Then I answer his question. “I love Denver, I grew up here and moved back after college, but I’m not sold on the idea of being here forever. I guess I’m open to anything and thankfully my business is portable. I can make jewelry anywhere in the world.”
“So why don’t you do that?” he asks. “Why not set up shop in Paris or Peru?”
A waiter comes around and I order our dinner: spaghetti and meatballs, of course, and a bottle of red wine.
“I traveled growing up, and in college I did a few semesters abroad. But the truth is, I’m not chasing a dream. I already have it. A business I love, that brings joy to every customer. Honestly, I couldn’t ask for more.”
“Nothing more?”
I sigh, “Well I’d love to be married, have children, but after everything that happened over the last few weeks, I’ve learned more about what I really want, what I want to embrace.”
“And what’s that?” Samson’s elbows are on the table, leaning in as if my words are precious and must be heard.
“I want to learn to just let it be. Let the cards fall as they may and not try to force my life down a certain path. Let it be.”
“Let It Be, like the Beatles song?”
I nod, remembering Heart of Gold, imagining his mother washing the dishes or folding the clothes and repeating the words of the song, words that meant so much to him.
Samson runs his hands over his beard as if considering saying something. But then the spaghetti is served and the mood changes.
“These are some big balls,” he says, grinning.
“Yep. Some of the biggest.” I take a sip of the Merlot, savoring this unexpected evening with Samson. “So, tell me about you. You know where I live, what I do, my family, my life plans. What about yours?”
He chooses that moment to take a bite of pasta, and his eyes don’t meet mine. Awesome, so we are back to square one. I’m on another date with a man who is not intending to open up to me at all.
But then he uses his napkin to wipe his mouth, and he clears his throat and looks me in the eye. “It’s really fucking hard to talk about myself, so be patient, Ava Grace.”
I twist my lips, wanting to defend myself, but then he continues talking and I stop and just try to listen.
“You know Taylor and I lost our parents when we were young, right?”
I nod, not knowing the all the details, but knowing Taylor was only seven years old, and that they spent their childhood being shuffled around to distant relatives, and eventually ended up in foster care for a few years.
“Well, I blame myself for a lot of what happened. They died in a car crash, but it was because they were coming to pick me up from school. I had gotten in trouble, was suspended—again. It was junior high and I was an asshole. But my dad, he left work, got my mom, and the two of them were headed to the school to take care of the mess I’d made. On the way, there they hit some ice and died.” Samson tightens his jaw, his shoulders tense.
I blink back the tears and reach across the table to Samson’s hand. He takes mine in his, his skin softer than I expected, his grip tight as if he needs to hold onto something right now. Hold on to me.
“Fuck,” he says, shaking his head. “I’ve never told anyone that. I’ve blamed myself for years, thinking that if I’d had my shit together, I never would have ruined my family. For a long time, I was on the straight and narrow. Doing my best to take care of myself and Taylor, but once he was eighteen, I let loose again. Let myself get in trouble one too many times, and that’s why I left. I skipped town needing to clear my head, you know?”
“Samson, it wasn’t your fault they died; it was an accident.” I run my fingers over his thumb, my heart aching for him, understanding him better now that he’s shared this part of himself. “And after so many years of taking care of Taylor, still a young man yourself, of course, you let loose for a while, you never had a real chance to sow your wild oats.”
“Even if I know that logically, it’s still hard to believe. Especially now with Taylor getting married. Hell, my mom would have loved to meet Sophia; to be here for all this.”
“That makes sense. I bet different times of the year, in general, are more difficult than others.”
Samson nods. “The holidays are always a shitty time for me. I retreat every chance I get.”
“Do you think you’ll always be this way? Need to be alone in the mountains to stay grounded?” I tear off a piece of bread, watching Samson contemplate my question.