“Good question.” I lean my head back and stare at the sky. “I’m still working out the details. I think I’ll start by makingsome lists and sort of go from there. Throw some possible ideas around and maybe make a plan, you know?”
His smile is amused.
“You doubt me, but I think this could work. The main problem as I see it is…I know who I used to be and what I used to enjoy. But I am not so sure anymore. Things have kind of stagnated for me over the last ten years. I kind of stagnated.”
“Are you happy right now in this moment?”
I smile. “Yeah. I really am.”
“Why don’t you start from there?”
“Is it boring that I like hanging in my backyard, talking to you, and looking at the sky?”
“No.”
“I do also enjoy some occasional day drinking and beating up my boxing bag.”
“There you go,” he says. “Balance in all things.”
“You know, you’re good at this.”
“At what?”
“Making me feel good.”
He downs a mouthful of beer and stares around the backyard. At the section of broken fence off to the side and his house beyond. “I think we should give being friends a try.”
I do my best to ignore the sting. There’s a silentjustbefore the wordfriends. But at least he still wants to know me. “I’d like that.”
We’re not going on a date. This is two friends hanging out on a Monday night. Though it’s still a great excuse to wear something new. Because at the end of the day, I dress for me and no one else. Your happiness can’t rely on another person. It just doesn’t work. This time my outfit is linen shorts and a matching camisole with flat sandals on my feet. The fit is sweet, though it makes me feel weirdly exposed. I don’t usually go out in publicwith so much skin on display. I don’t usually do anything to attract attention. But growth is my new best friend.
I am sitting on the front porch (another thing I don’t tend to do) when Noah backs his vehicle out of the garage. He jumps out of his car to open the passenger-side door for me. Like a gentleman. He’s wearing a pair of blue jeans, a white tee, and sneakers. The man does casual so well. His hair is wavy and brushed back from his face with a day or two worth of stubble on his jawline. I know we’re just friends. But looking at him breaks my heart just a little. There’s still this pull between us and it’s going to take me a while to bury it deep.
I climb into the car. “Ever have to lock yourself out of your home because you keep wanting to change outfits?”
“No.” He smiles. “But you look great.”
“Thank you. So do you.”
He closes my door and walks back around the front of the car to his side. His gaze takes in my fidgeting hands, and he asks, “You nervous?”
“I’m fine. Just the usual.”
“You still want to do this, though, right?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Thought we could go to the drive-in,” he says, backing the car out onto the road. “That way we’re out, but still have our own space.”
“That’s a great idea. I haven’t been since I was a kid.”
Music plays and a warm wind is blowing through the car windows as we drive north. The vibe in the vehicle is relaxed. I give him a basic rundown about my data entry job (the key point again being that it’s boring but pays the bills). And he tells me about farms he’s found in the local area whose wares he’s eager to try. His knowledge of foodstuffs is awe inspiring.
There’s no longer any need to worry about what he does or doesn’t know about me. And since it’s clearly established thatwe’re friends, any overt sexual tension seems diffused by the time we reach our destination. It’s nice that we can just relax and enjoy ourselves. I’m happy the night is delivering on the reasons Noah moved to New England. Maybe it means he’ll stay.
The sun is setting as the first film starts. It’s a family-friendly animated movie about animals running wild in a city. Noah hits the snack bar and returns with dinner.
“Most mediocre nachos I’ve ever tasted,” he says, wiping his hands with a napkin.
