A Shard of Hope

“Alright” they exclaimed to an otherwise unpopulated apartment. “Got almost everything in place, dinner is sitting in the oven. My hair is done…” as Sam trailed off into an anxious mumble to themselves while running through the list they had agonised over all day. Looking at the clock Sam noticed the time creeping ever closer and immediately felt nervous as tension formed a pit in their stomach. Knotting and twisting it began to encroach upon the precarious balance they had been striving to maintain all day long.

“It’s fine, it’s fine, I… I just have to take a beat.” Sam said before planting both palms on the countertop and leaning forward to inhale rhythmically while counting to ten. Having reached its peak, Sam stood up and opened their eyes catching a glimpse of that blasted clock again, right as it struck another minute towards the appointed hour. With the ticking of the clock, Sam felt all that effort to instil calm, dissolve instantly. Deciding more drastic measures were called for, Sam reached for the fridge searching for the bottle of white wine they had put aside for tonight. Having raced to remove the cork, Sam lunged for a glass and poured themself a drink. Breaking etiquette, Sam immediately set about consuming the contents as it still attempted to settle. As a moment or two passed, the calming effect of the great grape began to steadily wash over them. The jitters and static anxiety began to roll off their back, leaving them feeling lighter.

With minutes passing by as the glass casually diminished towards its end, their thoughts transited to their first encounter with James. An offhand remark while closing out a client meeting had led him, to coyly look up at Sam while straightening a handful of documents before ushering them into the file in front of him.

That look. Sam had scarcely seen its like before. A mixture of playful glee and unabashed seduction all folded into one. It was but a glance as their associated seniors were present, but it had stuck with Sam for a long time now. Months in fact. As the lockdowns hit, everything became a standstill but for work, and so for quite some time, they had both seen one another during the unending stream of video conferences. On the odd occasion, even taking to exchanging surreptitious glances, despite the risk. A dutiful employee to the last, Sam had been reluctant to raise the spectre of their chemistry. At least until the deal had concluded. But with this wonderful new set of events, such notions had evaporated from Sam’s thoughts as the world continued conspiring to keep them distant from the chance for a sincere connection, for at least a little longer.

Sam could not help but reminisce about their final meeting on Wednesday. Where, as they both privately concluded closing out the final terms of the deal, James had so boldly stepped up to the task. A sudden rush of thrill struck Sam. Even remembering how it took place was like a shot of adrenalin after a boresome day, filling them with a tingling and yet giddying sensation. Sam remembered how James had looked straight into the camera, placing aside what they had been reviewing, and simply said “As far as mergers go, this one has been far too enjoyable to be the last time that we get to see one another. Would you care to join me for dinner on Friday?”

Taken aback, Sam initially hesitated. The deal was not technically finished, and it could complicate matters, but then that handsome fool landed the exact same look he had at that first in-person meeting, all those months earlier. After that there was nothing else for it. Sam had spent the rest of the week strategically preparing under lockdown to somehow have the most memorable first date possible.

Retreating from such thoughts, which had been spurred on by a rather lovely drop of wine, Sam glanced again at the clock. “Shit!” Time had escaped them while daydreaming, and now the race would be on to keep to schedule and meet James online.

Sam frantically turned their attention to the oven. Looking to the fancy fillet of fish they had struggled to prepare, in an effort to impress James by channelling their inner MasterChef. Alas the glass of wine had meant the meal was not removed in time and the plate so painstakingly prepared with decadent drizzles of sauce, had been sundered by the excess oil oozing from the fish. They began attempting to preserve the artistry on display, as the alarm on Sam’s phone sounded. Urgently slapping the top of the phone not once but twice in order to trigger its snooze, the cacophonous sound finally ended as Sam pivoted and placed the plate on top of a serving board so as not to scorch the countertop. All while slamming shut the oven with their foot.

Moving quickly through the cramped kitchen in their single bed apartment, to the almost cartoonish oversized fridge, Sam withdrew the pre-sliced garnish elements housed in a sealed container. Finally grabbing frantically at the sauce, as it clearly required further bolstering to be salvageable, Sam with both hands filled then thrust their hip into the door slamming it shut with a clatter. Pivoting once again, like they were taking part in some sort of panicked overladen merengue, they clipped the top of the open bottle of Sauvignon Blanc with the base of the sauce bottle, sending it across the kitchen counter crashing into the corner and cascading debris and wine onto the floor forming a splendid disaster.

With glistening catastrophe laid bare at Sam’s feet, time paused as the sense of dread returned like a weighted blanket once more to encase them. Seconds passed in what felt like a small eternity. Stood there, hands filled while the bottle painstakingly selected in order to display their remarkable (albeit fictional) expertise, was visibly irretrievable. Sam glanced to the glass in the vain hope that their fondness for a tipple had not scuttled the carefully laid plan altogether. It sat mockingly. A single droplet rolling down the inside right before Sam’s eyes.

Sam felt the swelling of exasperation about to burst forth, taking a moment they began to enforce composure upon themself. No point crying over spilt milk, Sam thought. Only for it to be immediately followed with a mental exclamation of “But IT WAS WINE!”. As this slow acclimatisation to the new set of facts began to settle, Sam’s subconscious placed both the garnish and sauce bottle upon the countertop as they began to survey the extent of the calamity.

Snatching the mop and broom, they frantically began to clean up this absolute nightmare on the, luckily tiled floor. The minutes ticked down as they swept. The alarm sounded for a second time signalling the precarious five-minute snooze and early warning Sam had set themselves was now at an end. The time had arrived. There was nought they could do about this chaos now but try to clean it as much as possible before the call, from the ever punctual James came through.

Stopping to prioritise the meal, Sam cast the broom aside and reached for the plate to spy the worst possible thing to date. Perched on top of the Perch, was a shard of glass no bigger than the tip of a pencil. Looking across the countertop Sam realised that the bottle had chipped and burst as it had clipped the edge of the counter, sending smaller pieces into the air and onto their meal, leaving it sparkling in presentation but utterly inedible. An uncontrolled cry of frustration broke its way free of their throat as Sam stared at the latest unequivocal evidence of the universe working to frustrate their efforts to find someone.

That was it, the final straw. With a complete change in demeanour, Sam trod across the kitchen to where the rest of their libations lived, intending to salve this wound with a warm and loving classic. Something they cherished. Something they knew would not disappoint them, drive them near manic with stress or ultimately judge them, as James was bound to do now.

Opening the cupboard, the bottle of Merlot sat there, the elegant 1920’s statuesque model on the front label looked understandingly at them, as the name Meet Cute slightly mocked Sam’s now potentially useless almost vainglorious efforts. Grabbing their favourite glass, Sam filled a ‘generous’ helping before taking both the bottle and glass to sit before the computer screen.

Taking a mouthful while gaining their composure, Sam began to totally doff all the self-imposed pressure that had been building towards this point, in an effort to fight the urge to chalk the entire evening up as a loss and simply give up.

“If he doesn’t like me now then it was clearly not meant to be…” they said aloud to the universe punctuating it with a further hearty sip. As the warm flavours of plum and dark cherry made their way across Sam’s palate, interposed by the light tartness of raspberry, Sam for the first time in days seemed to actually find peace. As the elements of dark chocolate rolled over in the finishing notes, the computer pinged with an invitation for a Zoom call. Straightening themselves, and ensuring their appearance was not too dishevelled after the commotion, Sam answered the call to come face to face with James, and that damn smile.

After a momentary pause where his gaze widened in what was either excitement or horror, he managed to offer the following to assuage Sam’s now lightly revived doubts.

“Wow! You look lovely!” A slight pause ensued before it was hurriedly followed by, “I probably should have just started with a hello, but being honest I think my anticipation of tonight, just might have got the better of me.” James said with an increasing tone of humour leaving his face to rest in an ever so faint but alluring smirk.

“Well hello to you too and thank you. Lord knows I don’t feel that lovely, but your compliment is appreciated.” Replied Sam, slightly unenthusiastically.

“Now I may not be Sherlock, but I am going to guess something is up. It could be the lukewarm reception of my outstandingly gentlemanly proclamation or… umm it might have something to do with your lovely, prepared dinner of what appears to be a collection of work papers and a bottle of red?” He uttered with that captivating cheeky grin, before turning to a genuine look of concern. “This isn’t bad time is it?”

Jolted by the remark, Sam began collecting the assorted papers that were strewn across the desk, having lost the time earlier to clear them up. They replied “No, no, no, not at all. I ugh… I just…” Sam left the response floating until, having placed the papers neatly aside, they turned back to lock eyes with James. “I prepared fish. But well, I can’t eat it anymore.” Sam stayed fixated upon James to gauge his reaction.

James reached for a glass next to him revealing a tumbler with some sort of whiskey in it. He took a sip and calmly reclined back in his chair while so tantalisingly saying, “Well that sounds like it has a story to it, and I do enjoy a good tale. At the very least you owe some sort of explanation for pairing a red with fish. So please, indulge me.”

Feeling emboldened, Sam in turn took a drink from their glass, ending with a flourish and beginning with, “Well this, as you point out James, is not what I had planned to have for my dinner. But perhaps, it is what I needed.” Dramatically motioning to the glass of Merlot before them, “You see, this is a much sorely needed antidote. About five minutes before you called…”