I ask her about her different jobs, and for every job, she has a fascinating story to tell. How one time she worked a night shift at McDonalds and had to fight off a raccoon, or that other time when she worked as a newspaper carrier and saw a woman dressed up in a swimsuit vacuuming her front hall at 3 am. I find myself listening to her like a six year old listening to the world's most interesting tales.
And just as she is telling me the story of how she first met her best friend Tommy (who also happens to be a Labrador) while she was in between jobs, the wide smile waiter arrives to take our order. I ask her if she wants to order as a formality and she doesn't bother to return the favor. She grabs the menu from my hands and orders for the both of us. She orders something I have never tried before; she says I'm going to enjoy it. For my sake, I hope she's right.
While we wait for the food to arrive, I try to make small talk. I'm not good at this but I try my best. Favorite kind of music. Favorite sport. Hobbies. And just as I begin to reach the end of my small talk checklist, she cuts me off.
"That's a beautiful locket you've got there," she says, pointing to the chain I'm wearing.
"Oh, it's a family heirloom," I say, touching the locket for a brief second.
"It looks wonderfull, Mr. Raash," she says with a mischievous grin and sips her wine.
She has a beautiful smile; I'll give her that. And I don't think she has any intention of letting the whole last name thing go anytime soon. But I'm slightly glad about how she's getting comfortable with my last name.
Thankfully the waiter steps in with the food before any awkward silence can fill in. The food looks great and surprisingly, tastes great too. We start eating, throwing in an irrelevant question every now and then.
"So what next? What do you plan on doing after getting your arts degree?" I ask.
"I'm not sure. This risotto tastes amazing," she says pointing to her plate.
"Oh yea, it tastes really good," I say, taking in another spoonful, "But seriously though, what're your plans? Planning on another degree?"
"Maybe. Maybe not. I've never really actually given it a thought. The only thing that I'm currently worried about is how I'm going to sit through Mr. Riker's 'History of Arts' class tomorrow," she says with a smile; one more of those and I might start hyper ventilating.
I'm not sure how to respond to that. Most people jump at the chance to talk about their plans, especially when it comes to their careers. I let it hang in the air. I think she notices the awkwardness.
"Que sera sera," she says.
I almost choke on the meatball I'm eating. A rather tasty meatball at that.
"Excuse me?" I sputter out.
"Que sera sera. It's a Spanish phrase which means 'What will be, will be'."
"I know what it means, Sarah. I'm just surprised that you'd apply something like that to your career plans," I say, surprisingly bluntly.
"Why do you say that?" she asks, sounding genuinely curious.
"Well, it's your career, people usually plan out these things very meticulously," I say, trying very hard to not sound argumentative.
"Well, here's the thing Cain; Life happens. We can't stop it from… happening, I guess. It's always moving, moving forward. Like a river. And I let it take me wherever it's going to take me because there's no use fighting or trying to go against the stream. Whatever is going to happen is going to happen. There isn’t much I can do about it. So I see no point in worrying."
"So you are totally fine with going in blind?" I ask, in a sharp tone.
I'm a data analyst, this is a touchy issue for me.
She takes a moment to swallow, looks directly into my eyes and says, "Absolutely, because that's where the real fun is. The real fun, Mr. Raash, lies in not knowing where life's about to take you and how it's going to take you there."
If this were a story book, this is probably where I'd say that I saw a spark in her eyes.
