Twitterpated

by Jacobson, Melanie

  Even as I hustled to shore up my defenses, they crumbled under the realization that I wanted to spend time with Ben more than I wanted to run away. He had breached my first line of defense.

  I didn’t care.

  How interesting.

  He pulled into his driveway and turned to look at me.

  “What do you say, Miss J?” he asked softly.

  “Why are we almost whispering?” I asked him in a near whisper of my own.

  “Because you look like you want to bolt; I’m trying not to startle you.”

  I blew out an exasperated sigh. “I’m that obvious?”

  “No,” he said. “But you seem to have a limit to how much of me you can take, and I thought we might be reaching it.”

  I could sense he was only half joking. Instead of reaching for the rope he threw me, I pushed it aside and kicked the rest of my outer wall down myself.

  “Today, the sky’s the limit, I think. I have nowhere to be,” I said.

  “How flattering. It’s good to know that here’s at least better than nowhere,” he teased me.

  I took a deep breath and said, “No, I meant to say there’s nowhere I’d rather be.” I couldn’t meet his eyes, so I stared more in the vicinity of my fidgety fingers as I said it.

  “Hey,” he said, his tone soft again. He waited until I looked up. “I’m glad,” he said. He leaned over and kissed me.

  My eyelids fluttered open a moment later to find him watching me again, his expression thoughtful. “I’ve made an executive decision to change our plans for the evening,” he said. “Would it be rude if I stepped out of the car to make a short phone call?”

  “No, that’s fine.”

  I watched him through the windshield as he walked toward the house, thankful for the chance to collect myself. He pressed his phone to his ear while he fiddled with the door lock, and I wondered what he was up to. Wondered what I was up to, really. This was no way to play it safe. But I didn’t bother lecturing myself on staying focused and keeping my priorities straight. For this one Saturday evening, I decided I didn’t care. I had spent the last nine years being driven by priorities that kept me safe and comfortable. And bored. Time to take Sandy’s advice and live a little. No more stressing about what every glance or gesture meant, the million things I should be doing instead of spending a whole evening with Ben, or the countless ways this could go wrong.

  For tonight, I cared only about the moment, not anything that came after. A small weight lifted off my shoulders, and I smiled at Ben when he ducked his head through the driver’s side door, done with his phone call.

  He raised an eyebrow. “You mean, all I have to do to get a smile out of you is leave?’

  “No, you have to come back.”

  “Jessie?”

  “Ben?”

  “Are you hitting on me?”

  “Is it working?”

  “Like a charm.” He hung a garment bag in the back and slid into the driver’s seat.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I’m taking you back home.”

  What?

  “If it’s okay with you,” he continued, “I booked us a table at a nice restaurant, and I thought you might want to change. Is that okay?”

  I looked down at my comfy shirt and picked off a twig stuck to its hem. “Yeah, a change would be good. Uh . . .” and I said nothing but gave his worn flannel a quick once over.

  He grinned. “That’s what the bag is for. I was a Boy Scout, remember? Always prepared.”

  “Well, you didn’t make Eagle, so I thought I’d better double check.”

  “Ouch,” he said, but he smiled again and merged onto the highway.

  “So where are we going?” I asked.

  “It’s another surprise.”

  “Can I get a hint?” I wheedled.

  “Sure. It’s your idea.”

  “Okay, so what’s the hint?”

  “That was the hint. Where we’re going tonight is your idea.”

  “Now I’m confused.”

  “Good.”

  I gave him a mock scowl and settled back, enjoying the smooth ride to my house. I drive a newish Honda Accord, and it’s a good car, but Ben’s Acura was a luxurious step up. I’m not into cars beyond making sure mine’s reliable, but it didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate a nice car when I saw it.

  At my place, Ben walked me to my front door. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes. Does that give you enough time?”

  “Er . . .”

  “Thirty?”

  Yeah, I thought. That should give me enough time for a wardrobe freakout and still get my hair brushed. “Thirty works.”

  “Are you sure? I can make up some errands to do.”

  “Thirty will be fine,” I said. “Do you need to borrow a bathroom to change and stuff?”

  “Nope. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be ready when I come back to pick you up. See you in half an hour,” he said on his way out the door.

  “See you,” I answered back, already preoccupied with my new wardrobe challenge. “Sandy?” I called into the house, but when I wandered down the hallway, I could see her empty bedroom.

  I would have to make do with my closet. At least I knew to dress for a fancy restaurant. I scanned my hanging racks without much hope. I could always stick with classic black slacks and a button down. Except Ben hadn’t invited me to a business dinner. This was a date, for pity’s sake. Surely I had fancy date clothes in here somewhere.

  I resorted to pulling out anything that had a prayer of being dressy and threw it on the bed, quickly amassing a pile of clothes rivaling Sandy’s unfolded laundry mounds. I sorted through my choices, discarding one pair of pants after another and shoving aside my tailored blouses in disgust. Even the few skirts I owned for church would look boring and conservative with those tops. I had to have at least one girly thing that would work for a night out with a good-looking guy. Didn’t I? I mean, I couldn’t own only gym clothes, jeans, and business suits.

  After ten minutes of sorting and rearranging, desperation overwhelmed me. My closet had become Sandy’s best argument against my work-driven lifestyle. In three years, I hadn’t bought one party dress I could now draft into service for a romantic evening out. I kicked an innocent suit jacket lying on the floor. Stupid suits.

  In a last-ditch effort, I yanked open my dresser drawers and plundered them. Finally, in the bottom drawer under an old intramural softball jersey, I found a solution. A sweater set.

  Normally, that wouldn’t sound like an improvement on a suit jacket, but this wasn’t any old sweater set. Two years ago, my sister Evie had drawn my name for Christmas. She’d seized the opportunity to inject some glamour in my life and enclosed a card with the sweater set that read, “Live a little.” I had smiled and thanked her at the time, knowing I would never wear it, but now I knew I’d owe her the hugest hug and cheek-smacking kiss of her life. The set, spun out of a sparkly silver thread, draped beautifully without clinging. A thin tie accented my waist.

  I scrounged up a black skirt I’d bought on a whim. It fit snugly through the hips and ended in a slight flare at my knees. It made me feel self-conscious, so I rarely wore it. Sandy said it was because it gave away the fact that I had hips, but when I checked out the effect with the cardigan in the mirror, it looked trendy and festive, not suggestive. I let out a relieved breath. This would work, especially with the pair of black stilettos I fished from Sandy’s closet.

  I lifted out my favorite silver chain with matching hoops from my jewelry box. It came from Tiffany’s, a gift from my dad on my sixteenth birthday. I ran a quick brush through my hair, touched up my makeup, and finished it off with one of Sandy’s sheer lip glosses in a plum shade. She would be proud.

  I studied my handiwork with a critical eye and smiled. It had been years since my sisters had henpecked me into learning how to do a full face of makeup, and although they might have gone heavier with the eyeliner and mascara, even they would admit I had done all right. I�
�d forgotten how fun getting all done up could be.

  A knock sounded at the door, and I hurried to let Ben in.

  He stared.

  “Holy smokes,” he managed. “You look hot.”

  “Thanks,” I said, trying not to laugh.

  He reddened, embarrassed for the first time since the vase incident during our first lunch. “Sorry, that didn’t come out very smooth. I meant to say you look amazing.”

  Ben cleaned up nicely too. I’d seen him in his work clothes on that first lunch date, but the slacks and button down shirt hadn’t even hinted at the good things he could do to a suit. A faint pinstripe ran through the charcoal gray, and a light blue shirt and silvery gray tie accented the whole thing. “You’re not half bad either,” I said. “Great suit.”

  “No one’s going to notice with you next to me,” he said.

  “You’re making me blush,” I teased, trying to lighten the moment. “But I think you’re wrong. Your suit owes you a big thank you for making it look good.”

  “We’re incredibly attractive. Let’s go make everybody jealous.” He offered me his arm, and we headed out to his car once more. When Ben revved the engine, my stomach gurgled in an excited chorus. I didn’t know where we were going, but I already couldn’t wait to get there.

  Chapter 25

  TEN MINUTES LATER, WE DROVE right into the heart of Seattle Center, a combination of high-rise corporate buildings and tourist traps selling Space Needle key chains. I had no idea what we were doing in this part of town, unless . . .

  Sure enough, Ben pulled into the parking lot for the Space Needle.

  “Let me guess,” he said. “You’ve never been here.”

  “How’d you know?”

  “It’s one of Seattle’s great ironies. Its most famous tourist attraction is one most locals have only seen at a distance.”

  “I always meant to come check it out.”

  “Now’s your chance. You’re the one who said the sky’s the limit.”

  “So that’s how we ended up at the Space Needle.”

  He smiled and climbed out of the car, hurrying around to open my door. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?” he asked as he helped me out of the car.

  “Spiders, yes. Heights, no.”

  “You’re scared of spiders?”

  “They’re creepy,” I said, my tone defensive.

  “Okay, I’ll be the designated spider squisher for the evening, but I suspect Sky City will be spider free.”

  Sky City, a world famous restaurant, rotates slowly at the top of the Needle, giving an incredible panoramic view of the entire Puget Sound down below. How had Ben managed last-minute reservations for us on a Saturday night?

  He anticipated my question, placing a hand at the small of my back and guiding us toward the elevator that would take us to the top. “I know someone,” he said before I could even ask.

  “How have you barely moved to Seattle and yet you have hookups that I don’t?” I wondered.

  “The manager, Nate Greely, is in my ward. I gave him a call, and he said he’d hold a spot for us.”

  “Nicely done, Ben. Nicely done.”

  He accepted the compliment with a pleased smile and punched the button to take us to the restaurant. The glass elevator arrived, and we stepped in and watched the city spread out before us as we rose. Lights twinkled below us, shining out from homes and cars and stores, all humming with energy and intent. To be up above it felt peaceful, like we were curious observers somehow detached from the bustle.

  When we reached the restaurant, a guy in a button-down shirt and tie hurried over to Ben, who introduced him as Nate, the manager. Nate led us to a prime table on the outer ring of the room, directly overlooking the city. After he settled us in with menus and a basket of piping hot sourdough bread, he left, and Ben leaned back in his chair to fix me with a concerned gaze.

  “Is this all okay with you?” he asked. “Are you comfortable? Is the spinning going to bother you?”

  “Yes, yes, and no,” I answered. The spinning was almost imperceptible as the restaurant revolved around the tip of the Needle. “This is better than okay with me, I’m completely comfortable, and I love that we get to see the city. Great idea.”

  “I’m glad. I haven’t been here in years, but tonight seemed like a good time to check it out again.”

  I soaked up the details. The Sky City restaurant wasn’t the fanciest in Seattle, but it had the best views by far. The dining room was filled only halfway because we had beaten the dinner rush. Modern leather, crisp white table linens, and simple white brasserie place settings created a clean, contemporary look. Crystal stemware and heavy silver utensils with spare lines finished off each table. The interior didn’t need fussy details that could never compete with the amazing skyline. The other customers in our section wore everything from jeans and sweaters to suits and dresses, like Ben and me. It reflected the city’s aesthetic. I loved that about Seattle, the diversity on display at every turn.

  I hated to tear my eyes away from the window, but my stomach reminded me we were there for dinner. I picked up the menu and tried not to flinch when I glanced over the prices. I sure hoped Nate hooked Ben up with a discount and not just a reservation. When the waiter approached to take our order, I followed another one of my mother’s etiquette rules; I waited for Ben to order first and then made sure what I ordered cost less. My mom always said nothing showed less class than eating lobster while your date picked through a salad. However, since Ben ordered an expensive filet steak, I suspected he wasn’t too worried about the price. I ordered roasted vegetables and lamb cooked in puff pastry.

  “That sounds good,” Ben said. “Will I sound stupid if I ask what a puff pastry is?”

  “Not to me. I don’t know what it is either. But it’s been my experience that nothing in a pastry ever ends badly.”

  “Good reasoning. Have I complimented you on your incredible brain lately?”

  “Thanks.” It genuinely pleased me. I’d received compliments on my looks in the past, and I got plenty of praise about my job performance at work, but not a lot of guys took the time to compliment my intelligence. Maybe they thought girls wanted to hear more about their outfits or hairstyles, but Ben looked past that. It was thoughtful, and I appreciated it.

  I glanced back out at the blanket of winking lights far below us, wondering which of them represented my house, my chapel, and my job. I appreciated being away from it all for a while. The massive hulk of Macrosystems’s corporate offices barely made a speck as I hovered this far above it, a reminder of how small it was in the grand scheme of things.

  Ben quietly interrupted my reverie to ask, “What are you thinking about?”

  “Work,” I answered. His face tightened, but before I could explain my small epiphany, the waiter arrived bearing steaming platters. The moment got lost in the shuffle of accommodating the large plates on our table. For the first time in my life, I cursed the food for being so prompt. Ben cut into his steak as soon as the waiter walked away. With all his energy directed at his dinner, bringing up work again felt awkward, even though it would only be to clear up a misunderstanding.

  Besides, what would I say? “I meant to say that sitting with you and enjoying this moment makes my work seem stale and antiseptic”? While totally true, it would come out sounding needy and lame, so I dropped it. Our hike had shown me that awkward moments evaporated between us if I let them go and didn’t stress about it.

  I bit into my puff pastry, releasing a cloud of fragrant spices. I savored it in silence. Finally, Ben asked, “How’s yours?”

  “Even better than I’d hoped,” I answered.

  “Good.” He smiled. But he didn’t say anything else.

  Despite my resolve to let the awkwardness dissipate on its own, it crept back in. I hated not knowing whether my imagination had manufactured the unease or if it was really there. Another minute slid by, punctuated by the clinks of our forks and plates.

  I swallo
wed, but my food felt like it wanted to stick in my dry throat. “How’s your steak? Any good?”

  “It is, yeah.”

  Not exactly an invitation for further discussion. I focused again on my puff pastry. Anxiety replaced the hunger in my stomach. This wasn’t my imagination; Ben wasn’t being cold, exactly, but an unfamiliar distance stretched between us. I wished we were back on our hike so I could wander over and clear it all up with a friendly hip bump. This didn’t feel like it would be so easy to fix.

  The tension deepened with each bite I forced down, until my nerves stretched to the point of snapping. Taking a breath as deep as I could without being obvious, I tried again. Gesturing outside, I asked, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

  “Definitely.”

  My reporting days on the San Luis Obispo High School paper should have taught me better than to lead with a yes or no question. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.” He took another bite of his steak and chewed it purposefully, like it was the most important thing he could be doing right at that minute.

  I paused, on the brink of vulnerability, knowing I stood at a crossroads. Did I wave away the awkward moment with an easy joke, or did I tell the truth like a grown-up? I teetered between safety and risk for the space of a heartbeat and then tipped.

  “I’m sorry, Ben. I guess I wasn’t clear before.” I pointed out the window. “Somewhere out there is the Macrosystems building. Do you see it?”

  He peered through the glass intently and shrugged. “No.”

  “Me neither. That’s what made me think. That place dominates my life, but up here, looking down, it’s nothing.”

  His face relaxed slightly, so I continued. “I think you’re mistaking my commitment to my job for passion. I’m good at what I do, and I’m determined to give it my best because that’s me. But I don’t love it. My parents taught me to work hard, so I do. But I’d work this hard if I were a mail lady or a rock star.”

  “A rock star? Can you sing?”

  “Is that really a prerequisite?”

  “Good point.”