It's a Date

by Jess Epps

  Noah

  I HAVEN’T BEEN able to sleep since she left. It’s become another sleepless night. Her question is playing on repeat in my head: “Noah? You have before? You know…right?”

  FUCK!

  My gift to women and fucking personal curse—an equal substitution. She hasn’t contacted me in the last three days. I don’t blame her. Who the hell wants to be with a man who is so well-endowed that it completely strips his sex life from him? Not her. Not Heather Lane.

  I should be studying, but instead I’ve been a moping son of a bitch. My phone vibrates on my nightstand and I grab it, hoping it will be her. When it’s not, I groan and want to fling the damn phone across the room.

  Hi, my son. I hope you are doing well. I have not heard from you since you went back to your apartment. Alisha at the diner said she saw you with a very pretty, young brunette on New Year’s Eve. You know, you should really be taking Alisha on a date, not some strange girl.

  I text back. Hi. I’m fine. I’ve been busy studying and it wasn’t a date. And I’m certainly not interested in Alisha. I have to go. I’ll stop by soon.

  I don’t want to know how long it took her to type all of that out, but right now I’d rather wallow in my self-pity than anyone else’s.

  An hour passes and I’m finally showered and dressed. After trying to sit down and study, I decide to go to the local library. On my way out, I grab the mail and start opening it in my truck as it starts to rain.

  I eye a large bubbled envelope and put the rest of the mail down. Running my car key through the top to open it, I pull out a large stack of papers. Flipping through it, I can tell it’s my application for the character and fitness test I submitted to the Committee on Examinations, and Committee on Character and Fitness at the Supreme Court of Arizona. The examining authorities seek extensive and in-depth information on all applicants. They check things like personal history all the way to academic dishonesty.

  I turn the pack of paper around in my hands and read the opening letter.

  THE SUPREME COURT OF ARIZONA

  Committee on Character and Fitness

  IN THE MATTER OF BAR APPLICANT NBR-9141-011

  Submitted: November 15th

  Opinion Issued: December 27th

  Applicant NBR-9141-011;

  Noah Bradley Ryan, of Tempe, Arizona, for the Committee on Character and Fitness.

  A per curiam decision. The applicant seeks admission to the Arizona Bar. The standing committee on character and fitness of the Arizona Supreme Court filed a report recommending the applicant be denied admission to the Arizona Bar exam. Attached is an order instructing the applicant a cause why his application is being denied. Due to acts involving dishonesty and misrepresentation, applicant NBR-9141-011 is flagged and denied the Character and Fitness certificate…

  I stop reading then read it over a few more times before slamming my fist into the middle console of my truck. How the fuck am I denied? THIS IS BULLSHIT! Everything I submitted was true, every last damn dated document.

  I get out of my truck and storm into my apartment, forcefully slamming the door shut. I grab a beer from the fridge before sitting down at the kitchen island to read the rest of this nineteen-page document. The document states that I have to meet with a character and fitness examiner this week to discuss my denial.

  Four beers and one denial document later, I’m lying on the floor looking up at the fan rotating on the ceiling. My birth certificate is fake? It was state-issued when the adoption went through. My hand forms a fist around the copy of my birth certificate they sent back to me, crumpling up the piece of shit and hauling it across the room.

  I know I shouldn’t do this since I’ve been drinking, but I grab my phone to shoot a text to Coen: Hey fuckface. Do you still have that FBI contact?

  His reply is immediate. Yeah man. His name is Joel Aldrich. Everything good? You plan on tracking down that hot piece of ass from NYE?

  No. My character and fitness test for the bar was denied. I need to figure out what the hell is going on.

  Oh fuck, man.

  He gives me Joel’s contact details. I save them before calling the New York City adoption agency. I’m put on hold for forty minutes and transferred from person to person. An endless tirade on my part ensues as they search for my adoption documents, which will have my assigned birth certificate attached. I have the entire fucking agency in a panic looking for my fucking adoption records. I know they aren’t closed because my birth parents left me to die.

  The director of the agency is now on the phone with me telling me that there are no records of my adoption at all. They have checked the records for the state of Arizona as well, and they have come up with nothing. I thank the guy and hang up.

  Where the hell do I go from here?

  I’M PACING MY bedroom, waiting for a phone call from Joel, Coen’s FBI contact. My Galaxy vibrates in my hand and I answer, overcome with anger.

  “About fucking time!” I spit out harshly.

  “Noah?” I hear Heather’s soothing voice say.

  “Shit…I’m sorry, ballerina. I’ve been waiting on a phone call.”

  “Swear jar.” Her giggle fills my ear and I can’t fight a smile. “Wait, is everything okay?” she asks, sensing that there’s something off in my voice.

  “I’ve just had a rough day. What about you? I haven’t heard from you.”

  She groans. “I’m sorry. When I was leaving Arizona, I stopped to get Starbucks. I ended up burning my tongue on my latte, so I took off the lid while driving to cool it down. Then, my dumb butt dropped my phone in the drink.”

  I start laughing at how dramatically she’s telling me her little tale.

  “I’m serious! I didn’t want to stop at a phone store on the way because I was afraid I’d lose your number. I had to get home to my technology-buff neighbor who helped me get all of my contacts onto my new iPhone.” She takes a deep breath and sighs.

  “I’m sorry about your phone, but I’m glad you made it home. I was getting concerned.”

  I think I can hear her smile, making my mood worse because I want to fucking see it. My smile. Made for me.

  "Concerned about me, Noah?" She giggles. "I made that good of an impression?"

  She jokes, but I'm serious. “Yeah, you did. I’m pissed that I can’t just show up on your doorstep and kiss the hell out of you,” I say, as I pick up her gold ring that she left in my bathroom.

  She's quiet for a long second; I want her to speak.

  "I wish you could too," she finally says.

  I growl into the receiver as I form a fist around her ring. “I know. You left a gold ring at my place. No one else but you and I have been in here, so it has to be yours. It’s got a minute pink pearl in the center.”

  I hear her breathe a sigh of relief on the other end. "Oh thank God! I thought I'd lost it."

  “I could mail it to you, but it obviously means something to you. I wouldn’t want it getting lost in the mail. So I can hold onto it until I see you again…if you’d like.” I’m sitting down on the end of my bed, turning the ring around in my fingers, wondering if it’s from that prick at the ballet.

  "No, don't mail it. I'd like a personal delivery."

  “I can arrange that since I won’t be sitting for the bar in February after all. Are you going on tour soon, or staying in New York?”

  "Wait, what? Why aren't you taking it?" She sounds concerned.

  “I received a letter a few hours ago telling me I’ve been denied my character and fitness test due to dishonesty and misrepresentation. It’s got something to do with my birth certificate and adoption documentation. Apparently, there is none.”

  There's a genuine concern in her reply and it makes me want to drop every fucking thing I'm doing and go to her. "Oh Noah, I'm so sorry. There has to be something you can do, right?"

  “I’m going to try. I’m waiting for someone from the FBI to call. Coen, the douche you met at the club, knows someone. Once I figure out what t
he hell is going on, I’ll have to appeal their decision.” Damn, this is going to take forever.

  "Do you want to talk about it?" she asks me in the softest voice.

  “No, not right now anyway. I appreciate it though. Tell me about this ring. Why’s it so important to you?” I ask, wanting to talk about anything, but this damn bar exam.

  I wait for her to say something. I pull my phone back to make sure she's still on the line. "Uhm...it was my mother’s."

  “Was your mother’s? I’m sorry, Heather.”

  She sighs heavily into the phone. "Ah, it's okay. It happened a long time ago."

  I find myself hoping her father was able to be there for her growing up, since her mother couldn’t. “How old were you? Shit, we don’t have to talk about this.”

  "I was twelve. It's okay. I don't mind."

  Twelve? Damn. “Do you mind if I ask what happened?” I hope I’m not pushing her too far, but I’m glad we’re talking.

  "Uhm...give me a second?" She asks and I wait. Suddenly I hear a cork being pulled from a bottle. Shit. Have I caused her to drink?

  “Okay, I’m back. I need a little liquid courage. When I was twelve, my parents went on their annual anniversary getaway to a small island just off of the coast of British Columbia. The only convenient way to get there is to fly in on a floatplane.” She pauses to take a drink, I think.

  “I’m listening.”

  “The plane crashed just off of the coast. Both my mother and father died instantly.”

  Holy fuck. I scrub my hand down my face. "Shit, Heather, I'm sorry." A million and one questions pop into my head.

  “It’s okay.”

  “What were their names?” I ask.

  “Ayla and Mark,” she replies softly. “That ring was her engagement ring.”

  I look down at it in my palm. “I won’t let anything happen to it.”

  "Thank you. I must have left it there when I used your bathroom."

  “That’s where I found it. I’d like to kiss your pain away, ballerina.” Fuck. No matter the shit that happened to me today, she’s all I’m worried about right now.

  I hear her demeanor change almost instantly. "I wish you could too. You're very talented with that mouth of yours.”

  Smirking, I reply, “The feeling is mutual. When can our lips meet again?”

  She's laughing and I find myself smiling. "Are you saying you want to see me again, Noah?"

  Fuck, I want her. “I’m informing you that I’m coming to see you. I’m asking when you have time for me.” I hear a gasp on her end then a lot of noise.

  "Oh sh-shoot. Really?!"

  “Heather? What happened?” Staying very quiet, I’m trying to hear what’s going on.

  She's mumbling into the phone. "Oh, I spilled my wine. Are you really coming?"

  “Careful now, ballerina. Give me a day or two and I’ll let you know when I can come up. But yes, if you’d like.” I close my eyes as I speak. “I want you, Heather.”

  "YES! I'd like." She all but shouts into the phone and I have to chuckle.

  "Damn, you're adorable."

  “Swear jar!” she yells out.

  “It’s a good thing I don’t have one, or I’d be broke.” My phone beeps: I have an incoming call from Joel. “Ballerina, I have to go. I’ll text you later.”

  "Okay. Bye, Noah."

  “Goodbye, beautiful.”

  I end the phone call with Heather and answer Joel’s. After I introduce myself, I inform him of my issue. He asks for my details, anything and everything I know about my adoption. He tells me he’ll get back to me when he finds something, which won’t be long, he assures me.

  Heather

  AS SOON AS I hang up with Noah, I bust out in a happy dance, squealing excitedly and throwing myself onto the bed. I'm so freaking excited! He said he's coming to see me. I'm so addicted to him already. This is not good, but I can't help it.

  I want him.

  I’ve completely forgotten about the Gevrey-Chambertin pinot noir that I spilled on my carpet, and scroll through my phone contacts to call Dani.

  She answers on the first ring. "Heather! I was just about to call you."

  "Sister! How was your Christmas and New Year’s?"

  "It was so good, but I missed you oh so much. We got back to LA about an hour ago and I had to speak to you," she blurts out excitedly.

  I can't help but giggle. Even though Dani and I are complete opposites on most things, we still have our enthusiasm in common. "So..? Tell me, what did he get you for Christmas?"

  "Brannon got me the most gorgeous Prada bag. Did you get my package yet?"

  I pause. Crap. "Uhmm...no. I still haven't picked up my mail. I had it held for a little while longer."

  "Why haven't you picked it up yet? You've been home for over a week."

  Squeezing my eyes shut and biting the inside of my cheek, I answer, "Well, actually I just got back. I stayed in Phoenix longer than I anticipated."

  "HEATHER LANE, you hate hot weather over Christmas. Who is he?"

  Busted. Crap, she knows me too well. "WHAT? What makes you think it's a guy?"

  "The fact that I can hear you smiling and dancing around from here. Tell me who he is!" she demands.

  I can't lie to her, so I fess up. "Okay, fine. He's so F’ing hot, Dani. I can't even begin to describe how gorgeous this man is. And ugh...cocky! But in a good way. Not like Nik." I make a gagging sound.

  "Oh shit! Did you sleep with him? How big is he? Did he make you come? Tell me!"

  Clapping my hand over my eyes as I lay on my bed. "Ugh, Dani, seriously? No, I didn't sleep with him."

  "BUT HE MADE YOU COME? Heather! I need a picture of this hunky man. Wait...he's in Arizona?"

  "Did I say that? And yes. He lives too far away for any type of anything. But that's why I was in Phoenix."

  "You didn’t say I was wrong. Awww…so you want something with him? My little sister has a mad crush on someone."

  I roll my eyes and sit up, looking out my bedroom windows. "Oh stop. I do not. I was just having fun for once."

  "Then why are you so happy? Are you ever going to see him again? Did you get his number?"

  Sighing into the phone, I flop back down and rest against my pillows. "I don't know. Maybe, and yes. He says he wants to come and see me but...you know how guys are. Chances are I won't hear from him again."

  "Oh sister. I can tell you’re really into him. If he's just another frog we'll find you someone else. Brannon’s coworker here in LA is pretty hot. He's from London and he has the sexiest English accent."

  Scrunching my nose up, I say, "Oh please, no more accents. I'm pretty much ruined because of Nik. Oh and by the way, he went into full-on jerk mode at the last show on Christmas Eve. It was so humiliating."

  "I'm sorry. You deserve so much better. Someone Mom and Dad would have been proud to call their son-in-law. I love you. Come visit me soon?"

  I look down at my hand where my mother’s ring used to be and hope like hell that I at least get my ring back, if nothing else. "I love you too. Maybe I'll visit in a couple months. Tell Brannon I said hi."

  "I will. Call me soon. I have to come...I mean run. What?" She giggles and hangs up.

  I laugh because she's so ridiculous. Putting my phone down, I’m talking to myself, "Ah, Dani, what am I going to do with you?”

  I rush downstairs and out to the front desk in my building’s lobby to pick up my mail. There’s a package from Dani and some other bills. When I get back upstairs, I open the small bubbled envelope to find a little box inside with a Christmas card. I quickly read over it, squealing. I open the box, which reveals a pink pouch. Inside of the pink pouch is a gorgeous, delicate necklace with an elegant letter H dangling from the side.

  My sister knows me well.

  THE NEXT WEEK crawls by. I’m back in the dance studio, rehearsing for an audition I have in two weeks. I’m distracted and my ballet mistress can tell. I haven't heard from him since that night on the phone a
nd I'm cranky because of it.

  I’m in the middle of a pirouette when I fall flat on my butt. I bring my hand down and slap the wooden floor before getting up and moving to the barre. I position myself on the barre to stretch, first for my left leg then again to my other leg as thoughts of Noah’s lips on my skin fill my mind.

  I step back from the barre and place my hands on top of my head. My reflection is staring me down. I hate that I let this Greek god get to me; I hate that I let him in.

  “Heather, I don’t know what is bothering you, but you need to get your head into your routine!” my ballet mistress, Flora Lindsay, yells out.

  “I’m going home, Ms. Lindsay—I can’t do this today. My heart is not in it.” My heart hasn’t been present since Arizona. He has it and I doubt he even cares. Asshole.

  I walk over to my bag that sits in the corner of the room. Sitting down next to it, I look over at Mistress Lindsay apologetically while taking off my pointe shoes and slipping on my Sorel snow boots. Suddenly I wish I were in warmer weather—somewhere like Phoenix. No, Heather. Don't do that to yourself again.

  On my way out of the studio, I put on my pink peacoat and head out in the snow to my car. My drive home is miserable and I plan on spending the rest of my day at home in front of my huge fireplace. I pull up to my apartment building and drive into the car-sized elevator that whisks me up to the nineteenth floor. The doors slide open, allowing me to pull forward into one of my parking spots.

  I look over at my phone and it's like an annoying reminder that he hasn't called. I’ve decided that I'm done waiting and chalk up our New Year’s Day to a silly fling. Feeling so crappy about myself, I get out of my car and go inside.

  Pouring myself a larger than necessary glass of wine before sitting down in front of the fireplace, I put on Dear John to try and lose myself and forget him.

  Reaching over and grabbing my bag of gummy bears, I pick out the white ones and eat them first. My eyes keep flickering to my phone. So I just do it.