Chapter 7 - THE FIRST DATE HE DIDN’T CALL A DATE
Gabriel asked me out fourteen months after Benny’s stew.
Not while I was treating his fear.
Not while he was paying me.
Not while Brendan was actively contacting me.
Fourteen months.
He had apparently learned patience through suffering.
We were at Benny’s.
He ordered meatloaf.
Benny nearly fainted because Gabriel had stopped requiring sealed ingredients months earlier.
“Norah.”
“Yes?”
“Would you have dinner with me?”
I stared at his plate.
“You are having dinner.”
“With you.”
“I work here Saturdays.”
“Not here.”
Ah.
“That sounds like a date.”
“It is.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
Gabriel nodded.
“Okay.”
Then continued eating.
I waited.
That was it.
No persuasion.
No:
Why not?
No wounded male silence.
Just meatloaf.
I walked back to the counter.
Ten minutes later, I became irritated.
Benny stared.
“What?”
“He took it too well.”
Benny blinked.
“You rejected him.”
“I know.”
“Do you want him to threaten you?”
“No.”
“Then perhaps therapy has ruined both of you.”
I threw a napkin at him.
Three weeks later, I asked Gabriel.
He stared.
“Dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Is this pity?”
“No.”
“Curiosity?”
“Partly.”
“That is not flattering.”
“You’ll survive.”
Our first date was at a neighborhood restaurant in Brooklyn.
Gabriel chose somewhere he did not own.
I checked.
One security man sat outside.
Not inside.
Compromise.
We talked about ordinary things.
My mother.
His hatred of pigeons.
Nursing.
The fact that he had never used a laundromat.
I considered ending the date immediately over that.
Then:
“Why crime?”
I asked.
He did not pretend confusion.
“I inherited some.”
“Built some.”
“Believed fear was efficient.”
“Was it?”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised me.
He continued.
“For short-term obedience.”
“Terrible for truth.”
There it was.
“Are you still in it?”
“Less than I was.”
“That's vague.”
“Because the honest answer is complicated.”
He explained what he could.
Legitimate companies increasingly separated under professional management.
He had withdrawn from several illegal enterprises rather than pass them to relatives.
Some relationships required lawyers and regulators to unwind.
He did not ask me to believe he had become a saint.
Good.
“I don't need a saint.”
I said.
“What do you need?”
“Someone whose problems do not become my job.”
He almost smiled.
“Reasonable.”
“And you?”
He thought.
“Someone who does not pretend fear makes me impressive.”
I looked at him.
“It mostly makes you annoying.”
“Promising start.”
We dated.
Slowly.
I kept my apartment.
My job.
My car that made a terrible noise on cold mornings.
Gabriel offered to replace it once.
I said no.
He never offered again.
When it finally died, I bought a used Honda with my own loan.
Gabriel inspected the tires.
That was allowed.
We argued.
Once badly.
He had security follow my car after a threat against him.
He did not tell me.
I discovered them.
Every old alarm inside me exploded.
“You do not get to make me safer by taking away my knowledge.”
He did not defend himself.
“I was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“The threat was credible.”
“That explains your fear.”
“Not your decision.”
He closed his eyes.
“Correct.”
The security stopped.
We built a protocol together for actual threats.
Information first.
Choice whenever possible.
Emergency exceptions narrowly defined.
Romantic?
No.
Healthy?
Very.
Months later, Gabriel said:
“I love you.”
He said it while washing dishes at my apartment.
Badly.
Soap everywhere.
I froze.
He immediately added:
“You do not have to answer.”
I laughed.
“Your therapist is worth every dollar.”
“Norah.”
“I love you too.”
He dropped a plate.
It survived.
May you like
Barely.
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