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I ran out of the bar and down the street while frantically trying to find Braden’s name in my contact list. He picked up immediately.
“Nadia! What—”
“I’m sorry!” I interrupted while shoving through pedestrians. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m on my way, please tell them to wait! I’m coming!”
I hung up because I couldn’t bear to hear his disappointment. I just needed to get to the restaurant, and then everything would be okay.
I stopped when I realized I was going the wrong way to the train station. I turned around and backtracked through all the people I had shoved out of the way, then sprinted when I had gaps in the crowds.
When I reached the station, I stared at the map. I was a little tipsy, and struggled to think. Was it faster to take the 7-train and transfer to the 6-train, or hop on the Q-train the whole way? I chose the latter since it required fewer steps, scanned my pass at the turnstiles, and sprinted through the station like a murderer was chasing me.
Once I was on the train, there was nothing for me to do but wait. So I read the missed text messages from Braden and cringed.
Braden: Hey, I got here before them. We’ve got a table in the front room. You can’t miss it! See you soon.
Braden: Mom and dad just got here, but they’re early too. You on your way?
Braden: Hey, you’re not answering your phone. Hope that’s because you’re on the train. Don’t feel bad about being too late—the theater accident makes for a great excuse
Braden: Starting to get worried. Andy said he last saw you at the theater. Call me when you get this.
Braden: I gave my parents a story about Atkins and the reporter needing to speak with you after the rehearsal. So play along with that if my parents ask.
Those texts were 25 minutes ago. I was much later now. While the train slowly rumbled north, I composed and then deleted a dozen different text messages back to Braden. None felt adequate.
I would just have to make it up with my dazzling personality. Being late wouldn’t matter if I won his parents over during dinner. They would understand.
I was 40 minutes late by the time I arrived at the restaurant. The valet opened the door for me—while giving me a look—but I rushed right inside.
The lights were dim in the evening, and soft piano music played from a distant corner over the din of conversation and silverware clattering on plates. He said he’s in the front room, can’t miss him. The hostess held out a hand but I ignored her and walked into the room.
I found Braden almost instantly, at a table in the middle. His parents were still there. That made me breathe a sigh of relief. Braden jumped up from his seat and met me halfway.
“I’m so sorry—” I began.
“You didn’t change?” he asked. “I told you to bring a change of clothes to rehearsal.”
I realized I was still wearing my tight yoga pants and a t-shirt from rehearsal. Everyone else in the restaurant was dressed nicely, and more than a few glances were sent my way.
“I forgot…”
The hostess caught up to us and cleared her throat. “Excuse me, ma’am, but we have a dress code…”
Braden smiled his winning smile. “It’s fine, Lisa. She’s with us.”
There was a flicker of hesitation behind the hostess’s eyes as she made a decision. “Of course, Mr. Williams,” she eventually said.
Braden put a hand on my back and led me to their table. Two empty baskets of bread were on the table, with nothing but crumbs remaining, and four glasses of red wine and an empty bottle.
“Mom, dad, this is my girlfriend Nadia.”
Braden’s dad rose first and smiled widely at me. “Call me Tony.” He had a round face that looked like it was used to smiling. A happier, plumper, and balder version of Braden with kindness in his eyes.
I shook his hand and turned to Braden’s mom, who didn’t rise to greet me. She looked unhappy, and had one of those familiar faces and a hideous perm that was 30 years old of fashion.
“I’m Mrs. Williams,” she said from her seat. “Nice to meet you.”
I smiled awkwardly and sat down. At least neither of them commented on my clothes.
