“But you were so amazing with the kids,” I say, desperate for a topic change. “You were like Mr. Rogers if he handed out recreational party drugs.”
He chuckles. “I prefer to think I was spurring their natural enthusiasm for accounting. I mean, who wants your parents to have a boring job like police officer or firefighter?”
“Someone has to inspire the next generation of office drones.”
“Yeah, that day was…” He trails off. Of course he does, because I brought up probably the worst day of his life. Nice work, Laura.
“So are you back permanently?—”
“Would you like to…”
We both stop talking.
“…get coffee sometime?” he asks.
“I…I mean yeah, sure. If you…”
“Because I…”
“Sure. Yes. Yes.”
“Great.” He is smiling. It’s a nice smile. There may even be dimples under the beard, which feels chronically unfair. We stare at each other for another moment.
“Would you be willing to give me your phone number?” he asks.
“…Sure. Right.” I blink at him like phone numbers are a foreign concept I am just beginning to grasp.
He takes his phone out of his pocket and hands it to me.
What is my problem?I wonder as I type my phone number. I used to be good at flirting. People have slammed tequila shots off my stomach. I used to becool.
My problem is that I never do this anymore. And when I did do it, I did it at bars and frat parties, or in the back of someone’s van on the way to a rave, or on a bus hired for a bachelorette night in Vegas. By the time I was thirty, I was already with Nick, and sober, and since then I haven’t dated much at all. Occasional patchouli entrepreneurs notwithstanding, I don’t really know how to date as sober Laura.
This feels different. He feels different. This can’t be right, can it?
I hand back his phone, and he pockets it.
“Well…” he says. He glances over, and I’m pretty sure he notices Vivi watching us.
“Well!” I respond cheerfully. “So what do you think of—” I begin.
“So I’ll give you a call?”
I nod. “Great. Yeah.”
He nods once, and then walks away, and I can feel myself melting into the paving stones from embarrassment.
Why was I so completely out of my depth? Was he shy, or was I…?Whatwas I? Vivi has indeed been watching the whole thing, because she has the nerve to wave at me cheerfully as I walk back toward her.
“That looked like it went well!”
I make a small groaning noise. He didn’t even talk to me. I couldn’t even talk to him.
“I think he’s shy,” I say finally. “I hope so, anyway. It’s either that or we have no chemistry at all.”
“He’s probably shy. Come on. There’s dancing. Maybe you can ask him to dance.”
“I guess.”
