Vivian lets out a bitter scoff. “Dean of Arts and Humanities at Harvard. A few months ago, I came across an article somewhere about the youngest faculty member ever appointed to the position. I never said he wasn’t smart… or driven.”
“Okay,” I say. “Then the only remaining question is: are you ready to share all this with Tegan?”
Seventeen
Vivian
Dr. Magnanimous agrees to let me stew for a few days on what we discussed. Still, the conversation leaves me kind of raw. In my office, I try to concentrate on a deposition but fail miserably. When my phone rings, I welcome the distraction.
“Hello. This is Vivian Hessington.”
“Hi, Miss Hessington, this is Barbara, your Dating Specialist from Listen to Your Heart. Can you talk now?”
“Yes, I’m not with a client.”
“Great, because I have good news. The agency has found a new match for you. Would you be free this upcoming weekend?”
“Yes,” I confirm. Provided my daughter doesn’t get deeper into her teenage rebellion phase.
“Perfect. I’ll inform your match and let you know as soon as he picks a location and time.”
“Okay, fantastic. I’ll wait for your call.”
***
The date ends up being a Sunday brunch at Robert, a classic New York spot. The restaurant is nestled atop the Museum of Arts & Design and overlooks Columbus Circle and Central Park. I’ve only been once, but always wanted to come back. The view from the top is amazing.
I enter the iconic New York building through the glass revolving door, ignore the museum admission booth, and head straight for the elevator. There are no mirrors on the elevator walls, but I still try to check my reflection in the silver plates of the sliding doors as it carries me up to the ninth floor.
Even through the distortion, I’m happy with what I see. My dress is new—teal silk, knee-length, with peekaboo shoulders—and so are the suede magenta pumps. Plus, Tegan curled my hair and spent close to an hour meticulously following a “Perfect First Date Makeup” tutorial on YouTube. My daughter has assured me I’m channeling all the right “Taylor Swift at the 2015 Grammys” vibes.
When I reach the top floor, I give the hostess the alias Barbara gave me for my mystery man—Mr. Tolstoy. The woman’s eyes widen slightly at the uncommon-but-famous name and directs me to our table—a window one! True, we’re in the second row, but this place must get busy on Sundays, especially since I saw it mentioned in Eater New York recently in a piece about restaurants with stunning views. Maybe that’s where my date got the idea to have lunch here.
I’m admiring the beautiful views of Central Park when the hostess comes back to show a man to the table next door—the one closer to the windows. He thanks the woman, sits, and our eyes meet.
Mine narrow, while his widen.
“You,” I say. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m on a blind date. You?”
“Same.”
Lucas gives me a once over, taking his time, his gaze resting on my shoes longer than is polite. I wiggle my ankle pointedly.
His eyes snap back up, and he coughs. “Yeah, I can see that. You’re less… I mean more… err…”
Dr. Keller never finishes the phrase, changing the subject instead. “Should I ask for a different table?”
A quick scan of the restaurant reveals all the window tables are occupied—both rows.
I’m about to tell him “don’t bother,” when the hostess comes back once again, leading a pretty blonde to his table—she’s young, under thirty for sure.
Lucas stands up at once, and they greet with an awkward side hug. They exchange names—Luke, Sonia, nice to meet you—and he helps her sit down.
“Err,” Shrek coughs, visibly embarrassed. “Is this table okay, or would you prefer to move away from the windows—lots of light here,” he adds, eyeing one of the free tables in the back of the room.
Poor guy, he really doesn’t want to have his date while sitting next to me, and can I blame him?
“Oh, no,” Sonia says. “Light is so important for people’s wellbeing; otherwise, they decompose.”
I almost choke on a sip of water. I look up at Lucas; he’s staring at his date, frowning.
“Decompose?”
“Yeah, you know, when they get all mopey and sad.”
“You mean they get depressed?”
“Yes, I just told you. It’s why suicides spike in France when they have entire months without sunlight.”
“Err… Finland, perhaps?”
Sonia waves him off. “Yeah, like, Europe, whatever.” Then she grabs a glass, fills it with water, and drains the contents in a few long drags. “Sorry, I’m dehydrated. I went to my college’s five-year reunion last night and got a little carried away with the drinks.”
“Ehm, okay?” Dr. You’re-So-Losing-Our-Bet unfolds his napkin on his lap and gives me the evil, don’t-you-dare-mock-me-about-this eye. I make an innocent face. Luke ignores me and goes back to looking at his date. “Where did you go to college?”
“NYU. You?”
“Stanford, for my bachelor and master degrees,” he says. “And then Berkley for my doctoral. For my post-doc, I was a fellow at Michigan.”
Show off, I mutter to myself. But Sonia has an opposite reaction. She gasps loudly, asking, “Oh my gosh, what did you do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why did you wind up at Michigan?”
Uncertainly, Lucas replies, “Uh, for a research study on youth transitional age, but then I specialized in couples’ counseling.”
Sonia sits back in her chair. “And they sent you to prison for that?”
“Prison? No, what…?” The puzzled look on Shrek’s face turns to exasperation as his brain clicks. “I said fellow, not felon.”
“No, it’s okay,” Sonia reassures him. “I understand if you prefer not to talk about the time you spent in jail. It couldn’t have been easy.”
And I swear I have to turn my head not to laugh in his face. I stare at my watch and note that no matter how weird Lucas’ date is, at least she was on time. Mine is already ten minutes late. Oh crap, what if I got stood up? That’d be bad enough on its own, but to be blown off in
