January 4, 2018: moira \ MOI-ruh \  noun;

1. (among ancient Greeks) A person’s fate or destiny.

2. Classical Mythology. ( initial capital letter) a. The personification of fate. b. Moirai, the Fates.

 

Stewart arrived at the bar early, which according to all the articles he had read and all of his friends, was his first mistake. “If you’re hot enough, women will wait for you,” his best friend Chad had said.

Why was he even friends with Chad? Chad was always saying things like that that made him sound like a complete asshole. Actually, Chad kind of was a complete asshole.

And Stewart definitely wasn’t hot enough for women to wait for him. So he arrived at the bar early. He found himself a table with a view of the door, and spent five minutes carefully arranging his copy of the Odyssey that would signal to his blind date that he was, in fact, the Stewart of lore and legend (and the dating website they both frequented). First he laid it flat, but he worried she wouldn’t see it, so he tried standing it up, but it kept falling over, and then he tried resting it against the salt and pepper, but they were no match for such a hefty tome. Eventually he settled for pretending to read it, his eyes peaking above the pages, taking in every woman who walked in, checking to see if she had a matching copy that would signal to him that she was the mythical Deirdre.

“Very subtle,” a voice said over Stewart’s shoulder and he jumped at least three feet in the air and dropped the book, which scattered the salt and pepper shakers and the napkin dispenser all over the floor. Stewart whirled around to see a young woman wearing a black t-shirt, an amused grin, and a name tag that said “Moira.” She was also holding a notepad, which she tucked into her apron and bent to pick up the mess Stewart had made.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have spooked you,” Moira said, placing the salt back on the table. “It was just after watching for the last five minutes, I liked that you went for the direct approach. You really can’t miss the book that way.”

“Sorry?” Stewart said, stooping to the floor to help Moira pick up the napkins strewn around his table.

“Blind date, right? She sees the book and knows it’s you?” Moira was grinning again.

“Oh.” Stewart glanced over at his copy of the Odyssey and scooped it off the floor, nodding a little. “Er, yes.”

“Interesting choice of book,” Moira said, stuffing the napkins into her apron.

“Oh, well, it’s a classic,” Stewart said as they both stood up and placed the last displaced item back on the table.

Moira stared at him with that amused smile.

“And I thought it would make me seem smarter,” Stewart admitted lamely, scratching at the back of his neck.

Moira laughed, and Stewart grinned himself. Somehow it wasn’t a mean laugh. It wasn’t making fun of him. It was a laugh that was meant for both of them. It was a laugh that made his heart flutter a little.

“Dude’s hearts don’t flutter,” Chad said in his head. What an asshole, Stewart thought back at him, and continued grinning at Moira.

“Can I say something a little crazy to you?” Moira asked, brushing a stray red curl behind her ear. She looked a little shy all of a sudden, and Stewart’s heart fluttered again. Chad would have groaned.

“Sure, yes,” Stewart said, putting his book down on the table.

“I just have this feeling that your date isn’t going to go very well,” Moira said, and Stewart’s heart dropped mid-flutter. Here had been thinking she was going to suggest they go skinny dipping or get matching tattoos or… he really needed to stop listening to Chad. He was pretty sure people didn’t actually do those things, they just sounded good in the kinds of magazines Chad insisted Stewart read in order to understand the female mind.

The cruel, pitiless female mind.

“Oh. Um. She probably hasn’t actually read the Odyssey either,” Stewart said after a moment, shrugging lamely.

“No! No, that isn’t what I meant!” Moira said instantly. “I just… get the feeling she’s not right for you.”

“Because you’re so obviously pathetic,” Chad said in Stewart’s head. Stewart feebly called Chad an asshole again, but he didn’t really mean it. Not when random waitresses who had just met him immediately recognized how pathetic he was. He couldn’t really argue with what he knew his best friend would have said.

“Oh. Sure. Thanks,” was all Stewart could muster, sitting back down at the table.

“I’m not saying this right,” Moira said, raking a hand through her curls in frustration. Abruptly, she sat down at the table, and pushed a chair closer to Stewart until she was staring straight into his eyes, inches apart. Stewart’s heart started to flutter again and he tried to distract it by noticing the way Moira’s mascara was clumping in her eyelashes, but it didn’t really work. She smelled like clean laundry and cinnamon, and her deep green eyes were staring right into his and despite how awkward it was, it was also kind of romantic.

“Stop falling in love with girls you’ve just met,” Chad said in his head, only that wasn’t quite right. That was actual good advice, and Chad wouldn’t have said that. That was all Stewart, and he knew it was true, but he had figured out that the cinnamon smell was coming from her lip gloss and it was making his heart flutter again. But then he realized he was staring at her lips, and that her lips were moving, and that she was looking at him questioningly. He blushed.

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, feeling like an idiot for the hundredth time in the short span of time since he had met Moira.

“Do you believe in fate, Stewart?” Moira asked, her green eyes wide.

Maybe if he hadn’t had Chad’s voice in his head saying, “that is the worst pick-up line I’ve ever heard,” he might have paused to consider how she knew his name was Stewart, or why she looked so nervous all of the sudden, or he might have even seen Deirdre enter the bar, craning her neck around to look at him. But all he really registered was that this was definitely a pick-up line, that Moira was definitely trying to pick him up, so he just grinned.

“Definitely,” he said.

“Then come with me,” Moira said, and held out an open hand to him.

 

Note: I feel like I’m probably being unfair to people named Chad, but the name Chad is just such an asshole name in my head. I’m sorry to all non-asshole Chad’s that may ever read this. I’m sure a lot of you are super cool people.

(This is the weird stuff that’s going to happen when I make myself write every day. I bet asshole Chad is going to pop up again too, because now I kind of have a soft spot in my heart for asshole Chad. Good job, inner writer. You’re weird.) 

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