Kissing My Dad's Friend

The elevator slows to a halt. Top floor, I realize. But when the doors open, I see nothing I expected on the other side. It’s not a penthouse, or a swanky apartment. It’s a whole restaurant, hidden up here like one of those old fashioned speakeasies that got so popular a few years back in the city.

A real, unforced smile breaks out across my face as Russ leads me out of the elevator with a sly smile. “Guessing you haven’t been here before?”

“How did you find out about this place?” I ask, my eyes widening as I take it in. It’s partially open air, with a glass enclosure over it now, though I can see that it could probably be removed in the summertime. Through the huge glass windows, there’s a brilliant 360 view. I can see all the way uptown to the new Hudson Yards development and the Empire and Chrysler buildings. Downtown, there’s the new One World Trade and a few of the apartment buildings that have popped up over Wall Street. Every time I blink these days, it seems like the city skyline is changing, yet somehow I never get sick of watching it light up at night like this.

“I told you, we’re here to meet a friend,” he says.

Closer to hand, the restaurant is a cluster of cozy little seating areas, some with velvet-lined booths, others with plush cushions in the middle of the floor. Russ leads me to a velvet booth in the corner, near where the uptown and western facing windows meet. It has the best view in both directions, I think.

On the table itself, there’s a small placard with our names in curling script. Just out first names. Russ and Maggie. Seeing them together like that makes something hitch in my chest. Our names look good together. And this feels so right, like a normal date.

We settle into the table, where a small floral arrangement greets us, alongside a menu that’s blank except for a handful of emojis.

I laugh, looking them over. “What are these?” There’s a tongue emoji, then a heart eyes one. All the way down a list of about ten of them.

“That is our menu,” replies a new voice. A man about Russ’s age has appeared behind our table, wearing an apron and twirling a drink shaker in one hand. “Do you like it?”

“What does it mean?” I ask, peering at it again.

“Each one represents the experience we’d like you to have tasting the dish,” he explains, before he deftly sets down two glasses and pours us a mixed drink worthy of my mother’s skills. “I suppose this must be the Maggie I’ve heard so much about lately?” he asks Russ, then, as Russ offers him a fist to bump.

“Maggie, this is my friend Carlos. He’s a restauranteur. This place is his newest project.”

Wait a minute. Carlos… that rings a bell. Carlos Ramirez? I remember reading a ton of articles about him—he’s got like ten restaurants across town. I had no idea Russ knew him. “Nice to meet you.” I offer a hand to shake, which he does, firmly. “Your restaurant is gorgeous.”

“Just wait till you taste the food,” he says, holding up a hand to stave me off. “Looks are nothing if you don’t have good cuisine to pair.”

“How do you two know each other?” I can’t help asking. How did I never know Russ was friends with a famous chef?

Carlos’s smile widens. “Russ, you care to explain, or shall I?”

“You can tell it,” Russ says, and there’s something about the way he phrases it that makes me think he doesn’t always like Carlos to admit it.

Carlos gestures at me, and I slide over in the booth to make room, so he can join our table. As he sits, I take a sip of the drink he poured for us, and my eyelids flutter closed for a second in appreciation. It’s delicious. Delicate and spiced. It reminds me of Christmas. “Russ saved my life,” Carlos says, without any preamble.

I glance over at Russ, my eyes widening.

“We were in the same, well… shelter.” Carlos looks toward Russ with a hesitant glance, and Russ nods. “I guess he’s told you about the couple of months he spent homeless.”

Suddenly it makes sense to me. Why he hasn’t told Dad about him and Carlos being friends. If Carlos is from that part of his life, he hasn’t told many people about it at all.

“At the time, I was an addict.” Carlos says it so easily that I almost think I misheard him. But he’s clearly come to terms with his past. “I overdosed. Russ was able to revive me and get me to a hospital in time to make a full recovery. Any longer and I would have suffered severe brain damage.”

Russ shakes his head. “But Carlos saved me too, after that. He’s the one who convinced me to admit to my dean how much trouble I was actually in, which prompted the dean to speed up my stipend applications process and get a roof back over my head sooner.”