“I hope you don't mind that I went ahead and ordered drinks.” He waved in the general direction of the champagne. “You look … beautiful, by the way.”
“You don't look so bad yourself,” I replied with a teasing smile. It was true; on top of his natural boy-next-door cuteness, Logan clearly had fashion sense. A charcoal pinstripe suit, a dove-gray shirt, and a gunmetal-blue houndstooth tie. Complementary without being boring. His good taste in clothes definitely added another few points to his growing total.
While I looked over the menu, Logan poured us each a flute of champagne. Eventually we decided on a caprese salad to share, veal marsala with porcini mushrooms for him, and duck confit with blackberry sauce for me.
“So,” he said after we had ordered, “I know this is your last semester at UCSD, but that's pretty much it. Tell me about yourself?”
“Uh … well, I…” Family was an obvious icebreaker topic. But even though I had shared so much with Nixon before, I didn't really want to talk about cancer and dead moms and hysterectomies on a first date. For some weird reason, I just wasn't as comfortable with Logan as I'd been with my douchebag stepbrother. I guess even my gut instinct isn't immune to mistakes. Huge, terrible mistakes…
The caprese salad landed in front of us. I realized that I was zoning out and forced my focus back to the conversation. “Well, I'm a fashion design major, and eventually I want to blog about beauty advice and fashion-related news. Last year I studied abroad in London.” School and work were usually safe topics.
“Did you grow up around here?”
“Yep, in Irvine. Dad actually met Cynthia—that's my stepmother—at an In-N-Out Burger.” I laughed a little. “It's just about the most 'southern California' story I've ever heard.”
I had left Mom's name conspicuously absent, and Logan was graceful enough not to mention it. “Was it an office romance? Did their eyes meet over the deep-fat fryer?” he asked instead, lips quirked.
“No, but you know, I'm … not totally sure what Dad does do.” I laughed again. “His company makes semiconductors. He has some kind of obscure management position.”
The waiter chose that moment to reappear and set down two steaming dinner plates. I took the opportunity to change topics. “So what about you?” I asked, raising a tender forkful of duck to my lips. “Have you always been in the military?”
“Pretty much. I dropped out of college and joined the Navy when I was twenty, then became a SEAL when I was twenty-two.” He fell silent as he started cutting up his veal. Just when I thought I'd made a mistake by bringing up his job, Logan continued, “I'm thinking of quitting in the next year or two. I figure I've had a good ride.”
“Then why do you want to stop now?”
He gave a quiet huff of a chuckle. “Well … this isn't a great first-date topic, but since you asked… I want to settle down soon. Wife, kids, whole nine yards. And I like the SEAL life just fine, but it's no place for a family man.”
Wow, I sure wasn't expecting that answer. But it makes sense. I nodded slowly. “I think I understand. You're away from home all the time, and your schedule is impossible to predict. And if you had a family, the kind of risks you take would really be hard to deal with.” Yet another reason to be glad that whatever I’d had with Nixon was over. It would have been terrible to fall in love with him and then watch him leave on dangerous missions all the time. Sitting at home like one of the housewives in a World War Two documentary, lonely and anxious, praying that the next letter I received wouldn't begin with: We regret to inform you…
My throat tightened at the thought of Nixon dying thousands of miles away from me, and I had to stop myself from getting too worked up. Of course, death was always a terrible tragedy, even for an asshole like Nixon. But I wasn't the one who had chosen to join the military. If he wanted to tromp around in exotic hellholes and get shot at, then he could go right ahead. I shouldn't let anything he did break my heart.
Too late, I realized that Logan had just said something, and I'd been busy spacing out about Nixon. Again.
“My father did that,” Logan was in the middle of replying. “I'm proud of him now, but when I was a kid, I couldn't care less about honors and ops. I just hated not being able to play with my dad.” He stared into his champagne for a moment, then took a sip. “So I really want to be part of my kids' lives.”
“Right, I agree. What's the point of marrying somebody and having kids if you never get to see any of them? But … ” I tried and failed to picture this burly tank of a man selling used cars or sitting in a cubicle farm. “What would you do instead?”