In My Rearview Mirror, JACK.HUGHES

THIRTY ONE

[ "So if I understand well, you're born in Michigan and then you moved to LA, and you've been in New York for a little more than a year," he says, deftly pulling on the corkscrew. I nod as the bottle makes a satisfying pop.

I watch him pour the wine into my glass, and he serves himself a small one too. The restaurant is now closed, leaving only him and me sitting at the bar. Soft music plays in the background, creating a mellow ambiance. Even Olivia has bid her farewell, although she made sure to send a text, letting me know she's at the bar across the street, keeping an eye out for my safety.

Our waiter, whose name is Thomas but prefers to be called Tom, leans against the bar, corkscrew in hand. The clinking of our glasses punctuates the quiet atmosphere as we both take the first sips.

"I know it's kind of complicated," I share, glancing at my wine. After Tom takes a sip, he replies, "No, not at all. You're kind of mysterious, and I like it. Since I saw you entering, I wanted to learn more about you."

Leaning over the bar, Tom continues the conversation, "So have you gone to college?" I shake my head, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. The prospect of being honest with a stranger, someone whose judgment holds no weight, appeals to me.

"No, I haven't, but I had it all planned. At 18, I got skin cancer, quite rare for my age. I was supposed to go to NYU, but the cancer returned. Battling the illness again made college challenging, so I decided to wait. But I never went back. Now, I'm cancer-free for five years, and I'm working as an interior designer."

A subtle realization settles within me. I find myself confiding in Tom, a person I met only a few hours ago, sharing parts of my life that I've never divulged to Braden. I glance at Tom, who listens with genuine interest, and a small smile plays on my lips.

"That's quite a journey," Tom remarks, genuine empathy in his gaze as he leans in. "I can't imagine how challenging it must have been. But it's amazing that you've come out of it stronger and pursued your passion."

I offer a small smile, feeling a sense of comfort in sharing my story with a stranger who seems genuinely interested. "It was tough, but it taught me a lot about resilience and the importance of following your own path."

"I never thought I would own a restaurant. My mom left when I was younger, and my dad worked his ass off so that me and my brother could have the best life ever. He wanted me to become a lawyer or something, I don't know," Tom shares, agitating his hand in the air before continuing, "If only you saw his face when I told him that I would come to NY to open my own restaurant." He chuckles, taking a sip.

I listen attentively, appreciating the glimpse into Tom's life and the choices that led him to this point. "It sounds like you followed your own path too," I remark, finding a common thread in our stories.

He nods, acknowledging the shared sentiment in our stories. "So, what's your favorite color?" he asks. 

I chuckle at the unexpected shift in conversation, appreciating the lighthearted moment. "Hmm, I'd say it's probably any shade of pink," I reply, a thoughtful expression on my face. "What about you?"

Tom grins, as if relishing the simplicity of the question. "Green. Always loved the calming vibe of a nice shade of green."