Thank You for Listening(92)
“No, man, I know. I just can’t think of a good–”
“Because regret haunts you for the rest of your life,” Sewanee chimed in from the cheap seats. She hadn’t intended to say anything, but as soon as she felt the answer it was out of her mouth. She caught Marilyn’s eye. Her mother smiled sadly at her. “It’s like a ghost that refuses to leave your house.”
Stu bugged his eyes. “Why’s it gotta leave? What, you think you can get through life avoiding regret? Avoiding failure?” He laughed. “Spoiler alert: life is regret, life is failure. But like that ghost, you learn to live with it. Because failure makes success matter.”
Stu threw his hands up, out, encompassing the whole restaurant. “This kid, this twenty-eight-year-old chef with a Michelin star. You think someone just stuck it on him, like they used to do in grade school?” He gestured at his now-empty plate. “You think he made this, whatever-it-is, foam-cloud-thing, perfectly the first time? The tenth time? This is a plate of failure. Now, I’m not saying we’ll all get a Michelin star if we just persevere, rah-rah-rah. More often than not, things don’t work out. Speaking for myself, I flat-out failed way more than I succeeded.”
“But you were successful.”
“At times.”
“Overall,” Nick argued.
Stu shook his head. “But life’s not a straight line, senator. You go up, you get smacked down, you get up, you get knocked down. I put in forty-seven years with Nike, went from shoemaker to senior VP of yaddayaddayadda. And truthfully I was almost fired as many times as I was promoted.” Stu took a moment to think and drink before leaning into Nick. “I’m gonna be the old guy here and give you some blunt advice you didn’t ask for: Take the risk. Fail.” Stu turned to Sewanee. “And let regret come along for the ride.” He held up a finger. “A passenger, not the driver.” He sat back. “I’ve seen too many people get into midlife crisis territory wondering where the time went and why they didn’t do anything with it. You two are still young enough to avoid all this crap. The world is your oyster!”
“Oh, Nick hates oysters,” Sewanee said, side-eyeing him, smirking.
Nick bit back a laugh and said to Stu, “You have regrets, then?”
“You kidding? My backseat’s full. And the trunk! Look, I loved my job, but I loved it so much my real life passed me by. Never had a woman sitting next to me for the long haul.” He flung a hand. “Never had a Sewanee sitting across the table. Never had this magnificent creature, this beautiful timepiece that I got to nurture and watch grow and who now calls me just to see how I’m doing. I mean”–he reached over and tweaked her chin–“how could a stupid job making shoes compare to one of these?” He and Sewanee smiled at each other and he mused, “It can’t. I’ll never see myself in anything other than a mirror. And now all I see is this.” He pointed to his balding head and Nick chuckled.
He took Stu in and then he looked down at the table, contemplating. “Wouldn’t it be grand if we could have multiple lives to live? Do it a few different ways and then pick the best one?”
“Oh, Nicky.” Stu gave him a fatherly smile. “All I know is–” He broke off and looked past Nick’s shoulder, into the back of the restaurant. He sat up a bit straighter. “Ah,” he mumbled. “Here we go.”
The waiter placed a gorgeous mirror-top chocolate cake in the center of their table. It had white piped writing on it. Sewanee craned her neck, looking at it upside down. “What does that say?” She glanced at the waiter, who was worrying his fingers and, for the first time that night, wasn’t forthcoming with an explanation.
“Your mother’s gotten quite good with her Italian,” Stu said, and Sewanee’s eye went to Marilyn, whose hand had gone to her mouth.
“Stu,” she exhaled.
“What does it say?” Silence. “Mom?”
“Sposami.” Marilyn barely got the word out.
Sewanee was about to say “what” once more, but then Stu slipped off his chair, got down on one knee, and pivoted toward Marilyn, bringing a small velvet box out of his jacket pocket.
“Holy shit!” Sewanee shouted and the entire restaurant hushed. She slapped a hand over her mouth, the mirror image of her mother. One of Marilyn’s hands reached for her daughter’s. Sewanee clutched her mother’s trembling hand and watched her life change.
“Marilyn,” Stu said, then his voice softened: “Love.” And Sewanee heard the sob that came from her mouth before she felt it. “You are the surprise of my life. I never imagined this old sneaker-maker would–Jesus.” He chuckled and glanced at Sewanee and Nick. “That sounds like a slur.” They all laughed through their blossoming tears and Stu turned back to Marilyn. “That I could end up having what I’d given up on. Someone who makes me happier each day than I was the day before. And I want that someone to be my wife.” He opened the box.
Marilyn stared at him. They waited. She uncovered her mouth, put her hands on her hips. “Well, other than a slice of that cake, I can’t say I’ve ever wanted anything more.” They both smiled tearfully. “Yes. I would love to be your wife.”
She stood, gave Stu a helping hand up, and he gently worked the ring onto her finger. Then they kissed, and held each other, and kissed and held each other as Nick hooted and Sewanee batted away the joyful tears streaming down her cheek. The entire restaurant applauded and Stu’s hand found its way onto Marilyn’s ass and she gave it a playful slap and everyone laughed.