Our first date was a dinner at one of those Hyde Park restaurants.
“So, tell me something about yourself,” he said, as the candlelight gleamed.
As our eyes locked, I said softly, “I just love rock music. I’m a working single mom. I’m raising a baby girl who I adore. She’s only a few months old. And we get in our mommy-time together. On my days off, we take a stroll around Lincoln Park or Brookfield Zoo, the Museum of Science and Industry, Fun Town, or the shopping malls. Oh yeah, we’ll even have our baby picnic outings at times. We live in a studio apartment on the South Side. And there’s no man in our life. Are you single? Do you have kids?” I asked.
Marcus replied, “Yes, I’m single, and no—no kids.”
“Well, do you even like ’em?” I asked, concerned.
“Yeees,” he answered, dragging out the word.
“That’s good, because the person who loves me needs to love my baby,” I replied openly.
“I’m diggin’ you on that,” he smirked
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