Chapter Twenty-Seven

Seven Years Later

What am I doing here?I thought sitting in an elegant restaurant, the delicate stem of a wine glass between my fingers.

My profile on the dating app said that I loved wine, when in reality I would much prefer a simple sweet cocktail with an umbrella on top. But that was a small lie on the list of truths. My profile boasted that I loved driving and was proud of my 1969 Ford Mustang Boss 429. That was the car my Dad had left me. It sat covered at the house I had rented out for years, and that car was my most helpful remedy when I finally woke up from the dark, murky place I found myself in during my early twenties. After Jake and Alice.

I had just hit thirty. I had thought something would change in my daily life, some fundamental shift in me turning a year older. I'd be wiser, stronger, happier.

None of that happened.

I still was me. My happiest moments were behind the wheel of the Mustang, alone.

As soon as I started making money I poured all of it into the car restoration. And it became my most striking and exotic feature, my car. I was sure many men invited me on dates just to see the Mustang.

Yes, only men. That feature was set as the default on the profile when I first filled it in.

Straight. I left it as it was.

After that decision, I spent many mornings waking up in strangers" beds, their arms draped over my body. I felt nothing. Even though my profile said I wanted a steady relationship as time went on, a few handsome candidates noted that I rejected anything that turned remotely serious. Maybe I should have changed my profile afterward. Or deleted it altogether.

My phone held a few numbers of guys who would gladly spend the night with me. In the mornings we would dress silently and drive to our fancy jobs. Easy, comfortable.

This was the last chance, I promised myself. The last chance to find a real partner. I scratched my nose, considering whether I actually needed one. Thank God I lived in the twenty-first century. Thank God for the internet, and all the benefits it brought.

My dread over finding a job after university looked laughable in hindsight. But during that time I was afraid I would not wake up in the morning because my heart would stop during the night. It hurt like hell that year. Of course it would. My dad had died, then Jake, then those moving curtains—ignoring me. They brought a final blow. Alice was there, in that house. I knew it. And during the first nights, after everything happened, I thought that having a dagger pierce my heart would have felt like a soft caress compared to what I felt at the time.

I tried not to think of that time anymore. I didn't want to look past that fog that covered the memories and pain.

"Emily?"

I looked up at the man standing next to my table. He was much taller than I had imagined, and the photo on his profile didn't show the sparkling gentleness of his eyes. That was the first feature I noticed.

"I'm so sorry for being late, there was an accident on the road which stopped the traffic dead for half an hour. I wanted to get here first," he said, shaking my hand lightly and sitting across from me. His hand was big and smooth.

"Showing up first isn't always a good idea, it doesn't let you run away if needed," I said.

"Have you ever done it? Run away from a date?"

I thought for a second. "Sure, when the photo on their profile doesn't match the reality. One time a man used a photo of his brother, he later confessed to me in a message. And one clever guy photoshopped a photo of him twenty years ago. Those times I didn't get there first so I could escape. A few times I wasn't so lucky and cursed my punctuality afterward."

"Have you been on a lot of dates from the app?" The man asked.

"Yes," I said and sipped my wine. "But you will be the last."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Hm, sounds like a lame punchline, right?" I laughed. "I decided that it's time to end this dating app thing. Either way, if it works today or not, I'm deleting the app."

He leaned back and ran his hand through his short blond hair.

"Let's make it work," he said.

"That was a great punchline," I said and smiled as he bowed his head in a mock appreciation.

I had stopped having long discussions on the app before meeting the person after a few tremendous failures. When I realized that spending so much time typing messages was time and energy-draining, just to have to flee the date as soon as possible, I changed how I went about things. Now my strategy evolved and I was sure to meet in person as fast as possible.

But with Arthur, who sat across from me in that moment, it was different. His profile picture looked too good to be true, which had become a warning sign. But after a few pleasantries, I suggested we meet. By the time I decided we should meet though, he had left for a business trip to Japan, so I had been ready to say goodbye to the pretty image. He had somehow managed to keep me intrigued despite the great distance separating us. He actually sent me daily updates from Japan and as hard as I had tried not to spend too much time on my phone, Arthur roped me in by talking about one thing I actually cared about a lot. Books.

He was an avid reader, and his reading list was almost identical to mine. It was actually pleasant when I lazed around in the evening and discussed evolutionary trends from the latest non-fiction hit he read on the plane, which I had devoured two weeks before him.

All I had to do was wait for his weird side to reveal itself, because the man in front of me was too good to be true.

He had a deep voice, which sounded like the pleasant rumble of faraway thunder. With a heavy British accent, his vowels rolled in unfamiliar ways. He didn't dress fancy, simple jeans and a crisp white shirt. Arthur definitely worked out, because even in the dim light of the restaurant I could see his well-formed biceps. A typical macho man who spent hours in the gym and lived with his mom, that could be true of him. I would find out. But so far he was smart and sharp as a razor, at least in his messages, and when I saw him scratching his chin, short stubble covering it, a watch showed everything I needed to know.

He was rich.

It was always like that in the Valley, difficult to judge someone on their image. A person who was dressed in comfortable worn shoes and old jeans could own millions in stocks. And a shiny exterior often covered nothing but a desperate man in search of his sponsor, be it a woman or man. I met all kinds, and was tired of all of them, wishing to be alone from the second any of them opened their mouth.

Life had made me hard, cold, and calculating. The belief in beauty and warmth had died on the driveway of a suburban town years ago. All that was left was divided in exactly three ways: my job, Miranda and Brian, and my car.

"So, what's your story with the dating app?" I asked, leaning back. "Please don't tell me any soul mate search stories."

He laughed, and it was a pleasant sound. The sound suited him—matched his exterior.

"Anyone still do that?" he asked.

I nodded. "Some actually believe they can find love on a dating app."

"And you don't?"

"I haven't been searching for it, so I've mostly found what I needed. You're good at dodging questions," I said.

"Sorry, it"s part of my job." He smiled. "Anyway, I haven't had a lot of dates, not many proved to be interesting to text with. My strategy is the opposite of yours. I enjoy texting people and getting to know them first before a date. If a woman sticks with the texts, and only a few did, it usually proves to be a good match for a few dates."

"You set traps in text," I said.

He lifted his brow. "These were not traps, more like challenges. You did well by the way."

"I'm honored," I said mockingly. "So, is that how you get your entertainment?"

"Yeah, it is actually. Does it come across as rude?"

I thought about it for a moment. "They are just texts," I said. "And if you want to make your own game by building levels and seeing if the player reaches the end, that's fine I guess. As long as you don't abuse anyone."

"Never," he said, looking directly at me. "Right, so I play games with real people on my phone when I travel, and I travel a lot. What are your games?"

"My life is a game," I said.

Arthur held my gaze, his eyes were a greyish blue.

"You don't believe that," he said, smiling.

"Maybe."

It all sounded like a real-life game to me. The natural continuation of our texts, which sometimes were lengthy discussions of questions of life. It sometimes felt like our back and forth was made of clever chess moves.

A waiter appeared by our side and took our orders. I wanted a salad, while Arthur ordered a rare steak.

When the waiter disappeared, Arthur leaned in closer to me and a soft trace of cedar wood and dark spices reached me, mixed with something I hadn't smelled in a while.

"You smoke?" I asked.

"Yes."

It was such an outdated habit, costly, and so harmful. I never saw anyone smoking anymore. Yes, lots of vapes and electronic cigarettes, but no real smoking. I had forgotten what it was like when someone actually held a cigarette in their hand.

"Why?"

"I like it. But I'm giving it up in two years. I know the consequences, so I allowed myself time "til I'm thirty-nine. Then, it must stop," he said.

I nodded.

"So, tell me what you do. I know what your interests are, what you like, even a hint of your life views, but tell me about your daily life," Arthur said. "All your texts were abstract, philosophical, and quizzical."

I pulled my shoulders back, straightened my spine, and tucked a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"Read me," I said. "Tell me what you see."

"Wow, you are a player too."

I laughed. "Cheesy."

"I know," his eyes sparkled as he put his elbows on the table, scanning me up and down.

"Damn, you're good. You could be anyone. Neurosurgeon, teacher, waiter, hooker, CEO," he said. "You don't wear any jewelry, I can't see your purse or phone to judge. Your nails are neatly trimmed, but with no polish. Your hair shines—could be from an expensive hair salon or it could be natural. Minimal make-up, linen shirt and jeans. And the most striking feature where I should be able to read any information is the eyes, and I just can't read them. Nothing to tell me."

"Unlike your watch," I said.

He smiled. "Not a teacher if you know this kind of thing," he said and shook his wrist. "I could have borrowed it."

"You are too casual with it, not afraid to scratch," I said.

"This is proving to be the most interesting evening I've had in years," he said.

"Oh, it's just that we have one thing in common."

He raised his eyebrow.

"We are bored."

Arthur held my gaze for a long moment. It was unusual to see a reflection of myself in another person. The moment broke when the waiter brought our food.

It was one of those places where you paid a colossal sum of money for the right to be there, not for the food. And the bigger the price tag on the item, the smaller the portion would be. My salad was lost on a massive plate, while Arthur's steak was the size of a ring box.

"Did they feed the cow with gold? Why do I need glasses to actually see what I'm eating?" he asked.

I laughed. "You suggested the place."

"Yeah, a suggestion from colleagues. Next time I should read reviews."

My plate was empty in a few seconds. And not because I was a fast eater.

I leaned back. "I could kill for a pizza now," I said.

Arthur was finishing off his minuscule steak.

"Let's get out of here," he said, turning to a passing waiter and asking for the bill.

When it landed in his hands, I turned to my purse which was hanging on the back of my chair.

Arthur smiled like the Cheshire Cat.

"What?" I asked. "Let me pay my share."

He just waved his hand. "Not a teacher for sure."

Damn, the purse. I didn't spend a lot of money on clothes or accessories, but if I estimated, my purse cost the monthly salary of the waiter who rushed to take the money from Arthur. It was a gift from Miranda and Brian on my thirties birthday.

"It was a gift," I said.

He just winked at me and, it was such a boyish thing on his very adult face, I laughed.

"That's a first; you have a nice laugh," he said.

"More cheesy compliments?"

"Later," he said, standing up.

It was a warm evening outside, a soft breeze playing with my hair. I unlocked my phone and opened a taxi app.

"I know a great pizza place," I said.

"Lead the way."

The app showed an available car right around the corner and, a few minutes later, we climbed in. It was a short ride to a plaza with closed for the night businesses. Only one sign was blinking: Mario's.

I watched Arthur closely as he stood below the sign, the red colors of it reflecting on his face. There was one plastic table and chairs outside the place.

"This is …"

"Different?" I finished, smiling. "Let's go, it's the best pizza in the world."

I went in and Mario, an old Italian man, turned to me. He was mid-sentence saying that they were closing, but when he saw me, he smiled.

"Hello, Emily, it's great to see you," he said with a heavy accent.

"Hi, Mario."

"The usual?"

I nodded. "We'll sit outside."

"Suit yourself. You just caught me leaving." Mario looked at Arthur. "Would you like to choose a pizza from the menu?"

"I'll have the same as Emily."

Mario just laughed, a deep rolling sound, and gestured for us to take a seat.

I walked outside; the crickets were boisterous there. An empty parking lot was a buffer between us and the loud road.

Arthur moved the chair back for me, and I sat. I loved that spot, and usually, I went there by myself. Just late enough to catch Mario leaving. He always served me pizza in a box, with a paper plate and a roll of napkins. My usual companion was my Mustang, which I parked right by the table.

"There was no table here a year ago, but I think Mario took pity on me eating standing with a pizza on the bonnet of my car. He put a table here a few months after I started coming," I said.

"This is an unusual place for a date," Arthur said, looking around.

"Sorry, but the place you suggested was awful. I needed to take matters into my own hands."

He laughed.

"Okay, now we are nice and settled, I am ready for an answer," Arthur said.

I looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Who are you, Emily?"

"That's a question I ask myself every day."

He didn't say anything, just watched me.

"I'm a product owner of a book app which recently got sold to one of the biggest software companies, and they are merging us with an existing app which didn't do well before. The merging is a coding nightmare, and now I am overseeing it."

Arthur nodded.

"I used to be a software developer, started freelancing in university, then I was invited to work in an office. And when we started developing a new set of apps, I took an active role in pitching ideas, so here I am," I said.

"Is this merging now a good thing?"

"Yes, after the merge the app would be in a default set of apps which are installed on phones from the beginning."

Arthur whistled.

The door opened and Mario appeared with two paper cups of orange liquid, ice bobbing inside. The one he placed in front of me had a pink umbrella.

"My niece from Naples said it's a big hit now," Mario said. "They mix Aperol with soda water and Prosecco. And since you're not driving today ..."

I took a sip. "It's perfect, Mario, thank you."

I had drunk Aperol Spritz before, but the mix Mario made was strong, a generous mix with much less soda water was probably a good idea. The umbrella was a perfect addition.

Mario smiled. "Are you keeping this one?"

Arthur coughed, as he was about to drink his cocktail.

"I'm not sure yet," I said.

Mario shrugged, completely ignoring Arthur.

"Emily, you need more joy in your life," Mario said, his accent strong.

"Do I look like joy?" Arthur asked.

Finally, Mario looked at him, his gaze slowly going up and down and up again. He shrugged.

"She's brought better specimens here before," Mario said and shrugged, walking away.

"I'm not sure what should insult me more, that I'm not the first one you've brought here or that they looked better," Arthur said.

"Yeah, well, Mario and I have different tastes," I said. "And I don't know what's the problem with modern men always taking girls to places that starve them."

"I think it turned out pretty well since I'm here now."

"Wait "til you try the pizza."

On cue, Mario opened the door and placed two pizza boxes, two paper plates, and some napkins in front of us.

"Thank you, Mario."

He beamed at me and walked back inside but he stopped right in front of the door and pointed at Arthur. Mario winked and gave a thumbs up. I sighed.

Arthur opened the first box.

"Let's see your choice of pizza," he said, and after looking closely at the steaming dish in front of him, "suits you."

It was my favorite. A generous layer of red sauce on top of the dough, slices of prosciutto, baby arugula, halves of cherry tomatoes, and shredded mozzarella. I ignored the connection to the past of this particular mix.

I didn't wait for him as I peeled a slice away, a savory smell coming from it, and dug in.

"Oh, that's good," I said.

I closed my eyes as the rich flavor enveloped my senses.

Arthur took his slice, and bit a generous piece off. I watched him.

"So?"

"You're right," he said, taking another bite. "I'm silently singing odes to Mario in my head."

Mario dimmed down the light inside and brought us a bill and a huge candle, which he placed in the middle of the table.

He lit it. And when I moved for the bill, Arthur snatched it away.

I took another sip of my cocktail and watched Mario taking the money, and moments later turning off the light inside and the sign. He locked the front door, waved to us, and disappeared into the darkness. There was a sound of an engine rumbling, and he was gone.

The candle gave us just enough light to see the food.

"What about you?" I asked. "Who are you, Arthur?"

"Unlike you, I know very well who I am. It has been years since the last time I surprised myself. Or anyone did." He paused. "Hey, disclaimer, one more cheesy line is coming. Ready?"

"Fire away."

"This evening is surprising. And as I said, I don't remember the last time anything surprising happened to me," Arthur said.

"Yep, cheesy."

But it wasn't. He said it not in a way to lure me with his words, he just stated the fact. He looked around, and a warm smile painted his face as he looked up to the dark sky.

"Anyway, I"m a financial consultant. Companies hire me to optimize expenses and gain more income. I help with investment and help foreign companies open branches in the US. And much more. In simple terms: I help them grow."

I nodded, chewing on my pizza.

"I work a lot, mostly twelve or fourteen hours a day. I'm focused on making more money, but I don't spend even a small part of what I earn. I got working in the industry and found myself surrounded by everything lavish, having a house full of designer items that I bought furnished." He leaned back in his chair and rubbed the back of his neck. "But my favorite thing in all that wealth is an ancient leather chair I found at a flea market back when I was a student. I was so proud of having it. I imagined it belonged to a man who made serious things of his life. Now I think, was he like me? Achieving everything but missing something important in life."

Arthur looked up again.

"I don't remember the last time I looked at the sky," he said quietly. "I wish I believed in something otherworldly, something spiritual, but, to all the questions I have ever had, I found answers in science. I'm not even that curious anymore."

I looked up at the sky. There were no stars, the lights from the city dimming them. A helicopter zoomed by and the lights of a plane flickered in the distance.

"You can't even see the sky here," I said.

He laughed softly, his face still tilted up.

"I know a place where the sky shines in the night, where there are so many stars they are like a shimmering veil over the infinite darkness. I can take you there," I said.

"I'd love that," he whispered.

And we sat in comfortable silence, the sounds of the city just a few feet away, the sky, which was not the sky, looking down at us.