“I haven’t always been,” he answers, “but as I started growing up and seeing what it was that I actually wanted from a relationship, I realized that it wasn’t something I could really have with more than one person. I think relationships like the one Alec and Irene have are great for some people, but they’re not for everyone. They’re not for me.”

“Would you like another drink?” I ask him.

I’m not going to lie: I am trying to get him drunk. People tend to be more malleable when they’re intoxicated.

“Sure,” he says. “I hardly tasted the alcohol in that at all. Would you mind putting in a little bit more next time? When I can’t taste the booze in a drink, I always get worried that I’m going to end up drinking too much without knowing it.”

“Sounds like we both have control issues,” I tell him, taking his glass.

He chuckles. “Maybe so,” he says. “What about you?”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“You said that you’re single, but it sounds like you might have someone in mind. Anyone I know?” he asks.

Boy, he’s starting to push it. I don’t know if it’s the booze or if he’s actually trying to make his move, but I’m going to have to keep on my toes if I’m going to learn whatever it is I’m trying to learn.

“I don’t know,” I tell him coyly. “I guess I’m more open to the idea than I used to be, but I still think it would have to be on my terms.”

“What are your terms?” he asks.

“Well, like you,” I tell him, mixing the drink, “I think that honesty’s a must. I think I’d have a really hard time being with someone who would lie or knowingly withhold the truth from me.”

I wonder if he’ll get the hint and come clean.

“It’s an important quality,” he says. “What else?”

That’s a no.

“I’d want someone who doesn’t think of my ambitions as a liability,” I tell him. “Sure, I’m starting to delegate more and all that, but I still have a lot that I want to accomplish in my life, and if I were to start dating someone, I think they’d have to really be okay with that from the get-go.”

“I’ve always been really attracted to driven women,” he says. “I think it’s important for people to be passionate, to have things that they want to accomplish.”

“Is that why you took over your company?” I ask.

“Kind of,” he says. “I think the real reason is that it’s been in the family since my grandfather, and if I didn’t take it, it was going to go to someone else.”

“So you’re trying to keep the family business alive, then?” I ask, handing him his second drink, this one with not two, but three shots in it.

I’m going to get the truth out of him one way or another.

“I guess so,” he answers and takes a sip. “Shit, I think this might be a little far the other way.”

“Well,” I tell him, “the best we can do without wasting anything is for you to take a couple more drinks and then I’ll start filling it back up with orange juice.”

I think he’s starting to suspect that I’m digging for something, but the look on his face is hardly one of certainty.

“I guess my big drive in life has been to fulfill other people’s drives,” he says. “I’ve never really thought of it that way, but really, I am kind of living my father’s life.”

“Why not change it then?” I ask. “If I can make changes, I’m sure you can.”

“It’s not that simple,” he says. “José could very easily take over, but I’m really not in a position where I could afford to sell the company, and I don’t think he’s in a position where he could buy it.”

“What would it take for you to follow your dreams?” I ask.

“I don’t know that this isn’t my dream,” he answers and takes another gulp of his drink. I fill it back to the top with orange juice.

“I thought you said you were living your father’s life,” I respond.

“Yeah,” he says, “but my father had a great life. I mean, I don’t do everything that he’s done and I do a lot of things that he’d never dream of.”

“Like going home and getting drunk with your boss?” I ask.

“No,” he says, taking another sip, “that’s something he did all too much. That’s kind of what made things difficult with him and my mom.”

“Divorced?” I ask, but quickly add, “I’m sorry, that’s none of my business.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “They were talking about getting a divorce, but when mom came down with cancer, he did the right thing and stuck with her.”

“I’m sorry,” I tell him.

I’ve been trying to avoid thinking about the fact that my own mother has cancer, even though all indications point to her being fine. I can’t imagine what it must be like to actually lose a parent.

“It is what it is,” he says, taking a drink.

“Want another one?” I ask.

“I think I should probably slow down,” he says. “When it comes to liquor, I’m a cheap date.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I tell him, shooting for inscrutable.

“What about your parents?” he asks clumsily.

“What about them?” I return.

“Are they still together? I don’t know, that’s really none of my business. I just thought I’d—”

“They’re still together,” I tell him. I plan to stop there, but the juxtaposition of the cancer comment with his direct question regarding my parents is hitting me pretty hard. “My mom just found out that she has cancer and, to tell you the truth, I’m pretty freaked out about it.”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “What kind does she have?”

“Chondrosarcoma,” I answer. “It affects bones and joints. From what I know, they didn’t exactly catch it as early as they would have liked, but it looks like her chances are pretty good.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says.

“What kind did your mom have?” I ask. “Really, if you don’t want to talk about it, we can change the—”

“Cervical cancer,” he says. “When it happened, I was too young to know what that meant, but she never had a chance. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through. If you ever want someone to talk to about your mom—not that she’s…you know,” he stammers, and I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol or the conversation.

So far, my search for clarity hasn’t provided very much in return.

“Thanks,” I tell him. “I might take you up on that. So, how about that drink?”

“You know what?” he starts. “I think I will have another one if you don’t mind. Not as strong as that last one, though.”

“I’m on it,” I tell him. While I’m fixing up his third drink in the last fifteen minutes, I start again, “You know, I really think that one of the things that’s most important in a new relationship is chemistry.”

“Yeah?” he asks.

I’m still pouring orange juice, so I don’t turn around, but I can hear the confusion in his voice.

“Yeah,” I tell him. “It’s weird how it can happen, too. You never know who’s going to end up giving off that spark, you know?”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning against the wall for support.

“I know when you and I started working together, I was almost sure something was going to happen between us,” I tell him.

Not really. I thought he was good looking but I knew better than to sleep with my contractor.

“Really?” he asks. “It’s funny, I thought the same thing.”

“Yeah?” I say, turning around and handing him his drink, this one with only a single shot in it.

“Yeah,” he says and takes a sip. “This one’s perfect, thanks.”

“What made you think that?” I ask.

“That something was going to happen with you and me?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I answer.

“Well, I was attracted to you physically for starters,” he says. “More importantly, though, when we started talking, it became very clear very fast that you seem to know what you want and what you have to do to get it. I guess I fantasized that, at some point, I might be one of the things that you’d want.”

His large pupils hold steady eye contact and I don’t know what to say. My hands feel clammy and my heart picks up speed.

 “I see.”