Page 20 of Midlife Crisis

“Thank you,” she says, looking up at me. Biting the corner of her lip, I’m ready to ask her if we can skip dinner when she suggests, “Should we go?”

+ + +

When we arrive at Watershed Rice, we find there are no seats. Literally. You sit cross-legged on the floor to enjoy your meal. I’m a big guy. I can’t sit on the floor like that. I’ve already unbuttoned my suit, swiped my forehead a thousand times, and shifted in the stiff fabric of my shirt which clings to my skin.

“Are you all right?” Midge asks me as we wait to be seated. A waitress nears the lobby with a tray of unidentifiable, bite-size food.

“I’m good.” I pause, redirecting my attention to the hostess. “What was that?” It looks like it still had eyes, antennas, and legs. I don’t even listen to her answer as I wipe a hand over my hair.

“Hank?” Midge glances up at me, shifting her gaze worriedly from one eye to the other. Her shoulders fall. “Let’s go someplace else.”

“No, this is fine. This is good. It’s the best place in LA.” I sigh. I had to pull strings I didn’t like to pull to get my name on the list with only a week’s notice.

“Hank,” she admonishes. “Please. Let’s leave.” Her fingers tighten on my suit coat, and I curse myself for ruining the evening before it even starts. Her eyes roam my face. “You’re sweating like crazy. Either you’re sick or you don’t want to be here.”

She’s right. I don’t want to be here, but I want to be with her. Embarrassed, I slip my hand on her lower back and guide her out the door. I don’t even know what to say. Apologizing wouldn’t be enough. I help her into Brut’s SUV and take a deep breath as I round the back of the vehicle.

“Dammit.” I slap at the back door in my frustration. Trying to tame my temper, I slowly shut the driver’s door, so I don’t slam it. We sit in silence as I push the ignition button. I’m not ready to move. “Look, I’m—”

“Tell me something about you. Anything.” The gentle command startles me, and I twist toward Midge to find her body turned in my direction. She toys with the hem of her pretty lace dress, and I’m crushed because she didn’t get to show it off in the restaurant.

“I never wanted to fix cars.” Her eyes shoot up to mine, and she waits for more. “My pop owned Restored Dreams. He thought all those rich dicks…sorry”—I swipe over my hair—“rich and famous wouldn’t know how to care for the expensive toys they owned. He counted on it, and in many ways, he was right.”

“What did you want to be?”

“A musician.” I don’t really want to have this conversation, and I nervously tap the steering wheel. “A drummer, actually.”

“That’s my Ronin.” She smiles with pride. Her kid isn’t actually anything like me. He plays percussion in the high school marching band, but that wasn’t me. I was the kid with a kit in the back of the garage, banging away to piss off my dad.

“What about you? Did you always work in graphic designs?”

“I did. Back in Chicago, I worked for a large advertising agency until I had the boys. Then I stayed home for a few years. When we moved here, I went back to work. California is expensive.”

“Do you miss Chicago?” I ask, recalling how much I loved visiting the Windy City once upon a time.

“Not as much as I first did.”

“Why did you move here?”

“Paul, my ex-husband, got a transfer. He thought it would be good for our family. Our marriage.” Her eyes drift toward the windshield, and she chews at her lip. “Obviously, the marriage didn’t survive the move.”

“But you did,” I say, raising a brow at her. “You’ve been successful in your own right, with your job and your boys.”

“The job I used to have.” She scoffs.

“You’re just moving on again, that’s all. Change is difficult but sometimes necessary.” She stares at me a moment.

“Is that why you don’t drink?”

“Definitely a necessary change.” She pauses, again waiting, but this is not something I want to discuss when I’ve already ruined our date. “But I don’t want you to worry about me. I’m in a better place now. Much better.” My eyes scan her body and I shift my shoulders. The suitcoat constricts me.

“Take that off.” The sharpness of her tone surprises me, and my head swivels back in her direction.

“Excuse me?”

“You look incredibly uncomfortable. Why are you dressed like this if you weren’t happy wearing your suit?” She nods at my suit.

“I’m fine wearing it.”