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I hummed in concentration as I perused the new menu at Blu.
To think I would find myself in this restaurant again. I couldn't help the little grin from my face, snorting at the luck and chances with a shake of my head. Did some of the servers remember me from that time- the girl who broke his heart and the boy in his father's suit that took hers and cradled it close?
"Hm?" I looked up from the menu at Frank's serious gaze. "Is there something wrong?" Before I could reply, he rushed out- "We could go elsewhere. I was a recommended by a friend, from business. I can-"
"Frank, whoa. Calm down." I laughed uneasily. "It's not like that. I like this place. Don't worry. I was just... reminiscing. Fond memories and all."
He exhaled, smiling shakily. "Oh. That's good. Great."
"Good." I tilted my head and he continued to ramble. I've never known Frank to be a rambler; even in his little quips and stories, I've known my mother's boyfriend to be natural with his charisma.
"If you like this place, I know I will love it," he continued. "I trust your tastes implicitly."
He said it with such conviction that I just couldn't take it anymore. Ever since he said last week he was going to be in the city for work and was hoping to have dinner with me (and subsequently show him some of the sights and catch up), I just shrugged on it. But since we met this morning, he hasn't been himself.
Too much blinking, a sweat or two, and now rambling.
"Are you okay?"
"Y-yes, of course I'm fine."
"You do know that I know you're lying, right? Frank, you're sweating like you know the nuclear codes and you've got fun fingers and poor impulse control."
Frank smiled poorly, sighing. "Your mother is the same. I'm very good in business with my poker face that clients insist I play poker with them, if not for the sole reason they want to see how it holds up. But your mother's good at seeing bullshit when she sees it. Reads me like a book. It's one of the things I adore about your mother. That I know I will always adore about her."
I twisted around my perfectly lined up cutlery. Unsure how else to approach this topic than spearheading through it, I asked. "Frank... are you here to personally tell me you're breaking up with my mother for some reason? Because as a child of divorce-"
"No!" He cursed in Italian. A sharp spit of a word that he immediately made a sign of the cross for, looking up as he apologized to who I guess is his mother, before turning back to me, half apoplectic. "Sorry, sorry. It seems like such a curse to have in the universe when I am here to ask for the opposite."
"The opposite?"
"Nadine, my dear." His solemn voice took precedence, taking my hands in his. My eyebrows rose infinitely into my hairline. "I am here to ask you for permission as I would love nothing more than to marry your mother. You and your brother are her crowning joy and love. You are the eldest, so I ask you first."
