Even through the distortion, I’m happy with what I see. My dress is new—teal silk, knee-length, with peekaboo shoulders—and so are the suede magenta pumps. Plus, Tegan curled my hair and spent close to an hour meticulously following a “Perfect First Date Makeup” tutorial on YouTube. My daughter has assured me I’m channeling all the right “Taylor Swift at the 2015 Grammys” vibes.

When I reach the top floor, I give the hostess the alias Barbara gave me for my mystery man—Mr. Tolstoy. The woman’s eyes widen slightly at the uncommon-but-famous name and directs me to our table—a window one! True, we’re in the second row, but this place must get busy on Sundays, especially since I saw it mentioned in Eater New York recently in a piece about restaurants with stunning views. Maybe that’s where my date got the idea to have lunch here.

I’m admiring the beautiful views of Central Park when the hostess comes back to show a man to the table next door—the one closer to the windows. He thanks the woman, sits, and our eyes meet.

Mine narrow, while his widen.

“You,” I say. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m on a blind date. You?”

“Same.”

Lucas gives me a once over, taking his time, his gaze resting on my shoes longer than is polite. I wiggle my ankle pointedly.

His eyes snap back up, and he coughs. “Yeah, I can see that. You’re less… I mean more… err…”

Dr. Keller never finishes the phrase, changing the subject instead. “Should I ask for a different table?”

A quick scan of the restaurant reveals all the window tables are occupied—both rows.

I’m about to tell him “don’t bother,” when the hostess comes back once again, leading a pretty blonde to his table—she’s young, under thirty for sure.

Lucas stands up at once, and they greet with an awkward side hug. They exchange names—Luke, Sonia, nice to meet you—and he helps her sit down.

“Err,” Shrek coughs, visibly embarrassed. “Is this table okay, or would you prefer to move away from the windows—lots of light here,” he adds, eyeing one of the free tables in the back of the room.

Poor guy, he really doesn’t want to have his date while sitting next to me, and can I blame him?

“Oh, no,” Sonia says. “Light is so important for people’s wellbeing; otherwise, they decompose.”

I almost choke on a sip of water. I look up at Lucas; he’s staring at his date, frowning.

“Decompose?”

“Yeah, you know, when they get all mopey and sad.”

“You mean they get depressed?”

“Yes, I just told you. It’s why suicides spike in France when they have entire months without sunlight.”

“Err… Finland, perhaps?”