Do you like me?

"Do you think if you closed your eyes really hard, or concentrated really hard- y'know with your eyes closed- you could beam yourself into the past and tell your mom, like really, really beg your mom, not to marry?"

Eyes beaming, sheepishly looking up at the man sitting across from her, over the beautiful place settings and silky cloth, Miriam thought this would be her first mistake of many throughout the evening.

She quickly laughed to herself, as if to say "of course! I was just pretending to be crazy". He chuckled softly in response- mercy, Miriam thought, and she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. God, she thought. This dress makes me look like a schoolgirl.

The dress she was wearing was modest and comfortable. It was a thick-strapped and creamy white, with big buttons down the side. She wore a bright red off the shoulder sweater that was much too big for her, but she had wanted to be cozy, not sexy. She matched the sweater with red tights, which was a choice she was now regretting- as delicious as the idea of alternative was, she never liked the attention of being out of the ordinary. She had found the outfit at a thrift store that Danielle had brought her to. God, Danielle would never have picked this dress. But Miriam remembered Danielle had liked the dress. And so had she.

"But then we wouldn't be here." Miriam was spun back into reality. Her date had responded. And it was such a lovely response.

"Oh, well..." she trailed off, scrambling for an equally wonderful answer. She could continue with the unsettling (unsettling?) diatribe, but what if he was just masquerading an answer? What if he was throwing her a bone, and she was too stupid to take it? One mistake, or more?

"But isn't that a little selfish?" Too harsh. Too judgmental. He was raising an eyebrow. "No, not selfish. I mean, is it wrong to value our own lives over our mothers'?" He drank from his glass. What had he ordered? A manhattan, right. Maybe he would get drunk before she responded. He sipped the drink quietly, and seemed in a hurry to swallow.

"Well, I get that, but is it really our responsibility to be hyper aware of everyone else's wellbeing? Especially someone who we, honestly, have no control over?"

"Well, suspend your disbelief that you could even do all of that. Time travel, I mean."

"I know, I know," he started, waving off her clarification. Damn. "I would always try to help my mother, but- and maybe this is only applicable to my mom- she just can't be helped. Or doesn't want help. And if that is someone's fault, I am sure it isn't mine. I wouldn't go as far to say that she's made her bed, because maybe her misery isn't her fault either, but I don't think it's my responsibility to fix it all for her."

She stared at him, trying to keep her mouth from gaping open. You are my angel, she thought. You are my savior. Then she was struck with incredible embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, I- I'm really sorry," she was laughing to herself. He was smiling too, she noticed. "I've completely missed your name."

He made a reassuring "psh" sound, and looked towards his lap.

"I'm Nathan," he smiled, kind of like a little boy, now making eye contact with her.

"Here are your artichokes, madame," their waitress said with a thick french accent, suddenly appearing and placing a hot plate of fried artichokes in front of Miriam. "And the tuna carpaccio for the monsieur."

Nathan flashed a polite and charming smile to the waitress, who couldn't help but grin back. Miriam put her head back down, staring at her hands that were carefully folded in her lap.

"Would you go back to save your mom?"

Miriam's head shot up.

"What?"

He grinned, and was beginning to place some of the thinly sliced tuna in his mouth.

"Would you go back to save your mom?" he repeated, and then placed the tuna in his mouth.

"I think so, yeah."

"Hm. Why?"

Miriam wasn't prepared for this to develop into an actual conversation. She was spitballing, that's all. Making noise when there wasn't any. Filling the dead air. Now she had to follow through.

"I think she could've done more than I will."

"But she didn't."

"Well, we'll have to see about that." Nathan smiled as he chewed.

The conversation was flowing nicely. Miriam remembered her artichokes, and hastened to impale a piece with her fork, making the plate clatter against the table and the fork scrape against the porcelain. They both winced at the sound.

"Jesus," Miriam muttered, trembling a little. Nathan picked up a piece of artichoke that fell and tossed it into his mouth, chewing softly.

"It's good."

She took the piece that she had brutalized and gently placed it on her tongue, closing her mouth slowly to chew. It was good. The breading was salty instead of sickening, and the artichoke was soft but not mushy.

"Do you mind if I have more?" Nathan asked, holding up the tuna carpaccio as if it was a good for him to trade. She nodded sheepishly, and he repositioned the plates to be next to each other in the middle of the table, equally distanced from the both of them.

Soon the appetizers were finished, and their main courses arrived. Nathan had ordered the scallops, and Miriam, cultured as she was, had ordered the bouillabaisse. When the waitress placed the massive bowl of fish soup in front of her, she couldn't help but cover her giggles with her hand. Thankfully, Nathan wasn't doing a very good job hiding his amusement, and Miriam could spot a few droplets forming in the corners of his eyes.

"I'm committed to finishing this," she assured him. "You won't have any." She wagged her finger at him, playfully, and he rolled his eyes.

"Scallops are boring, you're right," he nodded after swallowing his first bite, and she felt a little sorry.

"Oh, I'm sorry I made fun, are they really bad?" As genuine as her sympathy was, she was still straining herself to stifle a few chuckles. But he waved away her concern.

"No, no, they're good. But I'm sure your soup is better."

"Next time you'll just have to take my advice." The awareness of what she had just implied hit her like a brick wall. But, she thought, why wouldn't he want to go on a second date? We seem to be having a good time.

"We'll have to make it happen," Nathan reassured her. Either he was a very good liar, or he was having just as good of a time as she was.

Miriam was not able to finish the soup alone- she had to enlist Nathan for backup. His lean frame should not be taken literally, she learned. He was perfectly capable, like all men, of ingesting large quantities of food like his stomach was an all-consuming black hole.

"You were right, your soup was better than mine," he told her after swallowing the last spoonful and folding his napkin on the table.

"Really?" She said this with a girlish air of surprise, beaming. Quickly, she collected herself. "Of course I was right," she smirked.

"Next time I won't doubt you."

There was silence once again, but this time it wasn't empty, and Miriam didn't feel the need to hurry and fill the void. This was pleasant company, pleasant co-existence.

"Would you like a coffee, or tea before you leave?" the waitress asked them, again appearing out of thin air. They simultaneously snapped their heads to face her, and she quickly hid her alarm.

"I will have tea, with milk, please," Miriam responded, smiling politely. The waitress nodded in acknowledgement, then turned to face Nathan.

"I'd like tea with lemon, if you have it," and she once again nodded in response. She returned with their tea as quickly as she left, also holding the check. Miriam sipped her tea, but quickly put it down and frowned.

"It's not good," she said, disappointed, but mostly surprised that she was disappointed. He shook his head in response, also putting his cup down.

"Mine isn't good either. Maybe they're just trying to move us out."

"Why would they do that?" Nathan laughed again, but didn't respond.

"Well alright, let's pay the check then."

They scribbled out a nice tip and split the bill, after a bit of a dispute over who would be paying the bill (like the gentleman he was, Nathan was insistent that Miriam didn't pay). Miriam wrapped herself in her long, frumpy coat as they walked out into the cold air. Nathan looked her up and down, and they suddenly looked very amused.

"Your tights are red!"

She raised an eyebrow, unsure if this was a good thing or a bad thing. Still, his surprise was undeniably endearing.

"Yes, they are," she replied, coolly.

"They're fantastic!" He was smiling boyishly, like her red tights were a new toy under the Christmas tree. He made eye contact with her again, still in a downward smile that made him look sweet. He was sweet, she thought.

"I had a good time tonight," she told him. God, that wasn't direct. Maybe she should have eased him into it. What even was "it"? Her enjoyment of him?

"Me too."

He was looking at her with desire, she realized, but there was the presence of something else, buried right under the surface of his grin- joy.

"Do you like me?" she blurted out. What a childish thing to say, she thought, a little taken aback by her newfound confidence.

"Yes."

There is comfort in being desired, of course. But there is a certain self-satisfaction by simply being enjoyed.