Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Matt
The traffic was horrible, not that that was a total surprise in this city. But he hated running late for anything; it was rude and it got things off on the wrong foot. Nobody likes to lead with apologizing, especially on a date.
Nessa's apartment building was in South Boston, in the old industrial district. It was only three stories high, a renovated former factory with huge windows and red brick walls. Matt pressed the call button next to her last name in the entry, and was rewarded with an immediate buzz and click of the door lock. The lobby was big, with exposed wooden beams and a huge modern oil painting on one wall. Stepping off the elevator on the second floor, he followed the arrow that corresponded to her unit number.
Dressing like a civilian always got his adrenaline up a little, like he was an undercover agent blending into foreign territory. Although he was wearing a dress shirt and a jacket, they weren't black and they weren't baggy. His tropical weight jacket was a subtle plaid weave in gray and blue tones, and it was cut close–if he coughed, it would ride up a little. His shirt and tie both picked up on the blue threads in the jacket fabric, and his khaki pants hit at the ankle. Needless to say, his minister’s stole was at home.
Even ministers are entitled to time off, he thought.
Tonight, he had a date with a smart, beautiful, and dead sexy woman who was interesting to talk to and fun to be with. A woman who was kind enough to take her grandmother to a play and professional enough to worry about the ethics of dating a colleague, however “client adjacent.” A woman who cared about animal welfare and was so incredibly responsive in… well, let's not be thinking about that right now.
Tonight, he was his own alter ego. His altar ego.
Walking quickly in an effort to make up time, he passed apartment 201, 203, 205… the door of 207 was cracked open. Knocking lightly, he opened it further and took a tentative step inside, and there to greet him was–her roommate?
He didn't know she had one, but of course, he hadn't been to her place before. Actually, it made sense that she couldn't afford to live in this building on her own.
Wow, she must have found her roommate online , was his next thought. They obviously have nothing in common.
By now, with all the different congregations he had spent time in, he was pretty good at sizing people up quickly. This woman looked like no fun at all; in fact, she looked uncomfortable in her own skin. She wore a pastel dress with long sleeves and a high collar, and what he thought might be orthopedic shoes. Her hair was pulled into a bun, and she wore almost no makeup that he could see, just a little light lipstick. There was something about her that struck him as familiar, but then he realized what it was: She looked like most of the ministers’ wives that he had ever met.
And she was staring at him with something close to horror.
"Matt?"
"Yes, hi, is Nessa here?"
"That's not funny!" Now she looked like she might cry.
"I'm sorry, I… so, is Nessa..?" He looked around nervously.
"I am Nessa! What are you wearing? "
Adrenaline shot through him, the edges of her face blurring slightly. "Who – you — what are you wearing?"
"The appropriate thing for dinner with a minister!"
"Maybe a Quiverful pastor!” He shook his head as he started to laugh.
"You look like–well, not like a minister, that's for sure. A sports announcer, maybe?"
"Ouch. Is the jacket that tight?"
Now she was starting to laugh, too.
"So this isn't what you were expecting? I can go change into my real clothes?"
"Actually…" he checked his watch, "...ah, no? I'm really sorry, the traffic was worse than I expected. We need to get going now if we're going to make our reservation."
That wasn't the answer she was expecting; she'd already taken a step in the direction of her bedroom.
"You mean, I have to go to dinner in this ?"
"Isn't that what you were planning to wear in the first place?"
"Yes, but…" Her face fell, and once again, he was pretty sure he could see tears starting.
Good job, Draper, you made her cry twice before you even got out the door.
"Nessa, you look beautiful in anything." Or nothing , he thought, but wisely refrained from saying. "Seriously. Just because I didn't recognize you doesn't mean you don't look great, it just means you look really different." His powers of persuasion were beginning to be taxed. "I was running late in the first place–and I'm really sorry about that–but now we have twenty minutes to get to the restaurant and it's twenty-five minutes away, and…"
"Just the shoes?" she asked, half negotiating and half pleading.
He looked at her feet and laughed. "Deal. Just the shoes."
Disappearing quickly, she was back in under a minute in a pair of strappy ivory heels; her hair was down now, soft and loose around her shoulders, and she'd untied the collar of the dress and left it open at her throat. Long drop earrings replaced the tiny pearl studs. With just those few small changes, her own personality began to shine through.
"Ready?" she asked, smiling.
"This is a great building," he commented as they walked out through the lobby. "How long have you lived here?"
"Since they converted it to apartments, about two years. I have a deal with the developer: I post photos, like a sunset or a party on the roof deck, or my friends coming in or out, or maybe some food in my kitchen, and they give me a break on the rent. Means I don’t have to have a roommate to afford it."
"Nice! I get workout stuff sometimes, like weight-lifting gloves, products like that. I got a case of protein powder once, but I felt kind of weird about promoting something that kids would ingest, so that didn't go anywhere. I should do more with it–the more money I can bring in, the more people I can help. But it can be a fine line for me. If it looks like I'm promoting my own brand too much, or advertising stuff I don't believe in or don't really use, that would be a disaster."
"No videos of you making coffee in your kitchen with beans roasted in Antarctica, or using some special filter made from dried apple slices?"
"Nope," he laughed, "and my building manager would be more likely to pay me not to post any photos of my apartment, so that's not going to work, either."
"I like a challenge," she mused. "There's got to be a way to do this."
"To ethically monetize ministry through a cult of personality? It's been tried for centuries, but it doesn't typically end well. I don't want to discourage you, though–if you come up with something, let me know."
"I'm on it."
When Matt turned the car onto South Street, he glanced at her to see if she had figured out where dinner would take place. They were driving through Boston's Chinatown district now, and Asian shops, markets, and restaurants of every description lined the streets. When he made a right onto East Street, though, she figured it out and began to laugh.
"The silent auction? The bid that you sniped–omakase for two at O Ya–really?"
"It's only fair, right?"
"I have always wanted to eat at O Ya! That was why I wanted to win that gift certificate so much–there's no way I could ever afford this place! Matt, thank you!"
"I couldn't afford it either, if it hadn't been an overlooked auction item. Anyway, wait till you taste the food to thank me," he said, but her excitement was infectious and he was pleased.
"I read that Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively had their first date here," she informed him.
"And now we are."
Raising one eyebrow, she gave him a questioning look, and he went on. "Okay, I am declaring this our first date. Tonight, May 25, is our official first date. The fundraiser is where we met, that's all. The wedding was a work event, obviously, not a date."
"And the play was just running into each other, total coincidence, because I am not letting my grandmother take credit for any of this. I would never hear the end of it."
"Our grandmothers are very much alike in that regard. I see what you mean."
Once inside the restaurant, Nessa immediately began looking around intently as Matt checked in with the host.
"What do you think?" she asked, once they were seated and the server had put down two little ceramic cups and filled them with cold unfiltered sake. "Should we both be in the shot? Usually I just show part of myself, not my whole face–you could come over to this side of the table and we could have, like, your shoulder behind me, and the wooden wall behind us? I definitely want to post about being here, but since we're not supposed to be together…" Her phone lay on the table between them.
"Oh, ah, no–I can't really be in that. Definitely not here . Do you think we could, you know, just be us tonight and not post about it?"
Blinking, she whispered, "Is it the way I look? I'm so sorry–we thought I should dress for your minister persona, not your influencer persona, but obviously we got it wrong. I can see why you wouldn't want to be seen with me on social media. I mean, obviously, we have to curate this stuff, right?"
"Nessa, no. Gosh, there's a lot to unpack there…" Taking a deep breath, he told her, "There is nothing you could wear to make me not want to be seen with you–you could wear Mickey Mouse ears and I would be the proudest guy in the world to be with you and have everyone see it, however many million followers we have between us. And all the rest of the people, too, the non-followers!"
Her eyes searched his face as if she were trying to gauge his sincerity, and he grabbed her hand in one of his.
“It's important for you to understand that I don't have a 'minister persona.' That's who I am. The videos, they're not about me being cool. They're about helping kids with goal setting and self-image, and the importance of a strong, healthy body. I don't know if you've ever watched them"–a slight pink flush bloomed on her cheeks and she glanced away–"but I don't just use expensive gym equipment that the kids would have no access to. I show how to get good results with no money. So you kind of got it backward: It's not that I don't think you look good enough to be seen with. It's that it wouldn't look good for me to advertise being at a trendy, expensive restaurant. You and I know that tonight's a special deal, but that wouldn't be obvious and it would undermine my message."
"I get it," she said quietly. "Of course I get that. I just didn't think it through."
The server returned with small hot towels for their hands, which they used and replaced on the tray she held out.
"So who's 'we'?" he asked. "You said, 'we thought' when you were talking about your dress."
"Oh, that was Liv! She's one of my–I guess she's my closest friend."
"Tell me. I'd like to hear about your best friend."
"Oh, she's awesome! She's a social worker at DCF. She keeps me sane."
"What do you mean?"
The miso soup arrived and they picked up their white porcelain spoons.
"Sometimes, in the wedding business, you can lose touch with reality a little bit. You go to a lot of high-end weddings, you must know what I mean.”
His eyebrows went up. “I’m about to book an event in the Seychelles.”
“Ooo. Let them know about Wedding Protectors. Maybe we could have the same client.”
“I don’t mix business with pleasure.”
“I – I didn’t mean it that way! I’m not trying to use you – use our relationship – to get business?” The look on her face was pure mortification.
“I wasn’t implying you were. At all.”
“Good! Because I really like you. I would never want you to think I’m something I’m not.”
He looked at her outfit and laughed.
“Liv helped me,” Nessa confessed. “And she normally keeps me grounded. Things in Wedding World can start to seem important–like, life-and-death important–that really aren't. Like, I don't know, the thread count of napkins. Or the color of the valet guys' uniforms. The air freshener in the restrooms, is it lemon or lavender, and if it's lavender, is it too lavender?"
Matt smiled skeptically. "I don't see much of that, or maybe they cover it up for the minister."
"It's true. Brides cry, people get fired. But Liv works in a different world. In her world, people cry because their kid relapses, or they get evicted and have to go to a shelter, or… you know what I mean." He nodded. "She keeps me grounded. And I make her laugh, I think."
"It must be great to have somebody you can talk to like that. I have Marcus–you know, my old roommate that you thought was me–but he's in Chicago and he's married and busy. There's a guy at my gym, Vince, and sometimes we get a beer and talk. Not about church stuff, but people. Sometimes. No names, of course. But mostly we just talk about working out."
Then the food started to come, small plate after small plate, and they were absorbed in the explanations of what they were eating and of course, in the nuances and revelations of taste. Finally, at the end of the meal, Japanese strawberries, cooked into jelly, whipped into mousse, and reshaped into strawberries, were set down before them.
"They took this perfect little fruit and improved it," Nessa marveled.
"Excuse me," said a young man standing behind Matt's chair, interrupting them. "I'm really sorry to bother you, but are you–this is gonna sound weird, but aren't you God's Gift? From TikTok?"
Matt looked mildly embarrassed.
"Ah, yes." Pushing his chair back, he stood up and offered his hand, and now it was the young guy who looked embarrassed.
"I hate to ask you this, but is there any chance I could get a quick selfie with you? The guys at the gym, they won't believe this." With a shy glance at Nessa, he added, "I'm sorry to interrupt," and she smiled at him.
"Sure, of course." Matt leaned in and the selfie was taken. Diners at the tables around them looked on, mildly curious.
"Thanks, man," the guy said. "Last year, I wanted to start working out but I didn't know anything about it, and I just didn't think I could do it, you know? I didn't think I'd see any results. But your videos started to come up in my feed, and the way you talk about it made me think maybe I could. Now I'm down twenty pounds and I'm benching my old weight. If it weren't for you, I'd still be sitting on the couch eating chips and drinking beer. So, yeah, thanks."
And off he went, back to his table. Nessa craned her neck to watch him as he sat down with an older couple and a young woman. Matt was busy taking care of the check.
"That's either his sister or his girlfriend," she told him, "and if she's his girlfriend, the workouts were totally worth it."
"I will never get used to that," he said sheepishly. "It doesn't happen very often, believe me. And after I told you I didn't want any selfies here… sorry."
"Don't be silly, that was very sweet. You changed his life, you know."
"No, I just helped him see how he could change his own life. Big difference. But I hope he doesn't post it."
"He said he just wanted to show his friends."
"Ready to go?"
"Not really–I mean, I couldn't eat another bite but I don't want it to be over! Matt, this was amazing, I had such a wonderful time. Thank you."
"Me, too. Thank you for saying yes, and for the whole idea."
"This was your idea, not mine, remember? I said no about six times!"
"No, I mean this place was your idea. I saw you standing by the bid sheet looking nervous, and I wanted to talk to you, so I wrote my name under yours. Next thing I knew, I'd won a bargain on a very expensive dinner for two at a place I'd never heard of before."
All she could do was laugh. "You had me fooled."
"Don't get me wrong, it's not that I can't find you a great meal. If you want really good wood-fired pizza, or a nice, thick burger with onion rings–anywhere in New England–I know exactly where to go. Real clam chowder, not the tourist kind. Homemade ice cream. That's been one benefit of working in a different place every few months."
"What if I were in the mood for a really spectacular cup of coffee? Would you know where I could find that?"
A beat passed in silence.
"I think I could suggest a place with coffee so good, it just might change your life."
"This seems to be your night for changing lives. But let's go back to my place. We'll see what you can do with a Chemex, tap water, and a two-month-old bag of Dunkin' grounds."
"Ooooh…" A look of profound disappointment crossed his face. "Deal breaker."
"Seriously?"
"No. There's nothing that could break this deal."