"Is this okay?" Michael asks once we are seated, gesturing around. It is dark inside the diner, despite the daylight. The entire place screams of the 80s, neon lights wrapping around the place. It is huge, much bigger than it looks from the outside.
"Yes," I smile, looking down.
"Why are you always laughing at me?" Michael whines.
"I'm not laughing at you!" I laugh, contradicting myself. "It's just a little funny that you're so concerned all of the sudden."
"I don't go on a lot of dates," Michael defends.
"Is this a date?" I ask.
"Kind of?" Michael shrugs. "I don't know, do you want it to be?"
I think for a minute. "Can we decide later?" I ask.
Michael chuckles. "Sure. What will that decision be based on?"
"Your level of assholery."
Michael laughs loudly. "First of all, that's not a word, and second of all, I will try to control it."
"Then maybe it can be a date," I allow. Michael blushes a little and looks down at his menu with a smile, and I try to fight the giddy laughter bubbling up inside of me. This is so weird. Dating is not something I've done much of, let alone enjoyed. But this... this is nice. And being here with Michael... I don't know. This whole thing is weird.
"I have a question," Michael says.
"Go ahead."
"On this sort-of date, should we discuss... things that have happened recently?" He asks, fumbling for the words.
"Maybe," I allow.
"But not right now," he guesses.
"Not right now," I agree. "Right now I'm a little curious about what you said about wanting to talk."
I remember the first time he ever showed up in my kitchen, when he gave the impression he was going to talk about himself but then abruptly changed his mind. Would he do that again right now, or are we in deeper than that?
Michael takes a deep breath. "Okay, Kate. This is very yellow." I nod my head, eyes wide. I understand. And I want him to trust me. "Actually, up until... like, right now, it's been red."
"You don't have to-" I murmur.
"I want to," he cuts me off. I sit back in my chair, prepared to listen. "But there are some parts of it that I would rather not bring up." He looks at me, as if asking if that is okay. I just nod my head, seized by the sudden urge to take his hand on the table. For fear of scaring off his sudden bravery, I don't.
"The Safe Side foundation rescued me when I was four years old. I was... I was left on the street, I assume by my parents, but I'm not sure. I don't have memories of that time." Michael speaks it all very matter-of-factly, but I can see the intensity of the emotions trembling beneath his calm façade. "It was December," he adds. "It was cold. That's all I remember, being cold." He shakes his head a little before continuing. "My parents, my adoptive parents... they are my parents, Kate. They took me in. The first memory that I have is of Christmas with them that year, I can't really remember anything before that."
Michael has a far off look in his eyes, and I can see him trying to remember. I wonder what it's like to be haunted by memories that you don't even have.
I wait a few moments, but he seems to be done talking. I am about to respond before the waitress shows up to take our order, effectively cutting the conversation off at a critical point. Michael is nervous as he orders a burger, his eyes constantly flickering to me, trying to read my face. I refrain from looking at him while I order, simultaneously letting my mind try to come up with a response to his story.
