Do I Know You?(50)

“Are you finally asking me out?”

He straightens proudly. “Yes, Eliza. It’s finally happening. I’m asking you out. Do you have plans tonight?”

“Not a one.”

“Then,” my husband replies, “it’s a date.”





28


    Graham


THE FALCON’S EYE scouts sharply over the group of us, its head moving in precise, measured increments. It’s small, housecat-sized, with speckled brown wings it fluffs in unperturbed dignity. The bird rests, then, with a quick nod from the falconer, lifts off from her glove with one powerful, calm stroke of wings.

I’m standing with David, watching the hotel’s falconry experience. He requested I come to play wingman in hopes of running into Lindsey, which, twenty minutes into the presentation, is pretty certainly not happening. Undeterred, David decided he could instead diligently take notes to share with Lindsey in the one-on-one date he’s hoping to ask her on.

While I’m ostensibly here for David, I couldn’t help finding myself engaged in the story the falconer told, of how she’d nursed the injured bird back to health last year. Thor the peregrine falcon now helps keep the hotel grounds free of pests.

David is watching raptly. The falcon wheels in the sky, then returns to the falconer’s heavy leather glove. When the demonstration ends, the falconer announces she’ll hang around if anyone has questions. David promptly abandons me, marching forth with prepared falcon questions.

I check my watch. It’s midafternoon, the sun blazing over the rocky bluff. I have a couple hours before my date tonight. The prospect has me itching for the minutes to pass. Weeks ago, I’d made reservations for us for every night of our stay, and for the first time, I’m not canceling tonight.

I can’t deny it feels odd using the reservation I made for me and my wife. After all, I’m not certain it’s my wife who will join me. I honestly don’t know what versions of ourselves we’ll play tonight.

The idea wouldn’t leave me feeling disjointed if not for the new worry infiltrating my heart this morning. What if this version of Graham is the only one Eliza wants to go on a date with? Who could blame her? He’s more charming. He works out. Perhaps more important, she hasn’t spent enough time with him to grow bored of him.

I shake the thoughts off, not liking the long shadows they cast. I don’t need the answer to this question right now. It won’t change what I do tonight.

Tonight, I have a date. One I’m really looking forward to.

When I look up, David is returning with his loping, purposeful stride. “Did you know,” he starts right in when he reaches me, “the peregrine falcon is not only the world’s fastest bird, but the world’s fastest animal? Dive speeds of over three hundred miles per hour. Lindsey’s going to love this.”

“She will, but only if you actually ask her out,” I reply.

David slouches. I smile. The entire walk over here I pressed him on his next move with Lindsey, which he resisted nervously, reminding me we just went out last night. “It’s too soon, dude. Obviously, it’s too soon. Or—or is it charming?” He tilts his head, considering, then answers his own question. “No, it’s too soon. Tomorrow?”

We head down the trail. “I don’t know,” I say, choosing my footing on the gravel carefully. “I haven’t asked anyone out in years.”

“You literally asked your wife out this morning.”

I level him a look. “Okay, I haven’t asked anyone who isn’t my wife out in over half a decade,” I amend. “Anyway, you’re the one in a dating seminar. Isn’t this, like, Dating 101?”

“Shit, you’re right,” David says. “I’ll check my notes when we get back.”

I laugh. Of course, David is taking copious notes. “Does the seminar cover how to eventually tell Lindsey you’re not really this environmental outdoorsman?”

David’s nose wrinkles. “You make it sound like I’m lying. I’m not—I’m into the outdoors now.” He gestures past us, where in the distance the olive-green hills of the California coast slope inland. “Out here, who wouldn’t be?”

“Come on,” I say skeptically. “You embellished it, though, right?”

David glances over, lightly judgmental. “Excuse me, did I or did I not endure an entire meal last night of you and your wife’s embellishments?”

“Okay,” I concede. “Fair. But it’s not like Eliza doesn’t know who I really am.” When David only hums skeptically in reply, I frown. “What’s that mean?”

“Who will you be on your date tonight? Investment Banker Graham? Lawyer Graham? Does it make a difference?” David’s voice is measured. He’s not being flippant or unhelpful.

I don’t understand the question, though. “Of course it does. She likes Investment Banker Graham better than she likes regular me. Way better.” It startles even me how instantly, how readily this new mutant strain of my old insecurity slips out of me. I guess it’s just the way of issues like mine—they hunt incessantly for ways to discredit what’s good. What’s working.

Right now, everything with Eliza is working. How do I hold on, though? It feels like grasping for sunlight. I can feel the warmth but not carry it with me.