her to mount the steps.
I just invited Sofia out spontaneously, and she said, ‘Yes.’ There’s no time to waste. I take a sharp left at the top of the stairs and open the door to the attic. I don’t come up here often, but it’s not that bad. My father’s staff keeps it pretty organized.
I find a picnic basket sitting on top of an old dresser with a bunch of dried flowers.
I grab it, hurry downstairs, and pack it up.
Marlena’s pouring herself a cup of tea. I wonder if every day is going to be quite so entertaining between now and the baby’s birth.
I hope not. I like Marlena a lot, but she caught me completely off guard with her rush of emotions.
I kiss her on the cheek and leave before things can get any weirder. As I’m passing through the front door, I notice a handful of our men hanging out on the porch. I recognize a few of them, but there are some unfamiliar faces.
One loiterer is my bodyguard. He stands up as I walk past. “Where are we off to, chief?”
“The park downtown,” I say, indicating my picnic basket.
The bodyguard doesn’t say anything else. He simply pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and follows me to the garage. He could have made fun of my picnic basket, but he’s too smart for that. I kind of like him. He doesn’t say much, but when he does, it’s usually friendly.
I climb into my car and drive off the property.
It takes about twenty minutes to get downtown, and when I park, I’m nervous.
I really like Sofia and I hope she likes me.
I try to assure myself that she does by rationalizing her responses.
She wouldn’t have agreed to meet me if she weren’t interested.
I need to stop second-guessing myself and just go with it.
I put on the parking brake and stare out the windshield for a long moment. This is going to be good, I tell myself. I’m going to have a great time.
The words ring just a little hollow. I hope I’ll have a great time.
I feel like I’m out on a limb, hoping that I’m making all the right moves, but not entirely sure.
The wheels have been set in motion, and there’s no turning back.
Not that I would want to, but I’m going to have to hold my breath and hope that the picnic thing impresses her.
Stepping out of the car, I stoop down to pop the trunk. Inside, there’s a blanket and the basket. I grab both and step out onto the lawn to search for a place to set up.
There are a few places right out in the open. I can see I’m not the only person who had this brilliant idea. There’s another couple sharing a blanket and a meal beneath a tree. I keep walking. I want to find somewhere scenic and private.
I follow a small trail down through a row of trees and discover a tiny stream running through the park. I can easily cross to the opposite side where there is a flat space just big enough for the picnic blanket.
I get to work making things perfect. I’ve even brought a bottle of wine in case that’s called for. I’ll have to tread carefully though; at our last date, Sofia didn’t drink very much. I decide I’m going to hang onto it, and only break it out if it comes up in conversation.
I place the picnic basket on one corner of the blanket and sit down to enjoy the view. After a few minutes, I wonder if I got here too early. Or maybe I’m too late. I don’t know which direction she’s coming from or how long it will take her to get here.
Just as I’m about to text her, I catch a glimpse of her through the trees. “Sofia!” I call out.
She turns to inspect the trailhead, smiling brightly when she catches sight of me.