by Mariah Jones
Damn. I was sweating already. I patted my forehead with a hand towel and took a deep breath. Great, the biggest date of my life and I was sweating like a live pig roasting on a spit.
When my makeup was finished and I was dressed in my new clothing, I started to feel better. I did have to admit, I looked better than I had thought I would. I was still fat, but at least I was fat and classy. I took note of the time and looked out my window at the street. I knew it was too early for Thorne to arrive, but I felt like a teenaged girl on prom night. I checked my appearance again in the hall mirror. Stop it, I chastised myself.
I fed the cat and put away a few dishes left in my dishwasher. I consciously tried to avoid doing anything that would make me sweat any worse. No heavy exercise for this kid before the night out with her dream date. My phone rang and I picked it up to see who was calling. It was my mother. I set it back down on the counter again. Not right now, I said under my breath.
I looked at the clock again. Still fifteen minutes to go. Time seemed to be crawling painfully slow. The sweating just wouldn’t stop. I wondered if nervous skinny people ever had this problem. I began to feel like I was smothering in my own skin.
Mr. Muffins stared at me from the back of the couch accusingly. I swear if he were a man he would have been the possessive crazy type that you see in movies about stalkers. “What?” I asked him. “I fed you already. It’s about time you aren’t the only man in my life.” The cat glared at me for a moment and then resumed his ritual grooming. If only it were so easy to win an argument with all loved ones.
The mirror was a magnet. I tried to avoid it for the remainder of the time I had left to wait and found it was too alluring to elude. It wasn’t vanity that kept me returning to the shiny silver torture device, it was fear. What if I inadvertently smudged something across my sweaty forehead or down my nose? What if I walked out feeling confident and then found out I had something stuck in my front teeth? What if I had a booger? The more I looked in the mirror the more things I found about my face and my hair and my outfit that I didn’t like. I made myself stop looking.
Thorne arrived promptly at seven. I felt my heart jump into my throat when I saw his car pull up in front of my house. Please God, I silently begged. Let me have one night of humiliation free fun. No farting, no burping, no tripping, no underwear related issues, no reason for him to laugh at me or not want to see me again. I’m only asking for one night. Amen.
When I opened the door, I momentarily forgot about myself. Thorne looked incredible. He was wearing a steel gray sweater and khaki pants. His hair was careless and sexy and as usual, hung down into his right eye. He smelled wonderful. His scent wasn’t overdone or obnoxious the way some colognes can be. He just naturally smelled good, like the outdoors combined with cinnamon and cedar. His smile lit up his face beautifully and forced a smile out of me as well.
“Wow,” he said. “You look amazing.”
I could feel the heat in my face and prayed it wouldn’t make the perspiring much more noticeable. “Thank you,” I said quietly. “So do you.”
Thorne shrugged modestly. “Are you ready to go?”
“Of course,” I said, although I questioned if I would be able to move or if I was rooted to the spot I stood in. Suddenly my head was filled with images of the robbery, the incident at the gym and my dinner date with Dave. Then I thought about exploding food dye and running over my date. My stomach flipped. I didn’t have much faith that something wouldn’t go wrong for me. It seemed I was stuck with an inescapable curse of making an ass out of myself.
“Are you all right?” I heard Thorne’s voice bringing me back to reality.
I smiled again. “I’m fine. Let’s go have some fun,” I agreed.
Chapter Twelve
A fairytale of sorts
In all good fairytales the maiden is fair and beautiful. The prince is handsome and charming. The step-someone is evil. There can be a fairy godmother, talking animals, magic wands, potions, even spells. There can be dragons to slay or towers to climb. Sometimes there are knights in shining armor or mystical items of power. The one thing that all fairytales have in common is the end. Where things have been resolved, leaving life simple and pleasurable and everyone to live happily ever after. Why can’t real life be like fairytales? I’ll tell you why, because life is not fair.
I was so nervous on the way to the beach that I couldn’t even speak. Although he didn’t say anything Thorne seem to recognize this and was kind enough to point out landmarks here and there along the way trying to bridge the silence between us. I stole glances at him several times, and each time he would catch me I could feel my face beginning to redden. I tried repeatedly to think of something intelligent to say but found that every time he would shoot a smile my way my brain would go instantly numb.
As I didn’t want to be too obvious about staring at him I focused on my hands which were neatly folded in my lap. I watched his mouth move as he spoke to me and wondered what it would be like to feel his lips against mine. I considered what he might be thinking when he had those mischievous smiles on his face, and hoped might be thinking something similar about me.
When we got to the beach the seas were calm and it was mostly deserted other than a family taking pictures on the bluffs. Thorne spread out an oversized blanket and emptied out the contents of the picnic basket he had packed. An array of meats, crackers and cheeses sat before us as well as some of my own handmade pastries from Cupcake. I wondered when he had found the time to go and buy them without me noticing. When he saw me looking at them he smiled and shrugged his shoulders “only the best,” he said. I’m not sure why, but this made me blush even more.
Thankfully after dinner I found my voice. Our conversation was light and casual and when we finished, Thorne asked if I would like to take a walk and watch the sunset. I gratefully accepted and as we made our way to the North end of the beach he reached out and took my hand. The gesture was unexpected and pleasant. His touch made me feel vibrant and alive and I never wanted him to let go. “There is nothing as amazing as the ocean,” he said. I gazed out over the expanse of water and had to agree, no matter how many times I stood by the sea it still made me feel small and put things in perspective.
“You must see this so differently from an artist’s point of view,” I said as he casually linked our fingers together.
Thorne smiled broadly and I felt my heartbeat quicken. “Oh, I don’t know. You might actually have the advantage. When I look at the world I am always considering shadows and lines and brush sizes and angles. Sometimes I wish I could be a little less of an artist,” he admitted.
I thought of his gallery and the pieces I had seen. “You would be doing the world such a disservice if you were to stop painting,” I told him genuinely. As the sun sank down over the water we turned back the way we had come. I studied Thorne and as we walked, and his face took on a serious cast. “What is it?” I asked, giving his hand a light squeeze. He was silent for a moment, once again looking out over the ocean. I began to wonder if I had done something wrong.
“I was just thinking of something you said a few minutes ago,” he told me. I searched his face inquisitively. “You said it would be a shame if I stopped painting. I did for a long time. My brother was a photographer and we had a dream in college that we would open up a studio together; I would sell my paintings and he would sell his portraits. We had everything all set up. The space was leased, the contract was signed, we were excited,” his voice trailed off.
“What, what is it?” I asked, seeing the pain reflected in his eyes. I wasn’t sure what to do.
“The evening of our grand opening my brother was out on a photo shoot with an up-and-coming celebrity. He had called earlier to say we could use the extra money for the business, but that he would be back in plenty of time to make the opening. We were due to open at seven PM and by eight o’clock I knew something was terribly wrong when he didn’t show up. This fledgling business was our baby. We ate, slept and b
reathed it for the previous year, putting all of our finances, time and effort into making it exactly what we wanted. I knew something must be terribly wrong because Alex never would have been late to our opening.”
I watched helplessly as Thorne struggled to keep his voice level. It was strange to me since we hadn’t known each other that long, but his pain felt like my own. I felt a lump in my throat that I couldn’t swallow and an uncomfortable churning in my stomach.
“I socialized with guests for the first hour, hoping Alex had just been caught in traffic and would be arriving any moment. I reminded myself to breathe and told myself to stop being so melodramatic. Still, the feeling that something was dreadfully wrong persisted. I found a quiet corner and tried calling his cell phone to no avail; every time I called it would go straight to voicemail. Just as I was about to excuse myself and go look for my brother, my phone rang and my mother’s broken voice delivered the news I had been dreading. My brother had been killed by a drunk driver on his way to the gallery.”
Thorne’s expression was riddled with pain and it hurt me to see him that way. I could think of nothing else to say that was appropriate, except “I’m so sorry.”
He looked down at me as though he suddenly realized where we were and an expression of embarrassment crossed his face. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I haven’t ever spoken with anyone other than family about this. I’m not sure what prompted me to do so tonight. I certainly never meant to ruin our date, especially our first date.”
I smiled sadly and took his other hand looking directly up into his handsome face. “You haven’t ruined anything, please, go on.”
He looked at me uncertainly for a moment and then returned to speaking in that same distant manner. “I had no choice but to close the gallery before it even got started. Alex had been my business partner, my brother and my best friend. Even if I had the financial means to keep the place open I couldn’t have walked in there every day alone. Every time I looked at the studio all I saw was Alex. My mom thought painting would be therapeutic for me and she encouraged me to continue. She even went so far as to set up meetings with potential investors she and my dad were familiar with, but nothing interested me. It was like when Alex died he took the artistic part of me with him.”
“All of our mutual friends and my parents tried to tell me that Alex would want me to go on and not waste my God-given talent, but I found it impossible. How could I live out the dream that was supposed to be a shared dream when there was only one of us left? So I stopped altogether. I used the money in my bank account to leave home and travel for a while. I visited the East Coast and took a tour of Italy. I never lost my artist’s view of the world and could find beauty in the smallest things, but I refused to pick up a brush. I somehow felt that if I started painting again it would seem like I was telling the world I was okay with the loss of my brother. I felt that Alex would feel betrayed, as though I had gone on without him like he never existed.”
Thorne brushed the hair from my face and looked directly into my eyes. I didn’t blush as usual but I could feel a strange tingling coursing through my body. My heart was thundering in my ears and I longed to kiss him, but I knew it was not the right time. Every fiber of my being wanted to hold him and take away his pain and sorrow and yet I remained still. “What made you decide to start painting again?” I asked.
He studied my face intently, never breaking eye contact. What appeared to be the beginnings of a smile touched the corners of his mouth, like the sun breaking through a cloud filled sky, the effect was warming. “It’d been two years since Alex died and I went to visit his grave site. Since the day of the terrible accident I had never once let myself feel anything. I realized what I was becoming and what my brother would’ve thought about it. I didn’t sleep well, I barely ate anything, I hadn’t thought of dating or women for two years. I hadn’t picked up a paintbrush and I was living my life as a shell of my former self. I sat in front of my brother’s memorial stone and cried. I cried for him and for my parents and for the loss of my own life, because it truly felt as though I had died right along with him. I looked up to the heavens and made a promise to him that day. I promised that I was going to live my life for both of us. I would seek out beauty and joy and laughter from that day forward.”
I smiled in earnest, this man before me was truly amazing. I had never felt so much for someone so quickly and it thrilled me and frightened me at the same time. “Was it difficult to start painting again?” I asked.
Thorne shrugged. “Not as difficult as I expected actually. It was almost as if Alex was guiding my hand. I found that I could pour out all of my pent-up emotion with a brush and each piece I did had new meaning. I struggled the first time I picked up his camera equipment because it almost felt as though I was taking something that didn’t belong to me, but as I looked through the viewfinder I felt a connection with Alex that I hadn’t felt since his death. It was almost like looking through my brothers eyes, to be doing something that he had loved so much.”
Perhaps it was my own insecurities that made me see Thorne as a one-dimensional creature. My own self-esteem issues prior to that conversation made me insecure about being around someone that I saw as so much better than me. I was so apprehensive about embarrassing myself for doing something that he would find off-putting and suddenly that changed. I realized that he had been through his share of sorrows and misfortunes as well. The intimate details of the conversation we shared put things in perspective for me.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I know that was a lot to take in all at once. I feel so comfortable with you it’s like we’ve known each other forever.”
I smiled in response. “I’m glad you told me. It isn’t good for you to carry something like that around. You are truly an incredible man, thank you for tonight.”
“I think there has been enough serious for one night,” Thorne said with a genuine smile.
We walked back to the car hand-in-hand. Some of my vanity returned as I tried to control my breathing and make it less apparent that walking in sand was hard for me at that weight. By the time we climbed the stairs leading from the beach to the parking lot I felt as though my lungs were going to burst. Thorne looked as though he were going to ask about my condition and then thought better of it. I smiled reassuringly although my head felt slightly dizzy.
We decided on drinks at tropical Joe’s as an end to our evening. Halfway through my first glass of red wine I began feeling dizzy. I didn’t drink often and I thought perhaps my rummy head had more to do with my developing feelings for Thorne than the actual alcohol. We laughed about Nancy’s repeated attempts to pick him up. He asked me questions about the bakery and eventually I divulged my darkest secret, the great underwear incident. Thorne made every attempt to remain serious and not crack so much as a smile as he showed concern for the fact that I had been shot. However, perhaps due to my outstanding abilities as a standup comedian coupled with the alcohol, he eventually lost the battle.
The conversation continued well into the night although neither of us seemed concerned with the time. I decided to make the switch to nonalcoholic beverages so I ordered a diet soda. I felt the chances of me doing something stupid would be greatly increased if I continue to drink.
Just before midnight, Thorne helped me with my coat and we prepared to leave. As we made our way toward the exit, a tall man who looked as though he could benefit from a shower staggered into the bar. Thorne put his arm around my waist protectively, which made me feel special in a way I hadn’t felt for a long time. Unfortunately the moment of joy was too brief. The newest patron looked up at me. On his way past us he turned to Thorne and said “I wouldn’t be seen in public with that.”
I could feel the heat creeping up my neck and I squeezed Thorne’s hand in a gesture that said “let it go.” He might have listened to me, and things might have been fine if it hadn’t been for the guy’s next comment. “You should sell her off to a farmer for some magic beans.” I trie
d with some urgency to pull Thorne toward the exit, but he would have none of it.
“Just because you’re drunk, doesn’t give you a right to insult a lady,” Thorne said firmly.
The drunken man smiled revealing what was left of his decaying yellow teeth. “That ain’t no lady,” he said snidely. “I’ve seen skinnier pregnant sows.”
I could see a vein standing out in Thorne’s forehead. I tried again to usher him toward the door but he was standing stock still facing my heckler. “Because I am a reasonable man, I am going to give you a chance to apologize before I punch you out instead,” Thorne told the man in an ice cold voice.
“Punch me out?” The man asked, the crooked smile still adorning his ugly face. “Somebody ought to punch your ass out for making the rest of us look at her. You should know better than to bring something like that out in public.”