Then Victoria set her menu down and said, "I want to ask you something direct." Okay? And I want you to answer directly, not the way you answer at work. Where everything you say is measured and professional and gives exactly nothing away. Daniel raised an eyebrow slight lie.
You've noticed that, he said. I've noticed everything about you, she said. For longer than I've been willing to admit. The table went quiet. Ask your question, he said.
She looked at him. When was the last time someone took care of you? Actually took care of you. Not because they worked for you or needed something from you, but just because you mattered to them. The question hit him somewhere he wasn't prepared for.
He could have deflected. He was good at deflecting. He had six years of practice doing it with the specific competence of someone who has the made deflection in to a protective structure. Instead, he said, "Maya, my wife before she died." Victoria didn't look away.
That was 6 years ago. Yes. And in 6 years? No. He said quietly.
Not really. No, a long silence, not an uncomfortable one. The kind of silence that happens when something true has been said, and both people in the conversation are deciding what to do with it. I want to tell you something, Victoria said. And I need you to actually hear it, not process it, and file it somewhere.
I'm listening. I have spent 17 years building something that makes everyone around me secure. My employees have jobs. My investors have returns. The restaurants have futures.
She paused. And I am the loneliest person I know, and I have been for a very long time. Daniel looked at her. Why are you telling me this? He said, not coldly.
Genuinely, because you're the only person I've met in years who I believe wouldn't use it against me. She held his gaze. And because I'm 43 years old and I'm tired of being impressive, and I wanted one dinner where I could just be a person. 43, he thought. He had thought she was older, not in appearance, but in the weight she carried.
Some burdens age people in ways that have nothing to do with years. You're a person, he said. At this table? Yes, she said. On Monday morning, I'm your employer again and everything that means.
And what does this table mean? She looked at him steadily. I don't know yet, she said. But I came for it anyway. The echo of her own words from the rain, from the alley, from the night that had started all of this.