Lizzie stops to check her reflection one last time before leaving, “This never gets any easier,” she sighs, giving a shrug at herself and pulling on her coat. It’s been a lot of moons since Lizzie went on her last date – Ed? Dave? They’re all so alike it’s hard to remember their differences. “It’s just one date,” she reminds herself, suddenly anxious and flipping through ready-made excuses to cancel, in the back of her mind. As the door clicks closed behind her, she steels herself against discomfort and vows to put her best feet forward, from here.
Marvin shows up at the community center a little early to see if he can help set up - and hoping to catch up with Sheriff Murphy to say how grateful he is for the warm welcome he’s receiving, so far. Marvin is new to the area and has just opened a new restaurant in the food court, GRaiN. He’s a regular attendee of Othered Eaters Anonymous meetings – can I say that? - they meet Tuesdays at the Treehouse Community Center, and it’s been pretty good for his business, as well as meeting the neighbors.
Marvin met Madame Em at one of those meetings - and she’s simply been insistent that he meet her friend, Lizzie - which leads us here, back to the Treehouse and he’s closed the restaurant early for this occasion.
Marvin isn’t looking for anything, really – he’s got a lot on his plate right now, and can’t really afford the distraction. It’s important to make a good impression, though, and these folks all seem nice enough. A fish fry wouldn’t have been his first choice, but the Water Bowl-a-Rama feels unseemly given his good intentions.
Sheriff Murphy rounds the corner of the Treehouse, engrossed in conversation as he comes into view. Marvin can’t get a clear view of his companion, but when Murphy spots him, his body stiffens. A barely visible chuff in his posture and his companion flees back the way they came. After a few seconds, Murphy relaxes, waves to Marvin as though just seeing him, and trots over.
“Hey, Marvin, good to see you, man,” Murphy hurries over to unlock the front door to let them inside. “You here for the Fish Fry? I thought you were-“
“Yeah, yeah, keep it down, man!”
“Oh! Right,” Murphy turns to go upstairs, leaving Marvin in the doorway alone.
Lizzie arrives across the west lawn just as the Fire Pit is heating up. She waves to familiar faces and makes her way into the Treehouse and downstairs, looking for Em. She finds the meeting room empty but sees Em’s scarf draped over a chair – She’s around here somewhere, she thinks and heads back upstairs. As she steps onto the terrace, she sees Sheriff Murphy talking to someone near the dock at the Dry Pond. Immediately recognizing this as her intended date, she ducks back into the doorway – but too late. Murphy has spotted her and waves her over and her date turns to look at her, too.
She feels caught, though she hasn’t done anything wrong. She’s lost the upper hand, the element of surprise, and – her exiting opportunity. She’s disappointed - she’d been having second thoughts about more than just this date.
Resigned, she waves back and holds up a hand to indicate she’ll ‘be right there,’ before ducking back into the Treehouse. She grabs a napkin off the bar and gets a pen from the bartender, scrawls ‘NEED TO TALK – LIZZIE,’ before tossing the pen towards the bartender and rushing downstairs to leave the note with Em’s scarf – but it’s gone! She looks around – there’s no other door and she’s in a basement. She folds the napkin over and shoves it into her coat pocket as her brow furrows. She takes a deep breath and climbs the stairs to meet her date.
Murphy and Marvin have made their way to the terrace by now, leaving Lizzie less room to recover than she’s budgeted. Taken aback – again, she begins to wonder if her date was having any regrets of his own, yet.
“Oh! Hello,” she says coyly, dropping her eyes while smoothing her hair. When she looks up again, her date’s hand is outstretched, and he seems inflated somehow - to make himself appear taller. She laughs, wholly disarmed by his ridiculous posture - knowing he is at least as nervous as she is.
He deflates, confused. “Hi…what? Why are you laughing – is there something?” He looks down at himself, brushing frantically at his chest. “What are you laughing at?” his voice more urgent now, as he turns to the Sheriff for assistance.
“I don’t see anything, I don’t know,” Murphy mutters, turning to look at Lizzie, “What’s so funny, Hunny?”
Lizzie laughs have reduced to involuntary burst of chuckles, and she’s visibly trying to shake them off while they watch. “Nothing, no, sorry,” she snickers, “just a bit of nervous energy, I’m afraid. Don’t get out much, you know?” She clears her throat and straightens herself, “Shall we?”
Marvin’s jaw is agape as he looks from Lizzie to Murphy and back to Lizzie again. He closes his mouth and clears his throat, straightening himself to fully – but not overly – inflated.
“After you,” he gestures to the terrace stairs, turning to follow behind her. Two steps before the top of the stairs, he reaches out – too late – as she appears to stumble, then dives to the left and speeds down the slide exit! He dives after her, spinning the whole way down - due to terrible form, and lands in a crumpled heap on the ground – almost.
He already recognizes the laugh that quakes beneath him – he jumps up, fumbling and falling back down twice before finding enough of his feet to stand up.
“Oh, my! Miss! Are you okay?” He bends to offer her a hand, but she continues laughing, rolling onto her back, splaying her arms and legs across the grass – laughing. Relieved, he sits beside her and after a minute, he’s laughing, too.
“I’m Lizzie,” she says, rolling onto her belly and propping her head on her hands, “Sorry for being weird up there, I’m just not,“ she gestures with her hands, “good at this.”
He laughs lightly, knowing exactly what she means, and performs a theatrically mocking bow from where he sat, “Marvin…and me either.”
She’s relieved he’s funny – Or at least he isn’t unfunny, she thinks, pulling herself up to stand. “You hungry?” She walks to the hostess stand at the Dry Pond Dock and begins chatting busily, looking back and waving at him while she talks. She returns, puzzled, “She said there’s no reservation, so she won’t seat us.”
“Why would we need a reservation for the Fish Fry?”
“The Fish Fry?!” Her eyes wide in shocked disbelief.
“Yeah, the Fish Fry - that’s where everyone said the locals hang out,” he says, in earnest.
“Hang out? I thought this was a date?!” She begins to wring her hands, suddenly sweaty with embarrassment of her situation. She was hoping for a nice, quiet evening, without all the locals barging in with ‘remember whens’ and drudging up all the things she’s trying so hard – every day – to forget. A small tear slips from the corner of her eye, and she turns away to hide her face in shame.
“Hey, now, it’s okay,” he places a hand tenderly on her shoulder. “We don’t have to go to the Fish Fry – I got some bad advice, I guess. We can go anywhere you want. Are you hungry – I’ve got a restaurant over by the suburbs – it’s closed right now, so I could be here, but we could go there, and I have the key, so I could open it up, and we could go there,” he stammers - too fast.
Disarmed again, she agrees and dries her tears.
They walk along slowly, making way for others passing on their way to the Fish Fry, talking about the sky, the grass – the passersby – anything but themselves. Before long, they find themselves in the suburbs, standing outside Marvin’s restaurant. He fumbles in his pockets for his keys, suddenly feeling vulnerable.
“I, uh…forgot to mention something, uh, about this place,” he stammers, looking sheepish.
“What? Do you live with your mom? Are your wife and kids in there? What?” She ribs, rolling her eyes and drawing her hand to her brow, as though performing in a terrible stage play.
A little annoyed at her mockery, he clears his throat and straightens himself. “No, uh.” He wonders how to explain in a way that won’t bring more mockery – an impossible task, given the subject at hand. “I, uh.. It’s sort of a niche thing-“
“A NICHE thing?!” she repeats back, already laughing, “What’s a niche thing?”
He spins to face her, which rocks her back on her heels, “A. NICHE. THING.” He sputters, and spins back around, fishing the correct key out and jamming it into the lock, twisting it and returning it to his pocket before turning back to face her, more calmly now. “It’s vegetarian fare,” he says with new confidence, and smoothly reaches behind him to turn the knob and push the door open. Stepping aside, he swings his arm wide and says, “After you, of course.”
She stands for another moment, wondering if she misunderstood. Vegetarian? Really? What does that even look like? Is it popular? She looks around at the neighborhood – the Suburbs, and tries to imagine a weekday, bustling with traffic. She doesn’t get out this way very often and doesn’t know anyone who lives out here. She shrugs, deciding against a reply since he’s clearly in no joking mood about this, and walks past him into the dimly lit storefront.
He disappears down a dark corridor without waiting for her to follow. Lights suddenly illuminate the dining room and the displays beside her. Soft music begins to play from every corner, and she’s suddenly aware of the earthy aromas that fill the air – is that oak?
She inspects the display nearest her – ‘Country Cornbread’ Dry Mix packets in various stages of giftability. The next is the same, but “Blueberry Sweetbread” flavored – and more of the same, but different, beyond that. Against the wall - a shelved display of plush toys representing various members of a family. Or society, she thought to herself, absently picking up a plush and passing it between her hands. A small rack near the end holds engraved nametags on plush-sized necklaces – for just a bit more. Candles, jams, potpourri…nut butter? She doesn’t understand what anyone would do with any of this but scolds herself for not being open-minded.
She turns away from it all to find a table that has been immaculately set, in the middle of the room, while she’s been distracted. Marvin is nowhere in sight, but a sparkling glass of red wine invites her to have a seat at the table, while she waits.
The chair is old and hand-carved, but glides over the unfinished floor without a sound. As she lowers herself, she lifts her glass and is surprised at the comfort of this old and unassuming chair, as though it was made for her – welcoming her into a most comfortable respite, without feeling like a slouch.
Deep down some avenue of thought when Marvin appears, she almost doesn’t notice him at all, but for the plate appearing before her on the table. The table!
“Oh!” She pulls her chair in – Made a sound that time, she muses, stifling a chuckle. So much for not being a slouch! She had been so distracted by the marvel of the chair that she’d stayed pushed away from the table, daydreaming. Lunatic! She laughs at herself.
“You alright?” He asks, raising a single brow.
“Yeah.. Yep! Sure. Fine.” STOP TALKING LIZZIE. She looks down at her plate, then finishes her wine in a single gulp. “Erm. I’ve never had – what is this again?”
“It’s cornmeal, mostly.”
“It’s very…pretty.” Whenever Lizzie finds herself feeling awkward or out of place, she instinctually aims for flattery – everything likes to feel pretty, she believes. She looks up to smile at him and is horrified to see that he looks confused – she’s said the wrong thing. Again. She sighs and looks back to her dish.
“I’m sorry,” he rushes, “this is weird – you’re right. I’m sorry – I shouldn’t make you feel like that for thinking this is weird when it clearly is pretty weird, all things considered.”
Lizzie lets out a huge sigh of relief and begins to laugh nervously again. “I don’t think it’s that weird,” she lied. She picks up her fork and stabs at her dinner - but it gives way to the tines and stays on her plate, merely marked by her attempts.
Marvin chuckles – he thinks she’s adorable, and really enjoys introducing people to the possibilities of vegetarianism. “Like this,” he says, lifting his spoon and slowly scooping some meal from his plate before bringing it to his mouth.
“Oh,” she puts her fork down and grabs her spoon and quickly scoops a …bite? Now what? She wonders, looking to Marvin – who looks back with a now-empty spoon. She reluctantly raises the spoon to her mouth and then bites down hard on the cornmeal with a swiftness usually reserved for the wilderness - then…”BLEH!” she spits it back out, coughing. “What in the WORLD?!” she coughs out, tears streaming from her eyes.
“It’s corn.” Marvin laughs, wiping crumbs from his shirt, clearly amused.
“Why would anyone eat that?”
“It’s ‘ethical.’”
“What does that mean?”
“It means nobody’s gotta die so I can eat.”
“I’m going to die, if that’s what you’re feeding me!” She’s only half serious - but that’s still pretty serious, considering she’s not even really hungry yet.
Marvin looks wounded and gets up to clear the plates. Lizzie would ordinarily try to be polite and stop him, but she can’t this time – it’s too awful. Could it be a joke? Is he laughing at her, in the kitchen, out of range?
Suddenly warm, she stands up fast, pushing the chair out with her legs, just as Marvin rounds the corner with another bottle of wine.
“Hey, now. You don’t have to go – you tried something new, that’s something to celebrate!” He pops the cork from the bottle and refills her glass – too full, which is just how she prefers it, and gives her a wink. “This isn’t easy, defying nature and choosing friendship over the food chain,” he explains. “That’s why it’s a niche - it’s not for everyone, but for anyone who it is for – well, options are pretty limited, so I want to do my part to provide to that community - to make sure they’ve got options that don’t push them where they don’t want to go.”
“Is it …successful? Are you? Does anyone come in? Sorry.”
“Chicks love it. Some of the nannies, too – but it hasn’t really, we haven’t really,” he trails off, not finding the words. “I’m not from around here, so the locals - they don’t trust me, and they think I’m trying to poison their kids – and I’m not! I’m not like that at all!”
“I know what you mean - I work the concession for the kickball games sometimes, and the folks around here can be pretty, uh, opinionated – and I grew up here!” She shakes off the memories before they buffer and raises her glass, “To not being friends with food!” she laughed, her glass unmet.
“I won’t toast that,” Marvin says, and gulps down his wine and laughs.
They laugh and make small talk until the sun is well set. “I should get home,” Lizzie says, looking at her watch. “It’s blurry and I can’t see the time, but I’m sure I should go now.”
“It’s late, will you be alright on your own? Shall I walk you?” He stands and stumbles, landing back where he began, bursting into a fit of laughs.
“No, really, it’s fine, I can manage on my own, thank you,” she gathers her bag and shrugs into her coat. “I’ll probably grab a bite to eat on my way, so I’ll take the long way round to not disturb the neighbors.”
“Good idea,” he agrees and stands again – successfully, this time. “Let me walk you to the door, at least.”
“Surely, I can make it that far,” she laughs.
“I’ll have to lock it after you,” he replies seriously.
“Oh.” She turns and leaves him to follow – or not. “I’ve had a lovely time,” she says. Thanks for nothing, though! she thinks.
“Oh, right, same,” he says, offering his hand again for a shake.
She sighs and shakes his outstretched hand, laughing a little. “See you, then,” she says, before slipping off the doorstep and into the dark.
“See you,” he whispers – hoping he will.
