Never Enough

With how horrible my romantic life had been going I was ready for this blind date. Most of the guys I had been out with lately were fancy and from the city. I was getting exhausted with their pretense, even though it was similar to what I grew up with. Silicon Valley types seem to all blur together after a while. They’re really into craft beer and wear anything with the Patagonia label on it. They just got into biking and have ‘share the road’ stickers on their car. They dress in a way that says, ‘yeah I was just hanging out with Brad at that cool bar downtown but if you want to go for a hike right now I totally can’.

They weren’t bad guys or anything and they were certainly all cool. Maybe a little too cool. If I admitted to being into pop music I would get made fun of for it. In this area it was important to be hip. It was a constant battle to be teetering the edge of current yet obscure. If you were into something popular you had to admit that you knew it was bad or be into it in an ironic way that showed you really didn’t like it. Normally I just stayed quiet during these dates. I liked the attention, and I liked the fancy things money can buy. I’m a bit high maintenance and if I’m going to be suffering through dates anyway I might as well be doing it at with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge stuffing my face with fancy steak. It is amazing what I will endure for good food.

I was out for a man that could impress my parents and their impossible standards and so far none had even come close.

My friend Michelle had told me about Mark before, but I hadn’t paid too much attention. She told me he was in a band called Monkey Feet, so he didn’t really seem like my type. I imagined him having long hair and a recording studio at his mother’s house. I was surprised to find out he was a yet another computer geek with a big tech job. His job sounded important; I could barely understand what it was that he was doing. My parents might actually be impressed. When Michelle mentioned the company he worked for I was quick to ask her to set us up.

She raised an eyebrow and smirked to herself. “I thought you might finally ask about him once I mentioned how much he made.”

I shrugged, “Hey what do you want from me? I’m trying to secure my future.”

This was partly true. I did want a secure future. I also couldn’t stand the judgement from my parents whenever I brought home a boy that didn’t meet their standards. They could be pretty judge-y. Their favorite point of contention was how uncultured other people were. They prided themselves on their artistic sensibilities. Fine wine, good food, better movies. Anything that got in the way of these aspirations was sacrilege.

After my first boyfriend told them he was allergic to avocados they told me they didn’t want him over for dinner anymore. My mom would always make fun of him for it when he wasn’t there. When we had chips and guac she would exclaim “Oh it’s so great Devin isn’t here. Wouldn’t want to get his hives all over the food!” Around college was when they started to shift their judgement from general snobbery to the career related goals of my boyfriends. Why would I date one of those foolish liberal arts majors when there are so many engineers at school? Surely I could find a nice young man who drools at the sight of numbers and data instead of one of those dreamy musician types. After all, didn’t I deserve a nice life with nice things?

They had taught me how to never be satisfied. Now, as a young adult straight out of college, I never was. It was why I never asked about Mark despite Michelle’s thinly veiled attempts at setting us up. I didn’t take the bait until she mentioned money and status. I knew my parents would be impressed with him if he really worked where she said he did. I could only imagine the ridicule his musical career would receive from them, but his actual job would make up for that.

Michelle set up the date for a fancy farm to table up in Petaluma. I wasn’t nervous but I was very curious. What would Mr. Monkey Feet look like? And more importantly, what would he smell like? He could be the type to put on a shower of cologne before a date. Given the location, he could also be the type to not wear any deodorant.

I stood outside of the restaurant and waited for him. The night was dripping in romantic cheese. Just chilly enough to need a cute sweater and someone to hold onto. The sun was beginning to set behind the vineyard covered hills. People were out walking and enjoying the slight breeze. The lights behind me provided a soft glow. I was admiring the sun dipping past the hills when I was startled out of my dreamy state.

“Hey, Nora?” A man with long red hair that curled over itself approached me. He was dressed sharply but casual enough.

“Mark?” I asked, hopeful.

“Yeah, that’s me." He replied with a soft smile.

I was right about the long hair, but I didn’t predict how stylish he would be. We hugged and I took a big sniff. He was definitely wearing deodorant.

“Wow you look good!” He looked me up and down in a way that was respectful but to the point.

I could feel myself blushing a little. He was unconventional but confident. That confidence and the way he crinkled his nose when he said ‘good’ made my heart melt. I really wished he wasn’t in that stupid band. I hadn’t even listened to their music yet. Michelle had sent me some songs, but I didn’t want to spend the whole night thinking about how horrible they were if they ended up being bad. This way I could claim I didn’t know he was in a band and oh isn’t that so cool I’ll have to listen to it sometime when I’m free which is never so maybe not.

“Oh you’re very sweet.” I replied. “Michelle did not mention your gorgeous hair. To be honest, I’m a little jealous.” I seriously was. It was so shiny and bouncy.

He laughed a little as he pushed back his mane. “Let’s eat shall we?”

We were seated outside and placed our orders. The salmon salad for me and a bison burger for him. He didn't order a beer, which I thought was interesting based on my presumptions about the type of guy I thought he might be.

“I’ll have the Merlot, thank you.” He ordered confidently and he didn’t even seem ashamed of his decision.

I chuckled a little. “You ordered Merlot?” I asked once the waitress was out of earshot. “I’m pretty sure this restaurant has at least one Michelin star.” I told him in case he didn’t know what he should be ordering.

I’m sure the waitress was silently judging him as well. I know it was such a snobby thing to say but I just couldn’t help it. I mean, really? He seemed completely unbothered.

"Yeah for me when it comes to wine I don't know a lot about it. I don't have much of a preference. Except if it's sweeter. Then obviously I like that. Or if it's bubbly because then it feels fancy. Oh and if it's sweet and bubbly that's just the best." He kept that same soft smile. To him, his preference in wine didn't echo a deep flaw in his personhood. It was simply what he liked. In his world there was nothing shameful about having a preference. In my world, he was very wrong.

I could almost hear my parents laughing by my side. My Napa upbringing was screaming at me to run away. How was it possible that I found the one wine-dud in all of Sonoma? I stared at him and saw him slowly morph into a blonde divorcee ordering a Moscato and asking for ice cubes.

I took a bite of my steak. "I'm not a fan of sweet wines. I prefer something drier like Prosecco."

Even though I was sitting across from the incredibly handsome Mark, it was my parents I was trying to impress. Having lived in California their whole lives, they knew their wines. One's taste in wine reflects so much about them. I was raised to be a person that wouldn't let their sweet tooth get in the way of how people perceived them.

"I'm not sure what dry means but if it isn't sweet, I'd have to say prosecc-no." He hit the 'no' with a sassy finger whip in the air.

The joke was so stupid I couldn't help but laugh a little. His eyes were watching for my reaction and I saw them crinkle at the corners with a smile.

He looked pretty pleased with himself. "I'm glad you enjoyed my incredible humor. Many people tell me I should try stand up." His words were dripping in obvious irony.

"You are very handsome." I replied.

"Hey! I see that deflection. And let me tell you that kind of flattery will definitely get you a second date."

My heart skipped a little at the mention of a second date. He was so different from my other dates. In just the short amount of time I got to hang out with him he wasn’t trying to be anything he wasn’t. His long hair, his taste in wine, his seriously regretful band name. It was just him. That’s what my parents feared. People who weren’t worried about how they fit in with everyone else. They always tried so hard to be the most and the best. They hated when other people were comfortable just being. Maybe it was the Merlot that was getting to my head, but in that moment I knew Mark was the one I would eventually bring home to my parents. I needed to see them interact. Maybe seeing him be himself around them could help me do the same.