Thank You for Listening(79)
“Mom!” Sewanee’s voice was overloud in the quiet garden. She course-corrected. “That’s very thoughtful, but Nick just got here and I’m sure Stu–”
“Leave it to me, Swanners.” Stu turned to Nick. “Rest up, buddy boy, this isn’t a dinner, it’s an experience. We went there the last time the ship came through Venice and–”
“Let them go in blind, Stu,” Marilyn interrupted, “the way we did the first time.”
“You’re right, you’re right.” Stu nodded, but had to add, “I’ll just say this: wunderkind chef, twenty-eight. Michelin star. On an island. And the entire place . . . at a Marriott. A Marriott! Can you believe it?” He turned to Marilyn. “Okay, I’m done.”
Nick glanced sheepishly at Sewanee. “That’s so kind, really, thank you so much, but I’m not sure–”
Marilyn patted his hand. “The boat leaves at seven from the St. Mark’s dock. We’ll meet you there.” She brooked no argument. She turned to her daughter and kissed her cheek. “It’ll be fun! Ciao!” And she and Stu hurried away down the path.
Nick and Sewanee stood in silence for a moment. When she finally opened her mouth, Nick handed her his phone. “Press record.”
“What?”
“Frame me up.” He stepped away, turned back around, faced her. “Is it recording?”
No idea what was happening, Sewanee pressed the big red button on his phone’s screen and said, “Uh, yeah?”
Nick dropped to his knees and, after a moment, bent over. He laid fully out, arms forward, in child’s pose.
“What the hell–”
“I’m not worthy!” he yelled into the pavers. “Have mercy!”
“Oh my God, Nick!”
He began crawling forward. “I will kiss your feet now!”
Sewanee jumped backward. “You most certainly will not, what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“I’m sorry!” Still yelling. “Do you accept my apology?!”
“Get. Up.”
He explained, at normal volume, “I can’t get up until you accept my apology.”
“What?”
“I promised Mark,” he mumbled into the ground. “He needs video proof.”
In spite of herself, Sewanee laughed. She flipped the phone around and said into the camera, “I forgive him. Okay? You sadist. Jesus.” She turned the camera off. “He’s such an asshole. Please, just get up.”
Nick sat back on his knees, but he didn’t stand. He gazed up at her. “I am sorry. I should have seen how upset you were. I should have seen that side of it. But in the moment, I found it funny as all hell, and now I see it’s not funny, not funny at all, you were right–”
“No, you were right,” Sewanee shrugged, “it is funny as all hell.”
Nick dropped his head back, closed his eyes, groaned, “Oh, thank Jaysus, I haven’t been able to stop laughing.” He met her gaze again. “Still. Please understand, I never meant to–”
She held up a hand. “Can we just . . . this is such an unnecessarily elaborate way to get me to finish the series.”
Nick’s voice was strong, tight, all joking gone. “Feck the series. I’m not here because of the series. You’ll finish it or you won’t. I couldn’t care less.”
She would finish the series. She was a professional. That was never in question, even if she’d given Jason the opposite impression. She’d only needed time. But the fact he hadn’t come for business softened her a bit and compelled her to say, “Of course I’ll finish the series.”
“Well. I guess I’ll be going, then.” But he didn’t move.
She huffed a small laugh. “What are you doing here? And will you please get up?”
He stood, brushed off his knees. “We never had our date.”
“You flew to Italy for a date?”
He grinned. “Well, I’m the ’round-the-bend guy.”
“Are you?”
His grin wavered. “No, not really. I used to be. I want to be again.” He swallowed. “I don’t want to be afraid of oysters anymore, so I got on a plane.”
At his honesty, Sewanee looked at her feet. “I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry I left. The other night, but also the country. I was just . . . you know.” She brought a flat hand up parallel to her jaw. At capacity.
“Yeah, well, it was a lot. For all four of us.” His attempt at levity made her smile and he matched it. “So you’re not angry?” He sounded hopeful.
She had to think about that. Was she? She was a lot of things, but was she mad? “No. Not at you. Not anymore.”
The Italian moon was full in his eyes when his tone shifted and he said, “You’re so beautiful.”
“Nick–”
He cringed. “Sorry. Right, we have to talk first. I’ll throw myself at your feet later.”
She held up a hand again. “No. No feet-throwing. Please.” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Let’s go sit in the lobby, it’s chilly.”
“You sure? I don’t want to pressure you–”
“Oh, now you’re worried about boundaries? Go.” It felt so good to tease him, to remember that, all the confusion and convolution aside, they actually enjoyed each other. They always had, each iteration, each interaction.