by Kylie Keene
He takes me to a large open gallery where stations are set up serving wine and appetizers. The place is more crowded than I thought it would be. It’s a mixed crowd of older and younger people, but they all look wealthy.
The women who are my age are wearing dresses that look like they came off a New York runway during fashion week. Their dresses look more like costumes. Some have feathers attached. One looks like it has paint on it. Then I spot a girl wearing a feather headpiece that matches her dress but looks completely ridiculous. Maybe these girls consider their outfits to be wearable art and therefore appropriate for an event at the art center. I don’t know where else you’d wear those outfits.
Two of the girls with the feather dresses walk by us and Grant doesn’t seem at all surprised. He’s probably been to these types of events before and seen people dressed like that. Nobody else seems to think anything of it, either. I guess I’m the only one who finds it strange.
I feel completely out of place. I thought my simple blue dress was both classy and elegant but now I look like one of the old ladies. I feel like the women my age are staring at me like I’m the odd one for not wearing something more unusual. It’s making me uncomfortable and I’m starting to feel like I shouldn’t be here.
Grant puts his hand on my back. “There are several different wine tasting stations and we just make our way to each one. Let’s grab a glass and look at some of the art. When was the last time you were here?”
“Um, fourth grade,” I mumble.
“Wow. That’s a long time ago. I came here last weekend when you were gone. They had an artist giving a lecture. I bought a membership so I can come more often and participate in some of the events.”
I like art, but not enough to buy a museum membership. I mean, after you’ve seen the art, how many more times do you need to see it?
We get a glass of wine and walk around the gallery. Grant knows a lot about art. Every time we stop in front of a painting, he tells me about the artist and the artist’s inspiration behind the painting. I remind myself that this is good because I’m learning something new, but truthfully, I’m a little bored.
“Can’t you just feel the emotion?” Grant asks as we stare at a large canvas covered in red paint. That’s right. Just red paint. Nothing else. I don’t know what I’m missing here. I take a closer look at it, but it’s just red paint! I guess I don’t get art.
After two hours of this, I’m more than ready to leave. Grant could stay all night. But I tell myself that’s okay. My mom hated football and my dad loves it. And they still got along great.
I endure one more hour of this and then we finally leave.
“It’s a great museum, isn’t it?” he asks.
“Yeah. I can’t believe I waited so long to go again.” Actually that just confirmed why I waited so long. I could wait another 15 years before going again.
“Do you want to get something to eat? There’s a tapas bar not far from here.”
I know the restaurant he’s talking about and it’s just like the sushi place. It’s one of those ultra-trendy, loud, crowded places where we won’t be able to talk. Plus, tapas are very small portions of food and right now I’m starving and need more than a few tiny bites.
“How about we just grab a burger?”
“Okay. Do you have a place in mind?”
“There’s this funky diner in Saint Paul. You’ll love it. It’s in this old building. And if we go, you have to get one of their milkshakes. They’re the best.”
“That seems like a lot of food to eat this late at night, but if you really want to go there, we can go.”
“Let’s just go somewhere else.”
“Or we could go back to my place and I’ll make us something.”
“That sounds good. Let’s do that.”
I’m expecting him to make something like a grilled cheese sandwich, which sounds really good right now, or even just some tortilla chips with melted cheese and salsa. But instead Grant brings out a tray with brie, red grapes, dried apricots, and fancy crackers.
He doesn’t seem to eat normal food. Everything is so gourmet. I’m dying to look in his cupboards. Maybe he’s just trying to make me think he eats this way but his cupboards hide sugary cereal and toaster pastries.
He plays some jazz music on his surround sound speakers while we eat. I almost laugh because I keep imagining I’m in one of those commercials for high-end appliances where a young couple is sitting around the granite kitchen island, nibbling on grapes and sipping wine while admiring their shiny new stainless steel refrigerator.
The fruit and cheese leave me even more hungry. I’m still craving that burger and milkshake I mentioned earlier, but that ship has sailed. It’s after midnight and even fast food places are closed.
We go to the couch and sit down and he puts his arm behind me. I’m having major deja vu. A similar scene played out with Brad just days earlier. It’s completely ridiculous but I feel kind of guilty sitting here with Grant. But Brad and I aren’t dating. I have no reason to feel guilty.
Grant leans over and kisses me, the jazz music surrounding us and filling the loft. Now I’m imagining us in one of those cheesy music videos where the couple makes out as the saxophone plays in the background. This time, I can’t hold my laughter in and I have to break from the kiss.
“What’s so funny?” Grant asks.
“Nothing. Sorry.”
I don’t know why I’m finding this so amusing. Grant’s doing his best to make this a romantic evening. The wine event, the cheese platter, the music. I should be loving this.
We kiss again and I focus on the kiss, trying to ignore the music. He’s only kissing me with his lips again and I wonder if that’s all he does. But then I finally feel his tongue and he takes the kiss deeper. I’m expecting that surge of heat to fill my core, like it did with Brad, but it doesn’t. No heat. No tingling. What the hell? This may not be the greatest kiss, but it’s not bad. Grant’s not being overly aggressive or slobbery with the kiss, so what’s my problem? I keep kissing him, hoping I’ll feel more, but I don’t.
Maybe Brad’s kisses ruined me for all other guys. I doubt any other guy could replicate those kisses.
Grant and I continue to kiss but he doesn’t take it any farther than that. I’m relieved. I wasn’t ready for more than kissing tonight.
We end the evening at 12:30. He takes me back to my place and walks me to the door. “Did you have a good time tonight?”
“Yeah, it was fun.” It’s kind of a lie. The art museum wasn’t that fun, but it was new and different. And Grant was a total gentleman, like he always is, and I did like spending time with him.
“Next time you can pick where we go,” he says. “I seem to pick the wrong places.”
“That’s not true. The museum was great.”
“Come on, Morgan. You totally hated it. I could tell. I was kidding when I asked if you had a good time. I know you didn’t.”
“Maybe it wasn’t my scene, but that’s okay. It’s good to try something new.”
“How about next time we go to that diner you talked about? And maybe a movie. You pick. Whatever movie you want to see.”
I smile. “I don’t typically go to foreign films.”
“That’s okay. Like you said, it’s good to try something new.” He kisses me. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Goodnight, Morgan.”
When I get inside, I feel better about the date. It didn’t start out well but it improved once we got back to his place. I’m definitely attracted to Grant and although his kisses didn’t set off any fireworks, I’m sure they’ll improve once we spend more time together.
I check my phone quick before going to bed. I swipe through the hundreds of work emails I have and notice an email from Haverson Foods, the company where Brad is an intern.
My heart skips a beat just seeing the company name because I know it’s an email from Brad. I’m so relieved he isn’t mad at me. I open the email.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
> 16
My excitement fizzles as I see that it’s just a form letter from the company that says, “Thanks stopping by our booth!”
There’s an attachment and I open it to find a photo. It’s the one of Brad dressed as a gorilla holding me in his arms in front of the jungle scene in the exhibit hall.
I can’t stop smiling, not just because it’s a funny picture, but also because it reminds me of Brad. Maybe I should’ve given him my number. I miss talking to him. I want to know what he’s up to and how he’s doing. Maybe we could be friends, like he suggested. Although after the way I ended things, it might be too late for that.
***
At work on Monday, I go to the lab where Kayla and Paige are anxiously awaiting details of my dates with Grant. I tell them about the sushi on Friday night and then give them highlights of the museum event on Saturday. I don’t tell them that I didn’t really like the sushi or the art event because I’m trying to be positive about these new experiences. I don’t have to like everything I try and now that I’ve had time to think about it, I’m glad Grant forced me out of my comfort zone.
“This guy sounds perfect,” Paige says. “He actually likes art and it sounds like he knows all about food, too. Didn’t you say he cooks?”
“He sounds gay,” Kayla says. “I didn’t really see that at first, but now I’m definitely thinking he’s gay.”
“Stop saying every guy she dates is gay,” Paige scolds. “It’s so rude. And just because a guy can cook or appreciates art and design doesn’t mean he’s gay.”
Kayla puts her lab coat on. “He barely did anything with her. They kissed. That’s it. That was their third date. He should have at least gone for third base.”
Paige looks at me. “Ignore her, Morgan. It’s good he isn’t pushing you into stuff. It shows he really likes you.”
Kayla looks offended. “What are you saying, Paige? That the guys I date don’t like me? Now you’re being rude.”
“That’s not what I meant. I wasn’t talking about you. I’m just saying that some guys like to take things slower if they’re really interested in the girl.”
“That doesn’t even make sense, but whatever.” Kayla goes back to her workstation. “Who am I to question the love witch?”
Paige sighs. “Stop calling me that. I’m not a love witch. I’m just in tune with my feelings.”
“Oh, I forgot to show you guys this picture from the conference.” I pull the photo up on my phone and show Paige. “This is the guy I hung out with in Boston.”
She takes a closer look at the photo. “He’s in a gorilla suit.”
“It’s to go with new banana oatmeal they were handing out. He lost a bet with his coworkers and they made him wear the costume.”
Kayla walks over to check it out. “Hmm. Maybe he’s not gay. I don’t think a gay guy would wear that costume.”
“He’s not gay!” I yell at her. “And neither is Grant.”
“It’s a cute picture,” Paige says. “You should use it as your screensaver.”
“I don’t think Grant would want some photo of another guy on my computer.”
“He’s in a gorilla suit. Grant’s not going to know who he is. Besides, you’ll never see that guy again.”
“That’s true.” I feel sad hearing her say it. “So what did you guys do last weekend?”
“Paige hung out with her in-laws,” Kayla says. “Boring.”
“And Kayla went on a date with Chase, the numbers guy.” Paige smiles at Kayla.
“It was not a date,” she insists. “It was a work meeting. Morgan, while you were gone, HR came up with another one of their brilliant programs. They want to improve communication between departments and instead of doing their job and figuring that out for themselves, they’re making me do it for them. Well, Chase and me, and some other people. We have to work in teams. I got picked to represent our department and Chase got picked for Finance. We met on Saturday to talk about it. That’s it. It wasn’t a date.”
“They went out for dinner and drinks,” Paige says. “She won’t tell me what happened after that.”
“It doesn’t sound like a work meeting,” I say.
Kayla blushes, which she never does, except lately she keeps doing it whenever the topic of Chase comes up. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s all it was. I told you guys. Chase isn’t my type. I go for musicians, not number-crunchers.”
Paige and I look at each other and smile.
***
The rest of the week I only see Grant during lunch because I spend the evenings helping my dad pack up the house. I still haven’t accepted the fact that it’ll belong to someone else in a week and I won’t be able to go over there anymore.
Every night on the way to my dad’s place, I drive by Brad’s house. Tonight, I see a light on inside and decide to stop in and say hi to his mom. It’s completely unlike me to do something like this. I don’t even know this woman, but my dad does so I figure it’s not that strange. And I do know her son.
“Hi, Mrs. Fletcher,” I say when she opens the door. “I’m Morgan Lippincott. Ed’s daughter.”
“Yes, hello, Morgan, I haven’t seen you in years. And please, call me Lois.” She’s only 60 but she looks a lot older that that. She’s all hunched over and her hair is all white. “How’s your father doing?”
“He’s great. He’s getting married in March.”
“That’s wonderful. Come inside. It’s freezing out there.” She waves me inside and I notice her hands are knotted up from her arthritis.
The house is small but welcoming. A quilt hangs on the wall in front of me and there’s a basket of knitted blankets next to the couch. There’s a piano in the corner and on top of it are photos of Brad when he was younger, including one of him in his high school football uniform. That’s the Brad I remember. The popular football star. A couple other photos show him and his dad fishing. Brad looks just like his dad.
“Can I get you something?” she asks. “I could make some coffee or tea.”
“No, that’s okay.”
She takes a seat in one of the upholsters chairs. I sit across from her on the couch. The TV is on, but she turns it off.
“So what brings you by, Morgan? I don’t think you’ve ever been here before.”
“I saw Brad last week at a conference in Boston and he mentioned you so I thought I’d stop by and say hi. I drive by here almost every day on the way to my dad’s house. He’s moving next week and I’m helping him pack.”
“Yes, Brad told me he saw you in Boston. You probably thought you’d never see him again after high school. I know you two weren’t close friends, but he sure had a crush on you back then.” She winks.
I smile. “Yeah, he mentioned that. I thought he was kidding.”
“He always liked you, Morgan. He was just too afraid to tell you. You know how teen boys are. They’re too shy and embarrassed to go up to the girls they really like.”
I nod, not sure what to say. I still can’t believe he used to have a crush on me.
“So you said your father is getting married?” she asks.
“He’s marrying Sophie Chambers. She’s a real estate agent. You’ve probably seen her signs around.”
“Yes, I see her signs all over town.”
“She and my dad are moving to Texas. Dad’s retired but she’s going to set up her business down there. They’re both really excited about it.”
“And Brad said you have a job downtown?”
“Yes. I’m a food scientist for a small company.” I wonder how much Brad told his mom about me. She seems to know a lot. “When does Brad start his new job?”
“In a few weeks. He went to Portland last weekend to look for apartments but he didn’t find one he liked. He said he’ll go out a few days before the job starts and look again.”
“Is he coming to see you before he leaves?” I’m hoping she’ll say yes, which concerns me because I’m dating Grant and shouldn’t even be thinking about Bra
d.
“He’s so busy right now that I told him not to, but I’m sure he will. He worries about me even though I assure him I’m fine. I will miss him though.” She smiles and smooths the pillow that’s on her lap. “He always fixes things for me around the house but now that he’s moving I’ll have to hire a handyman.”
“I can’t fix anything, but if you need help with anything else, let me know. My apartment is only about 15 minutes from here.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t want to trouble you like that.”
“It’s no trouble. Really. I’ll give you my number.” I take a business card from my purse and write my cell number on the back. As I give it to her I realize she might pass my number to Brad. But I doubt he’d call me after the way I left things. “I should go. My dad’s going to wonder what’s taking me so long.”
“Thank you for stopping by. I don’t get many visitors, so this was nice. I’ll tell Brad you stopped by. Say hi to your father for me. And tell him congratulations.”
“I will.” On my way out I spot a recent photo of Brad. Sandy blond hair, bright blue eyes, warm smile. I want to steal the photo and take it home, but of course I don’t.
His mom starts to close the door but I stop her. “Hey, um, would you mind giving me Brad’s phone number?”
She smiles as if my request means something. “Of course, dear. I’ll be right back.” She disappears down a hallway.
Why did I just ask for his number? Now she’ll tell Brad. And it’s not like I actually plan to call him. I don’t know what I was thinking.
Brad’s mom comes back and hands me a piece of paper with the number written on it.
“Thank you.” I stuff the piece of paper in my purse. “And be sure to call me if you need anything.”
I leave and head to my dad’s house.
He’s waiting for me. “What took you so long?”
“I stopped by Mrs. Fletcher’s house. She says to tell you hi and congratulations.”
“Why did you stop over there?” He raises his eyebrows. “Is Brad home visiting?”