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“Well, I wouldn’t have thought bread would be exciting.”
“Maybe the filet mignon.” She shrugged. “My parents love places like this. That’s what they usually get.”
We talked about work for a while, gossiping about the manager at the bookstore. I told her more about my visit with my friends, and about my guitar lessons. In turn, she told me about partying with her girls and the hijinks they had recently gotten up to.
Despite not having much in common on the surface, I found myself vibing with her. There was something about her that made me soften up in a way I wasn't used to. She was just so pure and genuine, as if nothing and no one had ever hurt her. I knew it had, but she kept herself open anyway.
When the food came, it was incredible. The difference between this steak and my freezer meals was like an opera compared to “The Hokey Pokey.”
“Have you read anything good lately?” Chelsea asked. “I’m assuming you’re into reading since you work at a bookstore.”
“It wasn’t my first choice,” I said. “I was never a strong student or anything. I just kind of stumbled into the job. Once I was surrounded by books all day, I started to pick one up from time to time. It makes the day go faster when there are no sexy beer distributors dropping by.”
She sputtered on her ginger ale. “Should I be worried about any other sexy beer distributors?”
A hint of jealousy. I liked it. “There’s only one.”
She set her glass down with a clink. “What kind of books have you been getting into, then?”
“A lot of light stuff. I like the ones you can just pick up and put down. I try not to be totally buried in a book when customers come in.” It was enough of an answer, but something about Chelsea made me want to tell her the whole truth. “I keep coming back to this one book, though. A textbook in abnormal psychology. It’s not easy-breezy, like the other books I look at. But it’s helping me understand a lot of stuff from my past.”
“Oh.” Her eyes widened slightly. She seemed to be out of her element, but she didn’t change the subject. “Stuff that happened while you were in foster care?”
“Exactly.” Elaborating would’ve ruined the mood.
“That’s important,” she said quietly. “Do you think you’ll keep looking into that stuff after you finish the book? Like, would you want to study psychology?”
“No way.” I shook my head vehemently.
“You didn’t do any kind of postsecondary, though, right? Or…” She suddenly looked aghast. “You did say you finished high school, right?”
“Yes.” I had to laugh. “I just scraped by, but yes. On time and everything. I didn’t see the need to continue after, and I didn’t have the money for it, anyway. I’m sure I’ll be working in retail for the foreseeable future.”
As we finished up, I suggested that we take a stroll. Maybe I wasn't ready to bring her back to my place quite yet. Either way, she graciously accepted.
We walked up and down Church Street and looked in the windows the way she had planned to on our last date. After a few minutes, she stumbled, and I looked down at her feet. She was in two-inch kitten heels, and her feet had rubbed against them so much that they were getting red. The thin layer of ice on the ground threatened to send her toppling over.
“Those don't look comfortable,” I said.
“They're not.”
“What size are you?”
“Eight. Why?”
I raised my eyebrows and leaned against a nearby wall. “I never thought I'd be doing this, but...” I kicked off my winter boots.
“No, Tara, you can't.”
“Of course I can. This is another benefit to same-sex relationships.”
“But...”
“I'm going to look ridiculous? Yeah, I know.” I hold my eyes and shook my head. I couldn't let her feet get blistered on my watch.
“You can't really be serious.”
“Watch me.” I nodded toward her feet, silently commanding her to take off the heels. It didn't take any more urging. We traded, and I teetered on the talons.
