At the mention of his female colleague, I feel my stomach falter a bit. I scold myself, remembering that I have male friends, including my ex boyfriend of five years. “That would be great,” I smile, hoping he couldn’t see my embarrassment at the unexpected twinge of jealousy. “I’ll shoot her an email. I’m not sure if she stays in the area during the summer, but it’s worth a shot.” I feel better hearing that they aren’t close enough for him to even know if she lives here year round. I learned from Grace that a lot of the teachers and professors here have houses up in Maine where they go in the summer months. “If not, perhaps Grace knows somebody.”
Greg shakes his head suddenly, and I think he’s found me out, but then he laughs. “You know, I told myself I wasn’t going to spend the whole night talking to you about all of this stuff. I mean, I want to tell you about what I’d found, but more than that, I want to get to know you better. We must have more in common than this.” He pauses. “I wouldn’t like you so much if we didn’t.” I suppress a laugh as best I could, not knowing how much of what he’s saying is serious, and how much is light-hearted. “Funny, I promised myself the same thing. So, what do you want to know about me?” “Anything. Tell me about home, your family, your friends, your job, what you like to do…. sorry that sounds kind of like an interview.”
“I’m from Baltimore. Well, not originally. I was born in Alexandria, Virginia but my father got a job teaching English at Towson and we followed him. I was five when we moved, so I don’t remember Virginia very well. Although, I do have a distinct memory of visiting Arlington Cemetery when I was maybe three. And another of our dog at the time, Addy, escaping from the house and my mom chasing her down the street in her bathrobe with a towel wrapped around her wet hair.” “That certainly sounds like memory that would stick!”
“Alexandria isn’t that far from Baltimore, right? Did you get back there much?” “Not as much as I’d liked to have. But you’re right, it’s not terribly far. About a twenty minute drive to the metro station and then you just take the train right in. I really should do that more often.” I stop myself. As much as I’m adjusting to my new home in Massachusetts, it doesn’t quite feel real yet. It feels like an extended vacation, or the way I felt away at school in North Carolina - like it was temporary and eventually, I’ll be going back home. In truth, I didn’t move with the intention of going back soon, but I came up here to write my book, and I’m about a quarter of the way through it, or so it feels. As with everything I write, it seems to write itself before I have time to create a plan. “Do you plan to move back to Maryland after you finish your book?” Greg certainly isn’t shying away from the hard-hitting topics. I debate my answer. I honestly don’t know what my plan is, and I don’t want to scare him away by suggesting that my stay is temporary. On the other hand, it doesn’t seem fair to get him involved in something that I think could end up long distance. I settle on the truth. “I’m not sure. My life turned upside down last year, and I had to completely abandon my plans for the future. I followed the pieces of my heart I could feel and they brought me here to write my book. It probably sounds irresponsible, but I didn’t really plan any further than that. Maybe it’s because my life for the past five years or so, between work and my relationship, was organized that it feels freeing to kind of throw caution to the wind and come up here without much of a plan. I mean, I arranged my virtual teaching and article contracts for money purposes, but other than that….”
Once again, I felt like I’m babbling, but Greg doesn’t seem to mind. He looks genuinely interested in what I’m saying. “I wish I had the guts to do something like that. My life has always felt so sheltered. I’ve traveled for research and all, but never just really run after my dreams.” He pauses. “Maybe Annie was right about that. Maybe I hid behind my job because it’s always been my comfort zone - sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up the past.” It feels like a good time to come clean about my friendship with Brent. If we’re going to have serious conversations on our first date, I figured I might as well come out with it. “You didn’t bring up the past, I did. Besides, Greg, we’re both mature adults. It would be silly to pretend neither of us has been in relationships, or even had our hearts broken by other people. It happened, it’s better to be comfortable talking about it with each other. And honestly, there’s something that I feel I need to tell you. My ex, Brent, and I are still friends. Or friendly at least. We were always friends, and we agreed to keep that part of the relationship even after the romantic part died away. In fact, that’s why it ended. We’d become more close friends and roommates.” I feel my throat catch and have to stop for a moment. It’s been eight months, and I feel I’m finally moving on, especially tonight, but it sometimes gets to me, having to start over. “But just friends, right?” Greg asks. “You aren’t trying to rekindle anything? Either of you?” “No. If I was, I wouldn’t be here. I’ll admit, the first month or so after we broke up, I think I had those hopes. I think that’s natural, especially after five years. It seems like it’s the only life you know. But now, he honestly kind of annoys me sometimes,” I smile and I could see Greg’s shoulders visibly relax. “Then it doesn’t bother me,” he returns my smile.
I loved being able to be so open and honest with someone about my past. “So, no secrets between us, ok?” he looks at me earnestly. “Besides, I think we have enough mystery on our hands without having to figure things out about each other.” I nod my agreement. No secrets sounds like a good rule to start things off with. As Greg smiles a wide, genuine smile, his eyes looking full of happiness, I realize that this was a man I could fall for, and it both scares and delights me. I feel my resolve soften. I still didn’t know if I’m ready, but I know I can’t throw this away without giving it a fair chance.
“So what else do you want to know?” It feels good to talk casually. “Everything.” “That could take a while,” I tease. “Ok, then anything.” I’ve already told him about my family and friends, where I grew up. He knows about the relationship struggles I’ve been through recently. I try to think of something lighter, but that I still feel I want him to know. “I love animals,” I say finally. “When I was younger, I wanted to be a vet, but I didn’t think I could handle seeing them sick or having to put down someone’s beloved family pet.” “I couldn’t have either.” I wait to see if he’ll say anything further on the subject. “I’ve been thinking recently about getting a dog for company. I just don’t know how to train them, or even what type I should get. It would be a rescue dog for sure.” The fact that he likes dogs, and would like to rescue one besides, is a good sign for me. “I think that’s a great idea. You have a fenced in yard, too. A dog who’s been huddled up in a shelter would love that.” “You’re really passionate about helping others,” he states, more than asks. His statement doesn’t make sense until I realize he’s been putting together puzzle pieces - my work in psychology, my desire to help rescue animals, my writing. “I guess I do. I never really thought of it that way. Just the way I’ve always been.” “That’s wonderful. Too many people are focused on money and things these days instead of people. I don’t get it. Can’t take it with ya.” I nod.
“On a different subject, how do you feel about dessert? We could eat something here, or there’s a good ice cream place nearby. Might be fun to get ice cream and walk along the overlook?” I vote for the ice cream and walk. I love Thai food, but the desserts leave something to be desired. Greg pays for our meal, gently but firmly refusing the money I offer.
As we step outside, the air feels even warmer than when we came into the restaurant. “Do you feel up to walking - it’s about ten to fifteen minutes.” “As long as it’s open late enough for us to walk, I think the fresh air will feel good.” “I think it’s open until eleven. If not, we still get a nice after-dinner walk.”
The hills along the water are beautiful, even in the low moonlight. I can hear the waves lapping at the shoreline, and imagine the mist spraying up on the sand down
below. “I love the ocean at night,” I think out loud. “Me too. In fact, I find swimming at night really peaceful.” “Too bad we didn’t bring our suits,” I tease. “Next time,” he winks, almost imperceptibly. At least he plans on there being a next time. “How do you get to the beach?” I can’t see any obvious access points. “There’s a walkway, stairs mostly, a little further up. I’d say let’s go, but I’m not sure we’re dressed for it,” he points at my shoes. “I could take them off easily enough. Though I guess that depends on the condition of the steps. Would it be too dark to get down safely?” “It might be. Next time let’s come closer to dusk. It’s beautiful at sunset,” Greg suggests.
I’m glad that he seems a bit adventurous, or at least interested in exploring.
Not that climbing down steps to the beach takes all that much athletic ability, but he accepted the idea quickly enough. “I bet it is. And I haven’t been to the beach since I moved here.” “Then we definitely have to go. It’s a date.” He pauses. “Really a date.”
We reach the ice cream parlor just before closing. We walked leisurely, chatting along the way and stopping a couple of times to look out over the cliffs. It was too dark to see much, but hearing the sound of the waves was calming. I’m finding that the more time I spend with Greg, the more comfortable I am becoming. Growing up in the city, I’m suspicious enough that I wouldn’t normally walk above high cliffs in the dark with a man I just met, but for some reason, I trust Greg intuitively. Perhaps it’s his calm demeanor - once he got past “first date jitters”, at least. Or maybe it’s the fact that he shows interest without being pushy. I feel no game playing with him, a trait I highly value.
“The portions are huge,” he interrupts my thoughts as we walked towards the counter of the ice cream hut. “Unless you’re very hungry, I suggest a small” he nods towards the towering cones of two people walking past. “Or, we could split one, if that doesn’t freak you out. I know some people hate sharing food or drink.” “I have two sisters close in age, and all of us with big appetites. We practically wrestled over food,” I laugh. “Besides, we shared the appetizers.” “True…Bowl or cone?” “I’m more of a cone fan myself, but I can do either,” I realize as I say it that he’s right - eating ice cream off of the same cone is certainly more intimate than picking individual egg rolls off a common plate. “Cone it is! Now, for the million dollar question - which flavor?” “Anything with chocolate works for me.” “My kind of woman.”
His eyes crinkle again when he smile, though I noticed for the first time that they look rather sad. I hope it’s nothing I’ve said or done. Maybe our date is bringing up memories from the past. As much fun as we’re having, I understand that it can unwittingly bring up ghosts. I can’t ask him about it now. Perhaps some other time.
“How about we each pick a flavor and get a double scoop?” I suggest. It seems fair, and I don’t want him to take me for one of those women that goes along with whatever the man says. I don’t expect that’s the impression I’m giving off, but I know that my ‘go with the flow’ attitude in social situations can falsely make me appear wishy washy. “Sounds good to me! Any allergies or flavors you really dislike?” I shake my head no. “Good because with my luck, I would pick that one.” “Nonsense! I think you’ve been choosing really well tonight,” I’m teasing, but I mean it. The restaurant, the view, the walk along the cliffs were more enjoyable than I anticipated. “You do?” “Sure, you chose to take me out.” “Well how could I not? You practically threw yourself at me,” he laughs.
I like the fact that after knowing each other for such a short while that we can joke around and make fun of eachother good naturedly. In my family, a sense of humor is almost as vital as food and oxygen, and it’s something I absolutely need in my everyday life. Brent and I, while we had lot of light-hearted moments, hadn’t quite shared the same sense of humor. We could be whimsical and spontaneous together, and we could joke, but he was always cautious about teasing me or my making fun of myself.
“What flavor did you choose?” Greg looked at me expectantly. “I can’t tell you, it’ll ruin the surprise.” “What if I’m planning to order the same thing?” “Well then I guess that’s one more thing we have in common,” I smile. As it turns out, we do have ice cream flavors in common, and end up with a peanut butter cup and heath bar combination - two of my favorites. The warm air melts the ice cream quickly and we get into a tug of war, snatching it away each other to rescue the ice cream that’s sliding down the cone. “You have ice cream all over your face!” Greg exclaims as he reached up to wipe my cheek and mouth with his napkin. “What did you do, dive in head first?” “Oh man, really?” “Yep, all over your nose, your mouth. Everywhere, basically.” “Well,” I say, grabbing the napkin from him, “I hope you’re not looking for a delicate woman.” “Hennie, I wouldn’t know what to do with a delicate woman,” he smile as he puts his arm around my shoulder.
As we drive up to my cottage, my stomach once again starts to feel fluttery. I don’t know what to expect now. Do I just get out and say thank you, maybe give him one of those awkward in-the-car hugs where you’re half hugging, half trying not to accidentally put the car into reverse with your torso? Will he walk me to my door? Give me a hug? Try to kiss me? Expect to come in? No, I decide on that last one. He’s been clear about wanting to take this respectfully slow.
He pulls up to the front of my house and turns off the car. As he opens his car door, my energy rises. So he is going to walk me to my door. Awkward car hug eliminated, at least. I suppose he feels like it’s the right way to end a date. He has that chivalrous side to him and I have to admit, it’s rather nice. I realize that if he just said goodnight and let me step out of the car, I would wonder if something was wrong. Why was everything so complicated?
He offers me his hand as he opened my car door. “I had a wonderful time tonight. I know it sounds like a completely cliche thing to say as I walk you to your door, but I don’t know how else to say it.” “I did too,” I assure him. He’s right - it may be cliche, but it was surprisingly true. He looks at me as I fumbled through my purse for my house keys wondering if I look as awkwardly anxious as I felt. His eyes are still on me as I looked back up, keys in hand. “I’d really like to kiss you, but I need to take this slow.” I nod sensing he had more to say. “I’m sorry for being so honest, but I don’t know any other way to put it. If you’ve not noticed, I’m hardly a poet.” I smile. He was right, but I find his honesty refreshing. “Would you settle for a hug, then?” “A hug would be fantastic,” he grins, and steps forward, opening his arms.
He holds me in a hug, tighter than I had anticipated, and lightly kisses me on the top of the head. It feels good to be held close. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed it. I take in the warmth of his body, the scent of his cologne, the strong but gentle nature of his arms around me, pulling me close to him. “It’s going to be difficult, you know?” I look up at him, unsure of what he meant by “it”. “Taking this slow, I mean.” I nod once more and rested my head back down against his chest.
When he finally releases me, I feel in a daze. I know my next move was to unlock my door and go inside, but my feet don’t seem to want to take me there. Luckily, his feet seemed more eager to take him back to his car. “I’ll see you again soon?” he asks. I can hear the anticipation in his voice. “Yes,” I answer decidedly. I can no longer pretend that I’m not interested. “I’ll look at my schedule. I know I work a few days this week, but we’ll make some time, even if it’s just to grab a cup of coffee.” He clearly wants me to know that if he can’t see me much, it isn’t because he’s blowing me off. We exchange goodnights, and he grasps my hand one last time before turning to walk to his car.
As I got ready for bed, I felt like a teenager again. I both want to tell everyone, and want to keep this secret to myself. It feels like telling others would somehow be sharing Greg with them, and I’m not ready for that yet. As I reached over t
o turn off the light on my nightstand, my phone buzzes with a message from Greg. “Sweet dreams.” “Sweet dreams,” I text back. I think that my excitement about the evening might make sleep elusive, but I quickly fall asleep.
Chapter 10
Suddenly, I’m back in 1926, living in this cottage of the Sheffield family, except the three girls are my sisters and I. We aren’t doing anything extraordinary, simply going about daily lives as my brain assumes they would have been in 1926. When I wake eight hours later, I need to write. Whether it’s excitement over a successful date urging me to feel productive, or inspiration that hit in my sleep, I can’t say. I know I dreamt, of the house back in the days of Julienne, but I remember very little of the dream. All I know is that I want to sit down at my computer with a cup of coffee and work on my novel for as long as I can. I ensure that all of my message and email notifications are turned off to eliminate distractions, turn my phone on vibrate, and place it in my purse. Now I am in novelist mode. I used to feel bad not responding to emails, calls, or texts right away, but I’ve learned that it’s necessary to eliminate temptation if I want to make efficient progress.
Three hours (and two timers) later, I emerge from my cocoon, realizing that my stomach is growling. It’s 10 o’clock in the morning, I’ve consumed two cups of coffee and nothing to eat, and my insides aren’t happy about it. The urge to check my phone, in particular to see if I’ve heard from Greg, is strong, and I give into it by convincing myself that my brain can use a mini break. I half-heartedly tell myself that I won’t hear from him so soon, and that I have no reason to expect it. Secretly, my stomach flip-flops as I unzipped my purse, just in time to hear my phone buzz and see Greg’s name pop up in my text messages. “Just want to say good morning. Hope you slept well.” I write back quickly with a ‘Good morning’, satisfied that he’s contacted me, and head downstairs to finally make some breakfast.
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