Pt. 5 – Previous parts can be found here.
A weekly blog serie based on the character Mia – the rebellious one. A single twenty-something woman in search of many things – love not being one of them. Complicated is her middle name.
“I’ll be 10 minutes late.”
I press send. It’s all probably not a good idea. Yet again I’m curious. Like a child, curiosity draws me to trouble. But I don’t seem to learn until it’s too late. I’ve developed an infatuation for this man. I’ve admitted as much. Only to myself though. Letting anybody know this secret will only put gasoline into a burning fire.
The Monday afternoon rush has settled as evening closes in. I find stillness on the train ride to the city. My thoughts carry me to Friday’s event. A night that will play in my head for days, perhaps weeks to come. Even so, I wish I could remember every detail. But with each day passing it all becomes more blurry. What remains clear is the image of Camilla. It speaks loud and clear, stopping every vision of me and him together. It reminds me the absurdity of it all. My reckless behavior has done it again. The younger version of me is having a field day at my expense. She is seconds away from breaking into a dance. This surpasses the underage drinking, stealing and disappearing acts she’s play a part in. I’m not proud but reality stares at me right in the face.
Tonight, I’ll need to clarify things. I’m afraid to even think it; break it off. I will have to fight off temptations and my own lunacy.
The final stop – Stavanger, the scene to all my careless acts and the city that holds my secrets. The evening breeze serves as a cold shower. Reminding me it’s not too late to turn around. It would probably be the right thing to do at this point. But I’m not convinced, even my own thought mock me. For what do I know of doing the right thing. I’ve made mistakes. Lot’s of them. But somehow I’m enchanted by this one.
Deep breath. Here goes nothing. I’m greeted by a waiter as I enter the restaurant. I don’t give her a chance to speak as I point out my table. Nicholas sits patiently waiting. I catches his eyes and he beckons me to him. As I pass by, I catch my ego catwalking to the back of the restaurant. He’s picked a perfect spot. A candle lit table, secluded from the crowd behind us.
“Hey. You made it.” he stands at my arrival. I can’t help but notice that I’m underdressed compared to his rather formal ensemble; dark pants, white tie-less shirt, dark blue blazer. My casual jean outfit is no match. But my shoes doesn’t disappoint, thinking he can stare at my feet for glory and effort.
“Sorry, I’m late.” I say as I take off my jacket. “I’m lousy at calculating time.”
“I know” he chuckles.
The thought crosses my mind that he’s probably witness many of my belated entries to meetings this past month.
Where do I begin. I recount I have a mission which I’m likely to fail. But in my head I’m already fighting romantic ideas, a disaster and high pulse. I’m fumbling with the zipper on my jacket. The temperature is rising. I wonder how the hell do I do the right thing when the very sight of him puts me on mute.
“Anything to drink?” the waiter asks.
“I’ll have a glass of wine. White.” I order anticipating the wonders of alcohol as it will put a stop to my school girl act.
One glass in, I’ve gathered the courage. Alcohol. I’m diving in. To state the obvious – things can’t continue. Whatever this is. I put on a brave face. He is staring at the menu, deep concentrated like his reading the book of life, as if it holds the answer to all life’s problems. It’s just a menu. And I’m starving. After Maddie’s roasted chicken and all greens yesterday I’m craving unhealthy and greasy. I’ve had my mind set all day.
“Nicholas – ” I start putting down my menu. I take a deep breath and glance up. I’ve got his attention. It’s now.
“Honestly, I don’t know what we’re doing here. And I have to at least -”
“Ready to order?”
Damn it, woman. Can’t you see I’m on a mission.
“I’ll have the barbecue spare ribs.” I say and quickly handle her my menu.
“I’ll have the deluxe bacon cheese burger.”
He reaches over for my hand but I withdraw it. For now, we’ll have to avoid any contact.
No distractions. I repeat my mantra.
“I need to do the right thing.” I continue.
“Let me finish.” I insist which surprises him. Alcohol never disappoints in the moment. I’m on a roll. I have to say what needs to be said. And perhaps manage to dig myself out of this mess.
“I enjoy your company but this can’t go further.” I say but inside I’m asking with a sense of hope he’ll once again wash away all reasons. That he’ll have a logic to all this and make it possible. Maybe he’s discovered an answer whilst reading the menu.
I rest my hand on the table. I regret my every word. Doing the right thing is not as glorified as I hoped. I see no fireworks for my accomplishment. My younger version is digging her own grave, the disappointment is proving to be too much for her.
He attempts again to reach for my hand. I throw all rules out the window. He hand feels warm. Safe. I never want to let go. Logic is slowly perishing.
I enjoy every bite of the deliciousness of fat. Just staring at my plate offers comfort after what I feel as a defeat. Silence seems to be working. Let’s stick to it. He glances at me. For a brief moment, I capture joy with the twinkle in his eye. Our hand are rejoiced once again.
A booming voice distracts us.
“Don’t panic.” he urges as he slowly waves.
A familiar voice approaches behind me. I dare not to look.
“Nicholas! Hey!” I hear behind me.
Our unexpected friend gawks at the sight of me. He freezes, I could read the confusion in his eyes.
“Mia…” he mutters. Henrik has never been able to master his surprising stare. He possess no subtlety. Unlike his wife. My sister, a master at doing the right thing.