As the taxi drove us across town I looked down at myself and realized that I was wearing all black and looked much more like a woman on her way to a funeral than out on a first date.
“You look beautiful” Kevin said, almost as if he could read my mind and knew of the doubts I was having about my appearance. I blushed a genuine blush.
“Wow” he said, looking at me with a bemused smile.
“What?”
“I can’t remember the last time I was in the company of a woman who blushed” he said, his smile growing wider. Again I blushed.
The taxi dropped us off on East 58th street between 2nd and 3rd avenues in front of my favorite place in the world to eat, a restaurant called Dawat. It had long been named New York’s finest Indian restaurant, and the cuisine they served was as close to what you might find cooking in the kitchens of India than any other place I’d dined.
The restaurant was quiet, as Wednesday evenings usually were, and we were seated quickly at a quiet table near the back. The waiter gave us menus and took our orders for drinks.
Kevin laughed out loud and I looked at him, puzzled.
“My mother told me when I was young that if you wanted to impress a girl on a first date that you should ask what she wants to eat and order for her.” he said, laughing still. “But to tell you the truth, I don’t think I could pronounce a single thing on here if my life depended on it”
I laughed along with him, noticing the way his nose scrunched up and the corners of his mouth curled under his mustache when he laughed.
“Well....I can tell you from experience that every single thing on here is simply delicious, so you’re pretty safe to just point and nod when the waiter gets back.”
“Keema matar” he pronounced slowly. “Ground lamb cooked with green peas, ginger and browned onions.” he looked up at me and wrinkled up his nose.
“Okay, I lied. I haven’t tried any of the lamb dishes” I confessed, laughing at his distorted face. “I’ve always had this paranoid image of dining on a fine dish of little lamb and then meeting a pissed off Mary on some dark street on my way home”
He laughed heartily and I knew right then that no matter what became of us, no matter where this ‘thing’ that was starting between us went, that we’d be connected in some way forever. Corny sounding I know, but there was this sparkle in his eyes when he looked at me and a spark of electricity between us that told me that our meeting was far more than a happy coincidence, but fate.
Dinner was amazing, as it always was at Dawat and Kevin sincerely seemed to enjoy the food. The spicy dishes were a little much for him, but the richly seasoned cuisine seemed to amaze him.
“That” he said, folding his napkin and laying it on the table after finishing a plate of Gulab Jamun , a light pastry made from dry milk and honey, “was almost a religious experience for me”
I smiled at him, truly happy to just be sitting at the same table with him, and even more contented in knowing that he had so fully enjoyed the meal.
“They say that food is a gift from the Gods” I said, looking into his happy eyes. “And that its preparation is a form of prayer, as is its enjoyment”
“Amazing” he said, gazing at me.
“I read it in a cookbook” I said, smiling.
“No. You. You’re amazing” he said, taking my hand in his.
I blushed and cast my eyes downward, feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of the kind things he had said. It was something I wasn’t used to, and in all honesty, didn’t feel worthy of.
We were quiet on the ride back, I snuggled up beside him, relishing the feelings that were coursing through me. He walked me to the shop and we stood facing one another, not speaking, just standing close and drinking in the energy between us.
I unlocked the door and turned back to him, wanting so badly to invite him upstairs for a cup of black tea or more when he leaned down and kissed me softly on the corner of my mouth, whispered ‘goodnight’ and walked away.