Senior Year, '94. Megan B. March
and the miscarriage was going to be more than difficult. Needing time to come up with what I would say, I placed the phone back in its cradle and went to my room to choose what I would wear and how my hair would be done for my date with Jensen at The Fiddlehead. I had never had a chance to eat there, but had passed by numerous times over the years. For an instant I wondered if Jensen had ever gone there with Savannah.
Going into the bathroom, I heated up my curling iron and gave myself a good look in the mirror before picking up a brush and swiping my hair back into a long ponytail. After securing it with a hair tie, I rolled my hair evenly around the large wand. After five minutes of holding it there while my arm complained, I unwound the curling iron and watched my hair slowly bounce into a large, loose curl that rested upon my neck. I let out a snicker and decided that my hair looked like Savannah’s the day we’d seen her, only darker. Hmmm, am I inherently trying to torture Jensen? Maybe I was, because I chose to wear the tight black mini-skirt Jensen liked so much. A lilac cashmere sweater my mom once gave me for Christmas was set off by the black skirt with a set of silver earrings that shimmered in the right light, throwing gentle sparkles. I was satisfied when a spritz of Vanilla Fields on my sweater made sure it no longer smelled as if I had forgotten about it in the back of the closet.
Not wanting to come across dressed like I had that fateful night partying with Nate, I chose a different look and went with a very light shade of purple mascara and purple eyeliner. A brush of pale pink lipstick with glaze of sparkly lip gloss over it was a nicely added touch, and I was quite pleased with the look I had achieved: soft and understated. The last addition to my evening ensemble was a pair of three-inch dark purple strappy sandals that perfectly matched my sweater. Much thought had gone into what I would wear that evening. Yes, I planned on being unforgettable, regardless of why Jensen wanted to take me to dinner. Or rather meet me for dinner.
A half hour before five, I entered the parking lot and drove around to find a space in the crowded lot while also keeping my eye out for Alicia’s Prelude or her parents’ BMW, not sure which Jensen would have had access to for the night. Everyone in town must have chosen to have dinner at The Fiddlehead that Saturday night because the lot was full. Circling around a little longer, I ended up parking in a space in the farthest corner of the lot. Once the truck’s engine was shut off, I looked at my watch and saw that it was about five ‘til. Cutting it a little close, aren’t we? Reaching for my purse from where I had deposited it on the passenger seat, I headed for the front doors and went inside to wait.
“How may I help you this evening?” asked a tall, impeccably dressed man standing inside the entrance way next to a podium stacked with menus. The ramrod straight man was dressed in a black suit with a white button-up shirt that was adorned with a deep blue tie that glistened slightly in the light, reminding me of Jensen’s eyes whenever they sparkled when imploring into my soul.
“Um, I’m meeting someone here. He might have put in a reservation with the name of Jensen Meyers.” Taking a quick look around and seeing that almost every table was taken, I failed to spot Jensen and wondered if I’d gotten the time right.
“Miss, he’s already here in the upstairs dining room. Follow me.”
I trailed behind the host as he weaved through the tables and made his way upstairs where there weren’t as many people as the first floor. Right away I spotted Jensen sitting at a quaint table for two in the far corner of the room near a large window. He was staring outside and I was sure that he must have seen me come in. The host and I came closer to where Jensen was sitting and he turned his face toward us, forcing a slight smile when he recognized me. I noticed he had grown a goatee, which wasn’t like him since he wasn’t one for facial hair. Casually dressed in a pair of light khakis and a grey, long-sleeved Henley, he stood up as the host pulled my chair out. I sat down, accepting the menu that the host handed me and listened as he recited the evening specials and said that our server would be right with us.
“I see you got my flowers and note,” Jensen said, reaching across the table and taking my hand in his. “You look amazing.”
A simple ‘thanks’ was all I could manage to say for I was a bit on edge, having to meet him at the restaurant instead of him picking me up and taking me there as he usually would have done. With absolutely no idea what he had in mind, I didn’t know how to act. I did manage to stammer out, “And … and thank you for the flowers, they’re beautiful.” The menu was forgotten by then and I searched his face for some kind of clue of what he had in mind. I swallowed and asked, “When did you come over?”
“Around ten. I used my key … I hope you don’t mind.”
“Uh, no, I was taking the SATs. Didn’t Alicia tell you?” Nervous with the whole encounter, I twirled the end of my ponytail around my index finger while biting my bottom lip.
“No, I didn’t talk to Alicia. In fact, my family doesn’t know I’m here.” Jensen shifted in his seat and unconsciously picked up a salt shaker from the table and began to lightly tap the table with it. “Please don’t tell them.”
I cocked an eyebrow in surprise, wondering what he was up to.
“I’m staying with Gabe and I’m not sure if I’m going to let them know I’m in town.”
I kept my eyebrow cocked, letting him know that he wasn’t answering my unspoken question, but before he could answer our waiter came to take our order. Just as impeccably dressed as the host, our server was a little shorter with a smile to die for. He, too, was dressed in the same black and white ensemble, and when he asked if we were ready to order he stood as if ready to salute. I apologized, asking for a few more minutes to look the menu over. He graciously said for me to take my time and asked what we would like to drink. Jensen decided to stick with the water that our server had already poured into fancy crystal glasses, while I ordered iced tea. Our server left to give us a few minutes to decide, and I opened the leather menu for the first time. Jensen had barely looked at his before shutting it and letting me know that the halibut was ‘excellent’ and that’s what he had chosen. I blindly skimmed over the pages of mine and quickly shut my menu, deciding on the same. There was no way I was going to try concentrating on the choices while Jensen was staring at me from across the table. As it was, I felt odd enough that he had me meet him there instead of picking me up in the car he borrowed from Gabe. The two of us looked at one another curiously, but neither of us spoke until our server came with a basket of sourdough bread and whipped butter, asking what we’d like to order and then turning away after giving us a ‘very good choice’ when in unison we ordered the halibut.
“How did you do on the SATs?” Jensen asked, trying to make small talk.
So, we were going to play this game, huh? “I’m really not sure. It was a long four hours and I was numb afterward. I’m sure you can remember feeling that same way.” What I’d said came out a bit clipped, but it wasn’t how I meant it. “I couldn’t focus my studying since I didn’t have the results from the first test.” I took a bite of the bread.
“Oh, yeah, I should have warned you that I didn’t get mine for about four months.”
“Yeah, that’s what I figured. I also sent in all of my college applications. Mud on the barn door approach, I guess.” I took another bite of bread.
“Stanford included?” he inquired, sort of giving me a smile. It wasn’t completely genuine because it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Yes, sir,” I said after swallowing. I watched Jensen’s hand as he reached for another piece of bread. “That’s new,” I commented as I pointed to my face where a goatee might have grown had I been a guy.
“You like it?” Jensen ran his thumb and forefinger along the hair on each side of his chin. Since he had always been clean-shaven, I had never noticed that his facial hair grew in darker than the hair on his head. The darker color, I decided, made him look like he was up to no good. Or, perhaps it was the fact that he’d grown a goatee. I wasn’t sure if I would feel the same way be it a moustache or a full beard. All I knew was that I really