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He looks up at the sky, sort of just thinking. Everything about him comes off as so calm. He could just stand there and muse and I’d be perfectly happy to watch him.
“You know that diner a couple of blocks that way?” he gestures behind us with his thumb and even something as small as that makes my stomach jump. “Delish.”
“Yeah,” I say, trying to mimic his nonchalance. “I mean, I knowofit. I’ve never been.”
“Well we gotta fix that then,” he says. “That’s about the one place in town everyone’s gotta go once. Then again,” he laughs a little to himself, “I hardly tell anyone about it if I can help it. One of these days it’s going to become ‘cool’ and fill up with a bunch of…”
He trails off so I finish for him. There’s only one way that sentence could end. “A bunch of college kids?” I say. “They’re the worst, I tell ya.”
He shoots me a glance, that grin back at the corner of his mouth. “You know what I mean.”
“Actually,” I say, “I know exactly what you mean. And your secret is safe with me.”
“Well, all right,” he says, and he actually holds out an elbow to me. “Shall we?”
I put my fingers on the inside of his arm, mostly wanting something to hold onto so he can’t see them shaking. “Let’s,” I manage to say.
* * *
I’m not goingto sit here and tell you the lunch was amazing. I mean, it was. Or at least I’m sure it was. I was too nervous to do more than pick at my food. I did my best to move it around the plate so it looked like I’d actually been eating it, but I’m sure he had to notice. I mean, there’s only so much rearranging one can do before it starts to become sculpting.
So I tried to compliment his choice as much as I could while at the same time attempting to convince myself that everything was fine; I could take a bite of food and not choke on it, I could take a sip of water and not have it go down the wrong pipe.
The funny thing is, and maybe this is just a quirk of his, but he almost seemed nervous too. Every time he took a bite he would immediately put his napkin to his lips, like I was too sophisticated to have to watch him chew or something. It was a side of him I’d never expected and, even though the word sounds pejorative, itfeelspejorative, the action, that little bit of modesty was just adorable.
I don’t know if we finished a full plate between us, and the coffee cups slowly steamed and cooled, sitting on the table at the end of the ‘meal’ still half full. Can you even call it a meal if neither one of us really ate?
The thing is though, for once I wasn’t consciously leaving food on my plate out of appearances, or trying to limit my intake. I was just excited and nervous and, I don’t know, more interested in the person across from me than what was sitting in front of me. It could’ve been a plate of chocolate cake or a plate of boiled ants and I probably would’ve eaten the same amount. My usual, everyday anxieties had been replaced by something new, and yes, sure, anxiety is anxiety some people would say, but this was more on the anticipation side of the spectrum.
Because, believe it or not, he seemed like he was enjoying himself. I got him to laugh, more than once, and even though he made sure to hold his napkin up to his lips when he did so, I could see the sparkle in his eye. I don’t think I’ve ever felt such a rewarding experience as making this other person happy.
And the thing is, especially given that this was the first time we’d seen each other outside of what I guess would be called a “professional setting,” I felt like I was invested in him. Beyond the dirty thoughts in the bathtub, beyond the daydreams of what it would feel like to have him scoop me up in his arms and kiss me. This was more like I’d found a best friend I didn’t know I’d been missing.
Maybe that sounds dramatic, but I can at least tell you it’s the truth.
I think that’s why, when the meal is over, and we have both asked for a few more minutes enough times that the waitress finally says, “just let me know when you’re ready,” it still doesn’t feel like enough.
I think I’m probably the least forward person I know. Even my friendly personality is mostly based on luck and my being nervous in situations. I just happen to accidentally say the right thing more often than the wrong one. With Brady though, I don’t find myself thinking about what I’m going to say at all. At least not once the conversation got going. For the first time, I wasn’t focused on how I would be perceived, or all the ways I might mess something up or make myself look stupid, I just wanted to learn about him. I wanted to hear his stories. I wanted to know what made him tick.
The only thing I can compare it to is when you find a new author you love and suddenly you’re scouring the internet to find out what other books are there waiting, what short stories you can track down, wanting to learn and find and ferret out every little thing you can. And I think that’s why, to both of our surprise, when we find ourselves standing outside the diner, completely caught up in laughing at this story he is telling, I just blurted it out.
“You should come over.”
Okay, it’s not like, the most dramatic thing in the world, but I’ve never had a guy over to my apartment. I’ve never had anyone over since I moved in. And I really hadn’t intended to either. I’m more the type to go out if I must, but my space is my safe zone. It’s where I go to get away from people, not where I ask them to come in.
He looks surprised at first and glances down at his watch. I’m sure he is going to tell me he has somewhere to be, someone else to see, basically anything to do besides hang out with some air-head kid that I actually start to apologize before he cuts me off.
“Ya know,” he says, his voice low and so confident, like this is the simplest thing in the world, “I think that might be rather nice.”
I can feel my knees shaking even as I try to mirror his relaxed demeanor. “I thought so as well.”
And so we walk a few more blocks to my building, up the stairs to my door, and, eventually, end up on my couch, where we’ve been for the last hour.
At first, he was polite about everything, respectful. He took his time looking at my bric-a-brac, asking the right questions, showing what actually felt like real interest, as opposed to the half-thought inquiries I usually get. Even when we sat down, he made sure there was plenty of space between us, clearly having no idea how much I wanted him to invade my space.
Or so I thought anyway.
I’ve been inching toward him every chance I get, even coming up with excuses to get up from the couch, just so when I come back I could sit a little closer. He has an energy about him, a presence, that pulls me in so many opposing directions at once. My heart feels like it’s racing at the same time I feel calm and comfortable. And I can feel myself getting wetter by the minute.
