When I emerged from the subway on Eighty-sixth and Lexington, I realized that except for the quick jaunt to Daphne’s friend’s parents’ apartment for the lame-o party, I had not spent any time uptown at all. And that was a mistake, because even though downtown was cool and edgy and midtown was fun and businessy, uptown was so clean and orderly. I walked along Park Avenue, taking in all the grand limestone buildings with their sleek awnings and uniformed doormen opening the heavy latticed doors for well-dressed residents, and sighed. It would really be nice to have money and live here one day. All of the buildings had neat little flower boxes and gated trees so that dogs couldn’t do their bidniss on them. And although the pulsing hip factor of downtown wasn’t there, the stylish pedestrians were just as intriguing to me.
I supposed I was looking at everything with an extra spring in my step because I was on my way to meet Matt. He’d asked me on a real date to dinner at “his parents’ favorite restaurant,” and when I ran the name and address by Richard, he’d raised his eyebrows and told me it was “très swanky” and I “must have landed a rich pup.” I felt like I was in the movies! Here I was in New York City, working at my dream job, and about to go out with “a rich pup” to a “swanky” restaurant. It was amazing!
When I found my way to Vico, a sleek-looking Italian restaurant with a clubby atmosphere, I scanned the room as I gave my name to the maître d’. Unfortunately, there was no sign of Matt yet. I didn’t want to be the first one, and had purposely dragged my feet a little so I wouldn’t come off like an eager beaver. But being prompt is not a crime.
The maître d’ didn’t find my name or Matt’s, which was weird, but shrugged and said they had a table anyway, and led me to the back corner of the room. Right away a busboy rushed over and filled my water glass and another brought a bread basket. Then a waiter asked if I would like flat or sparkling water and seemed perplexed when I asked what was the difference between those and the one that the waiter had just poured for me. (He patiently explained that I was drinking tap water, which I suppose was just fine by me.) It was strange to be at a grown-up place like this without my parents, but then again, I couldn’t even picture my parents here. We go out to dinner frequently, but to places like Houston’s or the Cheesecake Factory. Sure, we’ve gone to Montello’s, a little Italian place near our house, which has great food, but it’s not really fancy seeing as they still give you crayons to draw on the paper tablecloths.
I scanned the menu as I waited for Matt. I couldn’t believe the prices and I hoped (read: prayed) that he didn’t expect us to split dinner. Luckily I had cash on me, but if we ordered first and second courses, it would be about one hundred dollars, which was way too exorbitant for me. The minutes ticked by, and I nervously kept sipping my water. The busboy kept coming up and refilling it, and the waiter asked me twice if I was sure I wouldn’t like something to drink. It felt weird to order without Matt, but I finally broke down and ordered a Coke and the waiter seemed a little disappointed. Just as I was starting to panic, Matt arrived.
He smiled at me and waved, and my heart did a little dance. As he walked up the steps toward me, I noticed that he was wearing if not the same, then nearly identical black pants and shirt that he wore when I met him. Maybe that look was his thing.
“Hey, I’m so sorry I’m late,” said Matt.
“No problem,” I assured him.
“The good news is that I’m late for a reason,” Matt said, grabbing a bread roll and breaking it in half. “I just nailed down my spring internship, and I am happy to say you’re looking at Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s newest employee.”
“No way! That is so major!”
“I know. Of course, I’m not her employee, just her unpaid intern, and the lowliest at that, but this is one of my lifelong dreams.”
“I am so impressed,” I said. Wow, this guy was going places! How did I luck out?
“But anyway, sorry to talk about me straight off the bat. Tell me about you and your day,” he said, putting his hand on mine. I think I melted into the table.
“Um, well, it’s not been as exciting as yours, that’s for sure. I booked some foot models for our October pedicure article and had to rearrange some shelves, but that is so petty compared to what you’re going to do.” For the first time I felt like fashion was insignificant and lame. I aspired to write articles on shoes, and Matt aspired to change our country. I was so not worthy.
“Don’t be crazy,” scolded Matt. “Fashion and other leisure pursuits are just as vital as the judicial system. We need a little froth and fun in our life also, don’t we?”
And with that, he had me. I looked at his eyes, which were sparkling in the dimly lit room, and knew then and there that Matt was special. He was not some fumbling lacrosse-stick-toting high school boy: He was a man.
As the dinner wore on (Matt told me to order “anything I want” and I did make a pig out of myself with the artichoke salad and homemade gnocchi), I learned that he grew up in New York but had gone to boarding school in Massachusetts at Holt Academy (which even I had heard of, seeing as it produced four U.S. presidents and was one of the toniest schools in the country), before going to Georgetown. He was a black diamond skier and a big mountain biker but didn’t seem to care that I was hopeless with sports. The weird thing was that we had so much in common! I told him my favorite movie was Rear Window and he was stunned and told me it was his also! We both loved van Gogh and loathed modern architecture, and when I ordered tiramisu for dessert, his jaw dropped and he told me that it was his favorite dessert in the world. I wanted to get down on my knees and thank the stars for sending us both to Melt the same night.
I had thought I was so into James, but the more I got to know Matt, the more he seemed like my kind of guy. James was amazing, but he was obviously uncomfortable with the fact that both his dad and stepfather were wealthy and extremely successful. On the flip side, Matt casually told me that he had been really fortunate to grow up with extreme wealth, and rather than be all spoiled bratty about it, he planned to use his good fortune and education to change the policy of the U.S. government toward welfare recipients. How cool was that?
“I’m so glad I met you, Kira,” said Matt after we finished the last dollop of mascarpone cream from our dessert.
I think I turned bright red. “I am, too.”
“Can I get you anything else?” asked the waiter, approaching our table.
“We’re all set,” said Matt.
“Very well then,” said the waiter, placing a leather-bound case with the bill on the edge of the table.
Matt glanced up at the waiter. “Oh, I’m charging it to my dad. Cal Rubin.”
“You’re Mr. Rubin’s son?” asked the waiter.
“Yeah, Dad said just charge it to his house account. And add twenty-five percent for gratuity.”
The waiter looked pleased. “Thank you so much, sir.”
“No problem,” said Matt, returning his gaze to me. “Shall we go on a walk?”
“Sure,” I said.
Matt slid back my chair and we exited onto Madison Avenue.
“Let’s take Fifth, much more scenic,” said Matt, steering me down Ninety-third Street.
“I thought your last name was Hoffer,” I said, confused.
Matt sunk his hands into his pockets. “It is. Cal Rubin is my stepdad, but he’s like a dad to me.”
“Oh,” I said. It was weird that both James’s and Matt’s parents were divorced. All of my friends’ parents at home were still married. I guess that wasn’t the norm in Manhattan.
We turned onto Fifth Avenue and Matt pointed out the sights, my own personal tour guide. We passed the Jewish Museum, the Convent of the Sacred Heart, and then the Cooper-Hewitt Museum, which used to be Andrew Carnegie’s mansion. All of the meticulously restored old buildings were gorgeous. It was such a nice night, with a warm breeze, to be walking around, and even though it was about nine o’clock, it still wasn’t dark. People were spilling out of the park—joggers, bikers, and other couples like us. It was all so romantic.
When we got to about Eighty-fourth Street, Matt stopped in front of an ornate limestone building. The immaculately clad doormen stood at their posts outside as if royalty lived inside the gilded doors.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, noticing his fallen face.
“Yeah, sorry,” he said, his voice tight.
“What?” I asked, concerned.
“It’s just…this is my dad’s building, and um, I don’t get along with my stepmother,” he lamented, looking up at the giant windows of the enormous apartments above. “When I pass it, it conjures up all these bad memories, ’cause basically I never see my dad because of my stepmonster and their new kids.”
“Oh my God! That’s horrible. I’m so sorry,” I said, putting a hand on his arm to try to comfort him.
Matt suddenly shrugged, then smiled at me, taking my hand. “Kira, you’re a really sweet girl. I’m so glad I met you.”
He leaned down and delicately kissed my hand, which made me shiver, feeling like some cherished Victorian woman in a costume drama. He looked up and saw my smile, then swiftly pulled me into him and kissed me passionately. I wanted to melt—and not because of the warm summer night.
Before heading back uptown, Matt walked me all the way down to my apartment, which was like five miles, stopping to kiss me almost every block. I had never been happier to see so many red lights.