Father Time.

You ever seen a woman so beautiful that you'd do almost anything to have her?

Come on, fellas. Don't lie. You have. And boy, do I have a story to share.

I had never seen any woman like her. She walked into my job while I was serving up that same nacho cheese and rice that I smelled every morning. God, I hate the smell of Mexican Food smell.

I didn't want anyone to know that I worked at Chipotle. I chose this Chipotle somewhat out of the center of Phoenix so that my wouldn't discover my lie that I worked at an executive branch. I was 23 and felt as if I underachieved in comparison to my friends. All of them were out on their own. Not me. I was a college kid who wanted to be in my own place like my peers, but unfortunately, I couldn't afford it. I could barely afford my own groceries, which my mother had forced me to buy. What a failure I was. Coming from a Latino family, you were not staying under any of my families roofs without having one of the two. School or a job.

I typically engaged with my customers like Squidward on Spongebob. I really didn't care how their day went, why they were here, blah blah blah. I always had two older women who felt that this was the time to tell me why they were struggling in their marriage or why this was their daughters favorite place. Ma'am, this is Chipotle. Please just order your food and go so I can move onto the next customer.

But this woman, the moment I saw her, all I wanted to do was talk.

This East-African woman walked in, baby Green dress flowing in the empty doorway as if she was making an entry in her own movie. Her long braids flowed. Her bracelets and hoop earrings jingled. "Oh yeah, she's high maintenance." I thought in my mind. Her eyelashes weren't real, but they complimented her green eyeshadow. Her lip-gloss made her lips shine with the light of the open windows. It's as if the woman of my dreams had upped and entered my job.

"Crap," I wondered. "Now she knows I work at Chipotle."

She approached the counter. It got even better. More beautiful up close. Small but faded brown freckles. Her perfume even matched her dress. Candy apple. I got so lost in the scent and her beauty that I didn't realize I was staring at her so long to the point where she asked,

"Can I order?" She asked in an annoyed tone, wondering why I was staring at her.

"Y-yeah. Sorry," I stuttered, wrestling my gloves on. "What would you like?"

"Could I get the nacho bowl with everything except steak and ground beef with extra sour cream on the side?"

Bitchy attitude. I liked every bit of it. I wanted to talk to her, so I thought "Hey? Why not slide in a joke?"

"Staking out the Steak, huh?" I said, scooping extra chicken into her bowl.

"What?"

I regretted it the second it left my mouth. The joke made no sense. I hadn't felt this embarrassed since I ripped my pants during a presentation in high school. It felt as if my brain was spending 8 hours to scramble with what to respond with.

"Was sayin', b-because you didn't uh...receive any steak?" I stuttered through my embarrassment.

"I don't get it."

Yep. Time to stop talking. I wrapped her food and brought it to the counter. The confidence I had to talk to her in general was shot.

But I wanted her number.

"How would you like to join our Chipotle rewards?" I asked. "All you need to do is type in a phone number."

"Sure," She responded. "That's all?"

"That worked?" I thought.

"Yeah," I responded. "I can type it in for you."

"602-444-2908."

Yeah. I signed her up for rewards, but she had no idea about my memory.

I spent all day thinking about this woman. You ever seen Titanic? When Jack saw Rose for the first time and it was as if he had seen a Goddess?

I went bowling with my friends and kept getting sidetracked at the thought of her. They kept saying things, I wouldn't hear it. I stopped by to drop my moms cell phone charger that she left in my car, she told me a story when I arrived and I didn't hear a word of it. "Who are you thinking about?" She asked me. "Nothin', just exhausted from work." I said.

That mothers intuition is insane.

After bowling, I sat in my car with this woman's number memorized in my head as if I dialed it on a regular. 9pm. I had no idea if she was asleep, out and about, or even with another man. Something in my body just told me, "Dial it."

"Hello?" She answered.

I could've easily hung up the phone, but with my goofy mind, it told me, "It's too late to back out."

"Hey," I slurred.

"Who's this?"

"The uh...this is the guy who took your order at Chipotle earlier?"

"The...that weird guy at the counter?"

"I-"

"You remembered my phone number?"

Yeap, let me prep for the let-down. "I'm calling the cops." "You fucking weirdo." "Delete my number." Instead, she laughed. Now I was really caught off guard.

"You could've just asked?" She said, still giggling.

"After that joke, I didn't know what to say?" I said calmly, easing out of my nerves. "I just thought that you weren't really in the mood, I guess."

"Sorry. I'm really crabby when I'm hungry."

Her laugh was so sensual. It's like everything about this woman was perfect.

"What's your name?" She asked me.

"Brandon. Yours?"

"Tisha."

"Nice to meet you, Tisha."

That was all the spark we needed. We spent the next night texting. The week after that, she came to my job and we ate Chipotle together. It was our first date, I guess you could call it. After that, we stopped talking for a bit. I guess I figured that was the end of that. After a week and a half of icing me out, she invited me over to apartment for dinner.

"I got her, I gooottttt her."

I arrived at her small apartment. From the outside, it appeared a bit run down. The city was sort of rundown. The only parking spots were cars aligned amongst one another. The neighborhood was okay, but the street lights and walk through the alleyway just to get inside made me wonder, "How does she feel safe coming inside alone every night?" I entered and was greeted with the smell of spaghetti, baking garlic bread, and salad that may have been tossed in too much onions. It smelled great. I entered, slipping my shoes off at the door and walking up to her small palace. Her decoration told me that the girl was in her early 20's. Marilyn Monroe paintings, lit pink lighting design, yeah, the cliche girly girl design. Her kitchen table was plated perfectly with the salad bowl waiting for us to devour it. Two plates and bowls sat on the opposite of each sides. I felt as if I was the woman being greeted by a man who just wanted to get in a womans' pants.

Too descriptive? Sorry, I thought of my friend Randy.

Tisha was dressed in a purple silk nightgown that told me we weren't going anywhere for the night. Fine. I had been out with my friends all week anyway. After I hugged her, I sat down and waited as she continued to stir the spaghetti.

"Do you drink?" She asked me.

"What do you have?"

"Red wine, Merlot, Amsterdam, Tequila..."

"A glass of Merlot is fine."

She was doing too many things at once. She took the tray out, dropping one of the pieces of bread on the floor. When she bent down to get it, the spaghetti sauce began to boil.

"I'll get it," I said, standing up.

"No no, sit down," She assured me, placing her hand out. "You're my guest."

I obliged. Sliding back into my seat, I watched as she grabbed a bottle of Merlot and a glass from the cabinet. She poured it, approaching and placed it next to me.

"Thanks." I smiled.

"That's my favorite kind," She smiled.

The night was perfect. Then,

"TISHA!"

A man's frail voice made my eardrums shatter. It was so raspy, but so loud that it made me jump. Tisha laughed at me from the kitchen, peeking over the opening between her tiny hall and her two bedrooms.

"What, Dad?" She shouts back.

"I hear somebody's voi-"

"I told you I was having company!"

"I know that her father isn't going to be here during our date," I said in my head. "I just know he's not." Tisha definitely caught the deflation in my face. How? Because she looked at me and laughed. Her father said nothing funny.

"It's okay," She assured. "He's going to sleep."

"It's fine! I don't mind!"

Oh but I minded. I fucking minded. Any idea of making love was out of the window. I came over for us two, not three's company. I forced a smile on my face as she made our plates of spaghetti and garlic bread, placing my bowl in front of me and her bowl in front of her. Tisha temporarily left the table and walked to the end of the hall, peeking inside and uttering something to her father. I didn't care to listen. My night was sorta thrown into a loop. Tisha's beauty soft of eased my nerves, I'll admit. I watched her strut back to the table, sitting across from me.

"I'm sorry, I should've told you about my dad," Tisha said, trying to make me feel better. "I'm taking care of him."

"Trust me, I don't care." I smiled, still lying as we began to dig in.

"My father is significantly older than me. He and my mother had me in their 40's, and since my mother passed, I've been taking care of him since we moved to Arizona," Tisha describes, twirling her spaghetti onto her fork. "He's on bedrest now because of his health, so I've gotta take care of him until I find a nice home to put him in."

The mood went from seductive to sad. I didn't know what to say.

"Should I feel bad for putting him in a home?" Tisha asked me.

"No, you've been taking care of him as best as you can," I assured her, putting my hand on top of hers. "You're doing what you feel is right."

She smiled, then out of nowhere, she gave me a kiss. I wasn't expecting it. My heart was racing like the first time I kissed a girl. Her lips were soft. It got me going. If we were alone, after dinner and body filled with a half-glass or merlot, I would've inched towards making love. The roadblock of her father was stopping everything.

After dinner, we sat out on her deck and enjoyed another glass of Merlot. It was a warm night. There, we just talked about life. She wanted to become an actress, but if not that, a veterinarian. I told her how I wanted to become a music producer, but every time I presented songs on my Twitter, it got negative feedback. One guy said the beat made his ears bleed. It doesn't take much to smash my ego, I admit, so I gave up on that. Our night was going smooth. We went back inside after an hour and decided to watch something on Netflix.

As soon as we started the movie...

"Tisha!"

I thought this was only going to be during the start of the movie..

"Tisha!"

"Tisha!"

"Tisha!!"

I mean this was throughout the entire movie. I honestly believe he was calling her for help because he knew that she had company. The first time he wanted to adjust the sheets, the second time he wanted her to open the window, the third time he changed his mind and wanted it closed. The one thing he kept requesting, was grape juice. Tisha told me that her father was always thirsty and that he downed every cup she brought to him. She had to limit him to keep him from using the bathroom on himself, and told him that that would be his final glass.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

"Tisha!"

She left for what felt like the billionth time. I sighed in frustration as she left the room. "Dad, seriously? I just changed your sheets!" I heard her holler from the room. He'd urinated on himself.

"This is the worst date I've ever been on in my fucking life." I thought.

I sat with my head drooped to my left side, staring at her flat screen in agitation. I was over it. I was wondering what I could say to get home. How do I get out of here? Just as I was getting up, Tisha rushed out of the hall and beside me.

"Please don't leave," She begged. "I'm gonna change my father, give him his meds, then get in the shower. He should really be sleep after that."

"It's fine," I said, my most famous lie of the night.

But I had had enough. I had to get out of there.

But I didn't want to get sucked into Tisha's beautiful hazel eyes if she begged me not to leave. I knew I would. Just her asking me to stay made me consider, but if I heard Tisha's name yelled one more time with a voice sounding as if a man had strep, I was going to scream myself. After she got her father together, I heard her shower run. I made my move. I would use my mother asking me to bring her medications as my way out. A horrible excuse, I know, but I was desperate to get out of there. Walking past her fathers room, I approached Tisha's bathroom, knocking on the door.

"Hey, Tisha?" I said.

She was playing Birthday by Katy Perry so loud that she didn't hear my knock or my voice.

"Young man?" I could hear her father call out.

Her father's room was right next to the bathroom, which made it easy for him to see me. I turned and looked through the creaked door. There, an elderly and frail black man lay by an oxygen tank. He looked as needy as he appeared. Grey hairs, flabby neck, dentures beside his bed, yeah. Very old.

"Were you talking to me?" I asked.

"Could you get me a cup of grape juice, please?"

I had looked at the bathroom door. I knew Trisha didn't want her father to have any more.

"I'm sorry sir, but your daughter said she doesn't want you to ha-"

"Oh, you can sneak me one little cup," Her father interrupted. "Quickly, before she gets out."

What have I gotten myself into?

I don't know why, but I did. I'm such a damn pushover. Spotting the Welch's grape juice inside of the fridge, I poured the man a cup and brought it to him. Her father downed this glass like a fish who was deprived of water. He shivered a bit, holding his glass up towards me.

"Just one more."

"Look sir, I wasn't supposed to give you that last one," I stated, shaking my head.

"That will be my last one, I promise. I'm really thirsty."

I exhaled, but again, the pushover in me took over. I poured him another glass of Welch's, bringing it to his bedside.

"No more cups after this," I said, finally standing my ground. "I don't want to be responsible for another changing of the sheets."

I expected the man to gulp this glass, but this one was a bit slower. He drank it, stopped in the middle, raised an eyebrow at the glass, but finished it. His frail hand shook as he handed me the empty glass.

"Mm," The man groaned, sinking back into his sheets. "Strange how you can buy the same bottles of that damn grape juice and they all taste different, eh?"

Then, Trisha's shower water cut off. Time to go.

"I've gotta go sir. I don't want her to catch me in your room."

"Leave that door cracked, please."

I grabbed the man's glass, quickly rinsing it and placing it back onto the drying rack. I dug my nails into my black hair, scratching my head in annoyance. "Okay, so how do I get home?" Tisha stepped out in Pink Panther flannel pajamas, hair in a scarf, smelling like Johnson's Baby Powder. Ugh, why must she look so beautiful? Every time I look at her, I don't want to leave, but dude, it was approaching midnight and we had gone nowhere. I had to go home.

"Did you still wanna finish the movie?" Tisha asked.

"Yeah? Sounds good."

She had me the second she asked. Of course.

We cut on a scary movie about some group of teenagers who got lost traveling on their way home. I knew this movie would be stupid the second I turned it on, but it was too late to change movies. She bundled under the covers with me. I enjoyed our closeness, but we couldn't do anything. Her father was there.

Speaking of her father, he hadn't called her name. We were 45 minutes into the story.

"Haven't heard anything from your father in a while?" I joked, all while not joking.

"I told you," Tisha smiled. "Those medications put him to sleep right away. Never fails."

She paused the movie, kicking out of the covers, and made her way to the kitchen.

"You want another glass of Merlot?" She asked me. "I'm gonna make me one."

"No thanks," I responded. "I may eat me some more spaghetti, though."

That's when I noticed something out of the ordinary. She was pouring Welch's Grape Juice into her wine glass.

"Your dad's gonna be pretty pissed when he notices that you're drinking his juice," I joked, resting my arm on the couch.

"Okay, I have a secret.."

Trisha placed the juice back in the fridge, then made her way back towards me with her glass in hand.

"My dad likes to come and cook breakfast for me when he has the energy, and sometimes I like to enjoy a glass or 2 early in the day," Tisha smiled, sipping her Merlot. "I used one of his old Welch's bottles and filled it with Merlot so that he think's i'm drinking regular juice. That way I can have an option of having it cold instead of the room temperature bottles I keep hidden in my pantry."

Shit.

SHIT.

I knew, I just knew that I didn't give that man two glasses of wine. I know I didn't.

I needed some way to confirm this without confirming it. Heart beating probably 800 times a minute, I wiped the thousand-yard stare off of my face, forcing a smile as I bundled underneath the covers with her.

"So there's uh, wine in there instead of juice?" I asked, voice sounding as if I swallowed nails.

"Mhm!"

SHIT.

I gulped loudly.

"Do you ever drink a glass with your dad sometimes?" I asked.

"Nah, but when he used to drink with my mom, he'd have two glasses and would sleep through the night!" Trisha laughed. "Me and my sister loved it, because we could make as much noise as we wanted! Haha!"

"Ahahahaha!" I laughed with her.

I swallowed hard again. I could've shit three bricks in that moment. I could feel a sweat building around my neck. Nervously rubbing my collarbone, I needed something to ease my nerves.

"On second thought, I think I will have another glass of Merlot," I smiled. "A big glass this time."