The Origin

by Youkey, Wilette

  “Shit! That hurts man!” He glared at Daniel, who grabbed the small purse from his hands before he could protest. “I think I have brain trauma. I’m gonna sue you for all you’re worth, you son of a bitch.”

  “You’re not going to have much luck there. Sorry, bud,” Daniel said (for there was just no money in the crime-busting business), and with a shrug, sprinted off towards the purse’s owner. He regretted leaving a criminal free, but he was fresh out of the zip ties that were always kept in his pockets. This guy lucked out; he would live to steal another day.

  Once he’d returned the hideous orange crocodile-skin purse, the grateful owner looked up at Daniel with teary eyes. “Thank you. You’re my hero,” she said so theatrically, she might as well have completed the performance with a swoon.

  Daniel shook his head, fighting the urge to snicker. “No, I’m really not,” was all he said before he turned the corner and ran back to his apartment at a speed that a bystander would only perceive as a small rush of air.

  As soon as he was behind his apartment door, he tore off his clothes and jumped into the shower, cursing a little when the tenants upstairs flushed their toilet. He might be an incredibly fast healer, but he still felt pain from scalding water.

  After the shower, as he reached for his electric razor, he found himself wondering why the hell he was trying to impress someone he had no desire to date anyway. He was just going to hear her story, nothing else; he had no plans of seeing her beyond tonight. Leaving the razor in its charger, he dropped the towel on the floor and headed to the bedroom. Originally, he had thought of wearing slacks and a nice sweater, but decided against it. He didn’t want her getting the idea that he gave a flying hoot. Instead, he reached for his well-worn jeans, which lay crumpled on the floor, and pulled out a black AC/DC t-shirt. He pulled on a grey hooded sweatshirt and finished the look with his favorite green military jacket. He didn’t need the mirror to know that he looked like crap, and it was just as well. Maybe Olivia would lose interest if he arrived to dinner looking homeless.

  At a leisurely pace, he pulled on his worn black boots, scuffed from years of pounding pavement and catching bad guys, ran a hand through his short brown hair, and declared himself ready.

  2 | THE WOMAN IN QUESTION

  Olivia sat at the bar of Sunday Sushi, angled on the stool for optimal view of the entrance. She smiled to herself, remembering the surge of excitement she’d felt upon seeing Daniel Johnson in the bank that morning. In that moment, standing in front of the six-foot-something man with the broad shoulders of a football player, she had felt all of sixteen again. Before he had transformed into a recluse in high school, he had once been one of the most popular boys at school and she, along with all of her friends, had had a major crush on him. Even after the homecoming game accident, long after everyone else had written him off as a nutcase, Olivia had still found him fascinating and beautiful. Seeing him again at the bank after all these years, she had felt relieved to see that time hadn’t marred any of his appeal. In fact, he was more attractive now, having lost all of the immaturity and uncertainty that came with youth.

  As she raised the wine glass to her lips, she saw Daniel enter the establishment with cool confidence and her heart skipped a beat. He was dressed casually, and along with his five o’clock shadow, looked every bit the surly, sexy guy from her memories. She stood up slowly, her legs sweeping over the stool and onto the floor in one graceful movement. Wearing her favorite little black dress from Herve Leroux with the sheer netting above the chest (her “Maneater Dress” as her friend Cheyenne had called it) and black heels, she knew she wasn’t looking too shabby herself. Her long hair was gathered in a low ponytail with a few loose wisps at the front, and she wore only enough makeup to look effortless and elegant.

  “Hi,” she greeted as she approached him. The bewildered look on his face confirmed how she felt, as his mouth hung agape and his eyes roved over her entire body like she was fireworks on the Fourth of July. “You look good yourself,” she added without hint of embarrassment or annoyance at being lewdly ogled. This was New York after all, where being leered at was a daily affair.

  Daniel swallowed, his grey eyes meeting hers suddenly. “Sorry,” he said, a blush creeping over his collar. She noticed that his skin was fairer than his high school self when he was frequently out in the sun, but the small freckles were thankfully still there. “I’m rusty at this.”

  “Really?” He had been a hermit in his senior year of high school, true, but somehow she’d expected him to revert back to his popular jock ways once he was free from the shackles of his high school reputation. Apparently, she was wrong. “When was the last time you went on a date?”

  He looked away. “Uh, a while.”

  Daniel Johnson was turning out to be a barrel of surprises. “Why is that?”

  But before he had a chance to reply, the hostess walked up and announced their table ready.

  Daniel was in major trouble. He hadn’t been on a date since college, and only now was he realizing that his once-adequate dating skills had deteriorated beyond salvage. He could no longer remember if he was supposed to compliment her now or at the end of the date; if he was expected to pick up the tab or if they would split it down the middle.

  At least he remembered to pull out her chair.

  “Thank you,” Olivia said, smoothing the skirt of her dress (God bless that dress!) before sitting down. Lit by the flickering glow of the candle on the table, she looked so poised and elegant. He noticed other restaurant patrons throwing puzzled glances in their direction, no doubt wondering what the hell a goddess like her was doing with a peasant like him. He was beginning to wish he’d worn the sweater and slacks combo after all.

  As he regarded her from across the table, he willed her to be repulsed by him and declare the date over, if only so he wouldn’t have to endure the looks. He could feel the critical eyes on his skin, reminding him of days of high school past, sure that if he looked around, he would see lunch trays, backpacks and braces.

  But Olivia, evidently, was repel-proof.

  “I’m glad you showed up,” she said, drawing his attention back to her lovely features, her dainty nose, her clear, olive skin. At first glance, she looked Caucasian, if not for her black hair and almond-shaped eyes that hinted at an Asian background.

  “What are you?” he said, and immediately felt asinine. He scratched the back of his head and shrugged in apology. It was hard to believe he was ever good at this whole talking thing. “I mean, your middle name, Mei, is different,” he added, hoping to soften the offense.

  To his relief, she smiled, revealing her perfect white teeth. “My dad’s Dutch/Irish and my mom’s Korean,” she said and turned the question back to him, if a little mockingly. “What about you? What are you?”

  Daniel didn’t know how to broach the subject of his origin delicately, so he just put it plainly: “I’m not entirely sure. I was adopted.” He held his breath, waiting for the inevitable pitying look he had come to expect with such an admission, but saw no such thing.

  Olivia nodded thoughtfully and said, “So here we are, huh? Almost ten years later. Finally on a date.”

  As he exhaled, he felt an inkling of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Tell me about the time I turned you down?”

  With a mysterious look, she leaned back and hid her face behind the laminated wine list.

  He busied himself looking over the menu, suspecting that maybe he had embarrassed her and would not likely get an answer.

  Sushi, ugh. He wasn’t keen on raw fish, or anything uncooked for that matter. He’d much rather have a hamburger and fries or a steak with a heap of mashed potatoes. Meat and potatoes, now that was a man’s meal.

  Why did I agree to meet her here again?

  The waitress appeared and they gave their orders, Daniel opting for the teriyaki beef. After she left, Daniel turned back to Olivia, his hands clasped together on the table. “Well?”

  She grinned. �
�If I tell you now, you won’t have a reason to stay.”

  “That’s not true,” he said, feeling his muscles relax a little. He appreciated her honest nature, which was a stark contrast to the one he’d learned to adopt these past several years. “I still have to wait around for my food.”

  She laughed, throaty and melodious. “Can’t let perfectly good teriyaki beef go to waste.” She paused then said, “Well, I was a junior and you were a senior.”

  He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, she said, “This was after. After you became a hermit.”

  Daniel winced at her candor. It was one thing to think something about yourself, it was quite another to have it confirmed by an outside party.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out that way. It’s just that you were so outgoing one day and the next you were…”

  “Not,” he said without emotion.

  “Was it because of what happened at that– ”

  “So back to the story,” he said, trying desperately to steer the subject away from that football game. He wanted to abandon the date, as she was getting dangerously nosy already, but couldn’t find the strength to do it.

  What had happened? At the beginning of the night, he was hell-bent on repulsing her, and now he couldn’t find the strength to push away from the table.

  Thankfully, she took the obvious hint and left the subject alone. “Well, you were at your locker, and I was with my friends, and I mentioned how I wished you would ask me to prom. And they egged me on, double-dog-dared me to ask you out.”

  A hazy memory itched at the back of his mind. “I think I remember…” he said, a picture of a gawky girl with braces and a smattering of acne on her cheeks taking shape in his mind. “Did you use to wear braces?”

  “I did,” she said, her lips puckering involuntarily. “I was, uh, not my finest back then. But somehow, I found the courage to approach you and ask.”

  Slowly, the memory came into focus. Not very many girls had asked him out to prom that year, not many equaling exactly one.

  “And I shot you down,” Daniel said, remembering how easy the refusal had slipped from his tongue. He had been so involved in his personal turmoil that he hadn’t even considered being tactful, had not even given it a second thought.

  Olivia nodded. “You were so brutal about it, too,” she said, a small trace of bitterness evident in her voice.

  “Um, Daniel?”

  Olivia King’s heart was thumping wildly, her throat constricting as she stood in front of the former football star. She had somehow managed the walk across the hallway full of lockers and prying eyes to stand in front of him, now the least she could do was finish what she set out to do and ask Daniel Johnson to the prom.

  “Do I know you?” he said, his eyes cold and unwelcoming. He leaned against the lockers with his backpack slung over one shoulder, and crossed his arms across his chest.

  Olivia took a deep, steadying breath and willed her nerves to still. If all those years in ballet school had taught her nothing else, it was to retain grace under pressure. Nevertheless, she was still just a sixteen-year-old girl, faced with the monumental task of asking her crush out, and could do nothing but stare at him in fear, in reverence, with her pink trapper keeper clutched tightly to her chest.

  “Look, I don’t know what you heard, but I didn’t do it on purpose, okay? It was a freakin’ accident,” he said, his voice alarmingly loud. People were already staring. “So leave me alone!”

  She should have flinched from his angry words, should have slinked away immediately, but she recognized the panic in his face. He was once a popular jock, a guy who could have dated any girl he wanted, and now… now he was a virtual nobody. “I only wanted to see if you’d go to prom with me,” she said.

  He regarded her coolly. She couldn’t tell if his expression was of disgust or pity, but either way, she anticipated his answer before he even opened his mouth.

  “No.” Without another word, he stomped off, not even once looking back.

  She watched him walk down the hallway and disappear through a classroom door, feeling like she’d been slapped in the face. The tears stung her eyes but she willed them to dry. She was a great many things, not all of them dignified, but she was not that girl who cried over a guy’s rejection.

  Her friends approached soon after, all wearing identical expressions of shock on their faces. “What did he say?”

  Olivia sighed, still furiously trying to blink away the acidic rejection. “He’s busy,” she said and shrugged.

  “I’m sorry.” Daniel scratched the back of his head. “I was – am – an asshole.”

  “You’re not.” She reached across the table and touched his hand. “I saw through you then, and I see through you now.”

  He moved his hand away from hers, his heart pounding. Did she know his secret? How? When he had been so careful…

  “What do you see?” he found himself saying, leaning into the table.

  She looked at him with eyes that glittered from the dancing candlelight. “I see someone who is punishing himself for something he didn’t mean to do,” she said. “You’re pretending to be this surly, brooding introvert to keep people at a distance, but deep down, I think you’re just lonely.”

  Daniel should have bolted, should have just run at having been read so easily, but he stayed and, instead, found himself starting to unwind that coil that bound him together. Of all his years trying to melt into the background, of trying to become invisible, someone had finally seen him. And it both exhilarated and scared the crap out of him.

  “Daniel?” Her dark eyebrows furrowed. “I haven’t offended you, have I?”

  He shook his head and tried to smile, though he guessed it appeared more like a grimace. “You saw all that?”

  “And then some.”

  They ate quietly once the food arrived, sneaking glances at each other between bites. He couldn’t help wondering what the hell a classy woman like her was doing with a schlub like him. Finally, after half of his meal had been consumed, curiosity got the best of him and he asked.

  She, at least, had the decency to look surprised. “I’ve had a crush on you since high school,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m not passing up the chance to relive my pubescent fantasies.”

  Olivia King, what the hell is it about you? Daniel thought, realizing his developing infatuation much too late.

  “Have you changed much since high school?” he said. “Personality-wise, I mean.”

  His eyes were drawn to her undulating lips as she finished chewing. “I’m not so sure that I have. I’m still chatty, still outgoing, and apparently still crushing on the same guy…”

  He felt the heat creeping up his face and was dismayed to learn he was blushing. He, Daniel Johnson – once the varsity wide receiver of Westmoore High and one of the most popular boys in school – was actually blushing because a girl admitted she liked him.

  He wanted to kick himself.

  After dinner, Daniel offered to walk Olivia home, which she accepted without hesitation. She was having too good a time for the date to end now. Around Daniel, she felt like a teenager again, completely infatuated, daydreaming and writing Mrs. Daniel Johnson in the margins of her notebooks. She found it hard to believe that they were actually on a date; she hoped wildly that she could keep seeing him, even if only for a short while. She was no fool – he was not the kind of guy that you could tie down for long – but in the meantime, she hoped to have some fun.

  “My mother and I lived in Oklahoma so I could finish with ballet while my father tried to set up his business here. We finally moved to New York after I was accepted at the New York City Ballet,” she said, blissfully rambling on. She stopped in front of a historic brownstone building and proudly gestured to her little piece of Manhattan. “Come up for coffee,” she said, and was a little surprised when he followed her up the stairs without protest.

  Either Daniel is a lovesick puppy
who will do my every bidding or I am just getting really good at this whole feminine wiles thing, she thought with a smile as they took the elevator up to her apartment. Either way, I win.

  “Nice place,” he said as they entered her loft apartment. From the corner of her eyes, she saw him silently appraising her home, from the ornately carved furniture to the red and white shoji screen standing in the corner. He walked over to the mirrored-wall and ran his hands along the barre that ran its length.

  “My mom and I tiled that entire wall with square mirrors and we installed the barre so I could have a place to practice ballet,” she said as she hung her coat on a branch-shaped rack, remembering how they had chosen the wall that was perfectly rectangular and yet had still managed to tile the mirrors unevenly. “In fact, my mom decorated the whole apartment.”

  “Your mother is a very creative woman,” he said, moving away from the mirror and leaning over to examine an antique red and black apothecary cabinet.

  “Was a very creative woman,” she said, unable to keep the sadness from her voice. “She, um, passed away almost three years ago.” And still she waited for the day her chest would not threaten to cave in at the very mention of her death.

  Determined to keep the mood light, she took several deep, slow breaths – a tactic she had used many times to stave off an impending panic attack – and walked over to the big red bookcase and slid out a green hardbound book. She sat down on the couch as she opened the book to rest on a page that she had thumbed through many times in her youth.

  “There’s you.” Her slender finger rested on the page, pointing to a black and white yearbook picture of Daniel, his mouth set in a smug smile, a testament to his prime standing in the school social hierarchy.