June 12, 1996.
I am standing on the beach, with a notepad in one hand and a pencil in another, looking at my watch every three seconds. I am making notes and trying to predict when the next big wave will come in. My mother, relaxing under the sun, watches me for a while and then calls me over.
"What are you doing darling?" she asks.
"I'm trying to see if I can guess when the next big wave will come in mom," I say. She looks amused for some reason.
"And why are you doing that?"
"Because I want to know when to step back. I don't want to get wet."
She puts her hand on my cheek and says softly, "Now where's the fun in that? The best part of this, my darling, is not knowing when the water will sweep the sand off from under your feet."
The clang of something heavy falling in the kitchen brings me back to the present.
November 21, 2016.
I'm not sure why I was thinking about that day, given where I am and why I am here.
"Sir, are you ready to order?" the waiter asks, with a grand smile.
"Not yet actually. I'm waiting for someone," I say.
"That's alright sir, let me know if you need anything in the meantime," he says, the smile still wide on his face, and leaves.
Russo's is a pretty popular restaurant around here. The only reason I could get in without a reservation was because it was a weekday. And the only reason I had to get in without a reservation was because my idiot friend David (also my best friend when he's not being an idiot) set me up on a blind date with a 'friend of a friend of his'. He didn't tell me until the last moment because he knew I'd refuse. Which I did. But David's stubborn, he wasn't ready to take no for an answer. And I wasn't exactly happy with this little 'surprise'. I hate not knowing and I hate not being prepared.
I look at my watch. Again. I've been waiting here for about half an hour.
I don't mind waiting but the more I wait, the more nervous I get. I haven't been on a date in a while now, and my last date was a drag. Right now, I just want to get this over with as quickly and as smoothly as possible.
"Cain?"
I hear a voice from behind. I turn around to see an olive toned woman in a red dress.
My god, she looks beautiful.
"Hi, this is Sarah. You're Cain right? Cain Raash?"
She barely manages to pronounce my last name. Not her fault, it is a weird last name.
I get up and shake her hand.
"Yup. That's me. It's nice to meet you Ms. Middleton."
"Ms. Middleton? Seriously?" she says with a grin and a raised eyebrow.
I just started off a date like it was a boardroom meeting. Great.
We settle down and go through the usual motions, trade off our bio datas, basically.
Cain Raash. 28 years old. Data analyst. I work as a consultant for big companies, I use their numbers to predict possible future market trends and help them prepare for these changes. It’s pretty boring stuff so I keep it short.
"Oh, a man of numbers, huh? Interesting," she says.
I'm not sure what to make of that so I let it slide.
Before I tell her that it's her turn to share, she bombards me with a barrage of questions about my work - how I work, what exactly I mean by predicting trends, how exactly I do that, what a routine day at work is like. She stresses on the most minute of details; what kind of coffee I take, what do I do when I'm not at work, do I wear a tie or not. Her curiosity doesn't surprise me but her genuine interest in the answers I give, does.
And once she's done asking she begins telling. Sarah Middleton. 28 years. Holds degrees in computer science, business management, and is currently pursuing an arts degree. Has worked a wide range of jobs from McDonald's to a programmer at a well-reputed tech giant. She even had a gig as an Uber driver once but that didn't last long because apparently she has a terrible sense of direction. She's a handful.
I ask her about her having degrees in such different fields and all she says is, "I wanted a taste of everything I guess."
