“Yes,” Meadow says. Then she leans in closer with a conspiratorial air. “I have to admit the agency tricked me into going on a date tonight, and they only managed because it’s an away game.”
I laugh. “Same here.”
A server arrives, asking if we’re ready to order drinks or if we’ve chosen our food already.
Meadow looks at me. “I’m having the steak, but if you need more time…”
“No,” I say. “I’ll have the steak as well.”
I take in her warm smile, add in our shared love of basketball and passion for the same foods, and imagine what a future with this woman would look like. A few years of passionate nights spent making love, Knicks games, and wild travels… Then we would settle down, have a couple of kids, and bring them to Madison Square Garden as soon as they were old enough to enjoy a game… It could work. Maybe taking the randomness out of the meeting process is not as unromantic as I originally thought, and the algorithm really knows best.
The server jots down our orders and turns to Meadow. “How would you like your steak done, ma’am?”
“Rare,” she says.
“Very well.” The server writes her preference and then asks me the same question. “And you, sir?”
“Medium rare, please.”
More scribbling. “And to drink?”
I look at Meadow. “Would you like to share a bottle of wine, or is a glass enough?”
She smiles, embarrassed. “A glass might be better; I’m such a lightweight.”
We both order a glass of red.
“Perfect,” the server says. “I’ll be right back with your drinks.”
Once we’re alone again, Meadow straightens the napkin on her legs, looking shy. “What did you answer to your ideal day question? I mean, if we’re even allowed to discuss our questionnaires?”
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
She smiles, those adorable dimples making another appearance, just as the server arrives with our wine glasses.
I take a sip and then answer her question. “I’ve always wanted to finish the Stairway to Heaven Trail up in Mountain Creek. Do you enjoy hiking?”
“Yeah, I love being in nature. I went into the woods around Westchester just the other weekend, up the old Buckout Road for the full moon.”
“Did you say full moon? As in, you went at night?”
“Yes, the forest has much stronger energy after dusk.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?”
“Not if you have the right spiritual guide. And there are also less prying eyes.”
Did she say spiritual guide? What did she mean? I let the comment slide, and ask, “Not a fan of the crowds, uh?”
“Large congregations can be powerful, but when I’m in the woods, Artemis is the only companion I need.”
“Err, your dog?” I ask hopefully.
“No, silly.” Meadow laughs me off. “The Greek goddess of the moon and female independence.”
Err… how do I respond to that? Thankfully, I’m saved the task by the server bringing our food.
He puts down her plate first, then mine, saying, “Let me know if I can do anything else for you. Ma’am, I hope your steak isn’t too bloody.”
With the sweetest smile, Meadow replies, “Oh, the bloodier the better. We wouldn’t want to waste such a powerful conduit.”
Alarm bells have been ringing in my brain for a while now, but I ignore yet another reference to the supernatural and try to keep the conversation going.
“How’s your steak?”
“Great, yours?”
“Yeah, wonderful.”
A small silence follows, and I fill it with the only topic I can think of, reciprocating her earlier question. “What did you put as your ideal day off?”
“Oh, every chance I get, I drive up to Sleepy Hollow.”
The alarm bells ring again.
“Mmm, Sleepy Hollow, like the movie? Is that a real place?”
“Yes, it’s a small town up north. Can you believe we live in such a big city, but are blessed by having such a mystical place not thirty miles away? Naturally, all the stories about a headless horseman are crap.”
“Right,” I agree with her, relief washing over me.
“But the village has been touched by magic.”
And the anxiety is back. I can’t ignore the facts anymore. Meadow picked a long-dead witch as her alias, she likes to hike in the woods alone at night, talks of blood as a powerful conduit, and spends her free time in a folkloric village allegedly touched by magic.
I’m not sure how to phrase my next question and opt for the most direct route. “Do you… err… believe in magic?”
Meadow looks me straight in the eyes with that open smile and cute dimples. “Of course I believe in magic. I’m a witch.”
My stomach sinks, and no matter how delicious the steak tastes, I suddenly lose all my appetite. Apparently, having a witch as an office neighbor wasn’t enough; now, I’ve also gotten myself on a date with one. A more superstitious man could think he’d been cursed.
After Meadow’s casual admission, I have no idea how to move the conversation forward. So, when my phone vibrates in my pocket, I take it out. Normally I wouldn’t do this on a date, but… given the circumstances…
“Sorry,” I say. “I’m a doctor, and this might be a patient needing my help.”
“Don’t worry,” Meadows says, still busy enjoying her bloody steak.
That’s when I realize we didn’t even get down to the part of telling each other what our jobs are. I mean, what do witches do for a living? Besides being divorce lawyers, of course.
Speaking of the devil, I check my messages, and see I have a string of incoming texts from Tegan.
SOS
Mom wants to take me to an AA meeting open to “endangered” teens
Can you get me out of it?
I shake my head as I reply. Medusa sure took the vodka incident to heart.
No can do, sorry
And I’m not saying it’s necessary, but it won’t do you any harm to go
No harm?
I’ll be scarred for life after this
I can’t suppress a smirk; the daughter has a dry sense of humor she hasn’t inherited from her mother. And, at the cost of sounding sanctimonious, I reply:
Wrong deeds have consequences
You must accept
