Your deep brown orbs bore into me and I fidget under your stare. Somehow, today feels a little different, special even.
“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Your baritone rings in my ears.
The awkward silence is broken with a simple question, but the nervousness still spreads like a wildfire.
A moment later, with coffee before us, we began our discussion.
“Where do you see yourself in ten years, Ms. Abigail?”
I gulped and regurgitated the answer I had written down when I had thought about the potential questions. “Possibly married, with one or two kids.” A nervous laugh escaped from my lips.
Was this what I wanted? To be a passive housewife, to be used as a child-birthing and keep-the-house-tidy machine? What happened to your dreams, your aspirations?
I nodded timidly like one of those solar-powered nodding toys.
Your eyes clouded, your expression unreadable. Then, your thick straight eyebrows relaxed and your face morphed into a charming, smiling angel.
“That’s nice, I can envision you being there.”
With that, you stood and planted a fifty-dollar bill upon the table. I looked up with questioning eyes.
“I always thought you were more…” you paused, searching for the right word. “aggressive, or rather, passionate about life.” A sigh escaped your lips as you extended a hand. I stood and extended mine, shocked by the quick turn of events.
“It was nice meeting you, and best of luck for your next blind date.”