Tall Glass of Wine

Will shivered--half from cold, half from nerves--outside Little Blackbird half an hour before his dinner reservation. A stiff wind cut across the Delaware River, sending dry leaves rattling through Passyunk Square.

He’d been waiting all week for this date. Correction: he’d been waiting eight years for this date. He had everything planned out, down to the scallop appetizer. Polishing his shoes against his corduroys, he rehearsed his lines in his head.

Hello, Lila. No, that sounded stupid. Be cool. Hey, Lila, it’s been a while. Four years? No, it can’t be! But it had been. He could pinpoint the last day he’d seen her--July 29, four years ago.

From across the high school concert band room, he’d worshipped Lila from afar. She was mesmerizing, wrapped around her cello, red hair cascading down her back. His trumpet playing suffered; he’d watched her instead of the conductor most of the time.

Will had spent four years trying and failing to ask her out. He wasn’t tall enough freshman year, not cool enough sophomore year, not brave enough junior year, and not prompt enough senior year.

Justin Hayes had asked her to prom three minutes before Will finally scraped together the courage. The happy couple stayed connected at the lips for the rest of senior year, then broke up before the ink on their high school diplomas was dry. She’d jetted off to University of Florida, and that was the pathetic end to Will’s one-sided love story.

Then, miracle of miracles, he’d been granted an epilogue. He’d run into Lila at the Wawa gas station last week and blurted out the question he’d wanted to ask for almost a decade. She’d tilted her head, hand on the fuel pump, and smiled that crooked smile--dry, with a hint of acid.

He took that as a yes.

Lila’s perfect eyebrows had lifted when he’d named Tuesday--the second-lamest night of the week. But it’d take three months to score a table at Little Blackbird on a weekend. Only the best for Lila, so Tuesday it was.

As the hostess showed him to the two-top by the window, he caught sight of himself in one of many mirrors on the restaurant walls. What would she think of him now? The pants that had looked great in the mirror in his tiny Jenkintown apartment suddenly looked stupid.

But he didn’t have long to agonize over clothing choices, because here she came down East Passyunk Avenue. His eyes found her as easily as if she’d had a spotlight trained on her.

Tall glass of water, nothing. Lila was a tall glass of wine--red-haired, bold, and intoxicating. He waved as she came in the door, and she altered course, signature smile curving her lips.

Will shot up from his chair, stumbling as his foot caught on the table leg. The glassware rocked but, by some miracle, stayed put. Not a good beginning.

But everything became worth it when Lila closed the distance between them and wrapped her fair, freckled arms around his neck.

“Will, it’s been so long!”

“Hey,” was all he could manage. To be this close--to feel her warmth, to have her scent (cherries and night air) wash over him--was the stimulant he needed tonight.

She stepped back, and he struggled not to close the distance between them again. Lila had her own magnetic field--a force of nature in a bottle-green dress.

They sat down, covering self-conscious smiles with their menus. Will scanned the entrees, wincing at the price tags. He’d be eating beans and rice for the next month to stay within budget, but it’d be worth it. Lila was worth it.

When the sommelier came gliding over, Will was ready.

“A bottle of the Wandering Giants Merlot, please.” Dry, smooth, with a hint of acid and fruit; just like Lila. It didn’t pretend to be anything it wasn’t. Even the color--red, with orange tints--reminded him of her.

He made a show of inspecting the cork, while Lila watched poker-faced. Truth: he couldn’t tell a Merlot from a Chardonnay, but five minutes of Googling taught him enough to pretend he knew about wine.

They got off to a promising start, reminiscing about teachers they’d despised and resurrecting old band jokes.

A waiter probably delivered appetizers, but Will wasn’t sure of anything except the mind-boggling fact that Lila was here. With him. He felt tipsy in her presence, buzzed even though he’d barely touched his drink.

Lila rolled her eyes appreciatively. “Oh my gosh, these scallops are insane.” Her Philly accent popped up to the surface like it always did when she was excited or angry.

Will swirled his wine in what he hoped was a world-weary way. “Pretty good, yeah.”

One of her perfect eyebrows lifted. Picking up the napkin from her lap, she folded and re-folded it on the table top. “So... what have you been up to?”

He curled his toes inside his shoes. “Well, uh, I’m all done school now.” (Technically true. He’d dropped out of community college six credits short of a psych degree.) “So it’s work, work, work.”

Her smile grew fixed, polite. “What do you do?”

He took a sip of water and coughed as it went down the wrong tube. “I work down at the Philadelphia Stock Exchange.”

That made both perfect eyebrows arch, so he only felt a little guilty for the deception. He did technically work at the Stock Exchange--waiting tables at the Walnut Street Cafe.

But apparently it took more than a fictional career in finance to impress Lila. Her attention was wandering--anywhere but his face. Conversation stalled like the old stick shift she used to drive.

He tried again. “How was Florida?”

She shrugged. “I mean, it’s Florida.”

Will's sweat glands kicked into overdrive. He may not have finished his psych degree, but he knew a blowoff when he heard one. Where had he gone wrong?

He forced a laugh. “Absolutely. All the, uh, beaches.” He’d never travelled further than Jersey, but Lila didn’t need to know that.

Lila’s gaze strayed to the restaurant door. “Yep.”

That one syllable was like a dagger in the heart. Where had he gone wrong.? His steak might as well have been cork in his mouth. The menu assured him that the steer had been sustainably raised, had bedtime stories read to it, then humanely killed. Maybe someone would do him a favor and humanely kill him.

Silence reigned for what felt like two hours, although the clock claimed it was only two minutes.

Lila gripped the edges of the table and spoke to her plate. “ Look, Will…”

Mayday, mayday. This date had not just stalled. It had gone into a tailspin, all engines on fire. The crash and burn seemed inevitable, and Will braced himself for impact.

Lila wrinkled her perfect nose, shifting her galaxy of freckles into new and fascinating constellations. Will tried to memorize her face, in case this was the last time he’d see her… which was looking more and more likely.

“You’ve really changed since high school.” She said it like it was a bad thing.

“I have?” was all he could think to say. Wasn’t that a good thing?

She nodded, staring down into her wine. Then she glanced up, wearing a fraction of her old smile. Raising her glass she said, “To old vintages.”

Before Will could reply, the waiter hovered over the table. “Can I interest you in dessert?”

Lila reached for her purse, shaking her head. “Great to catch up. Good luck with--” She gestured vaguely at him, “life.”

She made for the door, and Will could almost see the credits rolling on this tragedy of a first (and last) date.

“Lila, wait!”

Slapping down the bill plus a lavish tip, Will snatched up the wine bottle and slalomed around waiters and tables, out of Little Blackbird and into the frigid air of Passyunk Square.

She stopped on the sidewalk, arms locked across her middle, smile nowhere to be seen.

Will held up the bottle. “I’ve got something to tell you. But first, do you--do you like Wawa milkshakes? I bet they pair well with Merlot. But not posers.”

She cocked her head, studying him, brown eyes narrowed. Then she laughed, head tilted back, magnificent red hair catching the streetlight’s glow.

She walked back to him, so close he could smell her (or was that the wine?). She snatched the bottle and hooked an arm through his. Holding the label up to the light, she said,

“I’ve always liked the older vintage.”

END