On the last day, though, he leaned in for something else, and I turned away. It took me by surprise, but maybe if I had known it was coming, I would have been better prepared to deal with it, and maybe then I would have at least had the chance to see him again.
When I was a little girl, and I played house with another little girl across the street because our moms were friends, I thought about whether I would ever get to have a house myself. When she cut out little pictures of dresses and talked about who she would marry, I fantasized about having one of those big weddings too. But even in those visions, I wasn’t sure. It was hard to see past my shoes. I realized they’d have to be flat so I wouldn’t fall, the dress stain-resistant, the man someone who could see past all of that, the man who could see past all of that someone I could see past. It took a while to rule it out entirely.
18
ON THE NIGHT OF OUR MEETING, I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO SEE Frank until eight, so I took a nap at five, slept past the alarm to six thirty, and then scrambled to get ready. I still had to shower and pick a dress, but when I tried to shave my legs, I wasn’t careful, and though it didn’t hurt really, blood spurted everywhere—on the hardwood, and on the sofa cushions as I was racing to find paper towels. I thought maybe I could cover things up with a blanket, if I could find one—later.
I didn’t have time to cover up the stains on the dress, but it was dark, so I hoped no one would notice. I couldn’t find any Band-Aids either, so I attached some toilet paper and moved on. Maybe if I could make myself pretty enough, he wouldn’t focus on my legs.
I tried some old mascara from that vinyl bag, but I ended up poking myself in the eye, until it was red, and whatever was left ended up streaking my face—across my nose, around my lids like a meerkat, and all over the sink. It was waterproof, so it didn’t rub out entirely. But it was better than nothing, I guessed, with the lipstick and the blush. When I was done, the sink ended up as a painted canvas. I would’ve taken a picture if I had had a camera, but I didn’t; I knew Nate wouldn’t appreciate it, but I couldn’t try to clean then because I was already late.
Hurrying led to me falling, which I never seemed to remember until after the fact. I secured myself by grabbing onto the lamp by the couch, but tumbled hard enough to tip over the lamp, which then smashed. I wasn’t supposed to run; I knew that, but in my head, it seemed so effortless. I admired people who could brush themselves off after stumbling and bounce back up. I didn’t bounce.
As I reached down to pick up the broken pieces of the lamp, I caught a reflection of myself in the mirror. My hair was a mess even for me, and I was so tired that I considered staying on the floor and taking a nap.
I could tell Frank later that I was sorry. I just wasn’t the type of person who went on dates, or who went on outings in the evening. I thought about saying that, how much easier that seemed, but then I thought about Frank waiting for me at the restaurant, and I realized that if I didn’t show I might not be able to go back to the coffee shop. I couldn’t have that.
THE RESTAURANT WAS nice. There were white tablecloths on the table and wine bottles lining the walls. When I peeked through the window, I saw plates being served with neatly arranged vegetables and flowers placed along the rims. Was I fancy enough?
And then I saw Frank at a corner table, waving at me. There was no going back.
“Are you okay?” he said when he saw me.
“Yeah, why? Am I late? I’m sorry.”
“Your leg.”
The toilet paper had fallen off and I was bleeding. A red streak had trickled to my ankle.
“Oh this?” I reached down to touch the wound with the first napkin I saw. “It’s fine, see? The napkin’s dry. It looks worse than it is.”
He didn’t say anything for a minute, until he made a move to sit down.
“Is this table okay?” he said.
He was wearing a blue blazer, and his hair was slicked back and combed to the side, bar mitzvah–style. “It’s the one my parents always choose.”
It was the same as all of the other tables.
“It’s great,” I said. “Do you come here a lot?”
“Sometimes, with them. You look nice.”
“Really?”
I didn’t hear those kinds of compliments very often. I had been told about the potential with my looks, from the woman who did my makeup that time, and from random people who trimmed my hair, once in a heart-to-heart with Robby. But more often the compliments I got were “you’re funny,” or “artistic,” or “quirky,” if you could count that. One time someone told me that I seemed nice, but not that I looked nice, especially not when I was bleeding.
“I mean thanks,” I said. “I appreciate that. Because I kind of tried. What do you like on the menu?”
“I always get the house salad and spaghetti with meatballs. It’s delicious, but everything is rated highly.”
I told him I hadn’t gone out to dinner in a while, and then I began to ramble about my adjustment, or lack of adjustment, to the city.
“It’s hard when you’re not on the numbered streets. Thanks for picking an easy one. And close to me, so I didn’t have to get on the subway. Do you have any siblings?”
“No.”
Since that was all he said, I prattled on. The whole time I talked, a long time, he never shifted his eyes. It made me feel like I could go on for hours, that maybe I should since he didn’t react one way or the other. At first, his stare made me uncomfortable, but I got used to it after a while.
“I think he might be allergic to Harry—Nate, I mean. Harry’s my cat. I didn’t always think I’d have a cat, but he practically followed me home one day, like a dog might. Dogs are followers; cats forge their own paths. I’m not a cat person, really, but with Harry, it was like he knew he was supposed to be with me. Sometimes I think he hides a journal where he keeps tabs on things, so he can pull it out and remind me later. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wrote. He has the soul of a poet. Have you ever connected to an animal?”
“I’ve never had pets,” Frank said. “Once I had a fish.”
“It’s harder with animals that aren’t furry. They don’t have as many facial cues. Dogs are extremely expressive. Cats can be occasionally, too. Fish essentially have one look.”
“I like cats,” he said.
I waited for more. Lettuce fell from his fork.
“I noticed your shop doesn’t carry shade-grown beans,” I said.
“Is that a problem?” he said. “I can tell my father.”
“You should. It costs a little more, or a lot more, I don’t know. That’s probably why you don’t have it, but it’s worth it, not just because it tastes better, but because it’s better for you. And environmentally sound. I’ve done a lot of reading on this. Do you have any idea how many trees have to be cut down for each pound of coffee beans? Fair-trade is important too, for the treatment of the laborers.”
When I spoke, he crinkled his eyes like he was processing every sentence and storing it away. With other conversations, it seemed people were only fulfilling an obligation, waiting for something more substantial, or for the opportunity to excuse themselves. Or they smiled, as if mildly amused, without taking anything I said seriously. Robby did that sometimes. Nate could be that way too. But Frank just took it in.
He made a noise with his throat.
“Are you okay?”
“Do you think that, um—I was thinking.”
“Do I have something in my teeth?” I checked my reflection in my knife. There was a crumb on my bottom lip. “You should have told me.”
“I was going to say something else.”
“On my dress?”
“It would be helpful if you could sample our different blends to help me learn about the difference between them,” he said. “If you wouldn’t mind. One day.”
“You want me to try your coffee?”
“For free. And not all at once, if you don’t want. Unless that sounds like a bad idea.”
&nbs
p; “No! I mean, I can taste. I’m pretty good at tasting things. Especially coffee.”
By dessert, a cappuccino and chocolate-dipped biscotti for me, and a Lipton for him, my throat was raw from all of the talking, and it occurred to me that he hadn’t said much the entire night. I’d forgotten that I was probably supposed to ask some things about him—how he was doing, how his week had been, what his life was like. I had read articles about that, conversation etiquette.
“So what do you do outside the coffee shop?” I said.
He didn’t answer until I finished half of my drink and had nearly forgotten what I’d asked.
“Not too much,” he said finally. I could tell he was going to say more by the line in his forehead. “I like video games. And cards. Sometimes I play online.”
“Gambling?”
“No, just for fun.”
“Interesting,” I said. “Do you read at all?”
“Not really,” he said.
“I get that. Sometimes I need to just zone out. Do you have any favorite shows?”
“I don’t watch much TV,” he said. “I don’t like to piece together different stories.”
“Oh.”
The bottom of my cup had some grounds in it, lukewarm and a little bitter. I must have grimaced as I gulped it down.
“Did you like your food?” he said.
“I did. Thank you for choosing a vegetarian-friendly place. I try to avoid eating animals with faces.”
“Oh no,” he said. “I didn’t know. I shouldn’t have ordered meatballs.”
“No, I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t say it because of that. I just said it to explain, you know, because you asked. What kind of cards?”
“What?”
“You said you played cards?”
“Solitaire.” He spoke slowly, in considered segments. “And Gin. When I was young, I was in bed a lot, and my father didn’t like to talk much, so we played. That was what we did.”
“That’s nice,” I said. “My dad and I used to play, too. For M&M’s.”
In earlier years, I dominated Nate and Dad in hands of Gin and 21, almost always claiming the prized pot. We should take you to Vegas, Dad would joke, patting my head, and they’d laugh. But it was more than luck, I’d say, and then Nate would call me Rain Man, and I’d leave the room without sharing my winnings.
I won because I didn’t think the way they did. I wasn’t averse to risks or attuned to caution. I didn’t care about stakes or probability. They felt hesitations and second-guesses that never crossed my mind. I supposed it was possible to have positive fortune in certain areas to make up for a serious deficit in others. My luck had always been in cards.
“Where’s your luck?” I said.
“I’m sorry?”
“Are you good at cards?”
“I can be,” he said. “But I’m better when I don’t have to think. That’s why I like video games. And the coffee shop when it’s busy. When I get so focused that I tune everything else out. That’s when I’m at my best.”
“Flow,” I said. “I get there when I’m drawing animals sometimes.”
He nodded. “We talked about it in family therapy once. I got to play more video games after that.”
“I’m terrible at video games,” I said.
Frank looked defeated.
“But it’s great that you’re so good,” I said. “And it’s really impressive that you work every day, too. And that you live on your own. Wait, do you live on your own?”
“For the past twelve years.”
“That’s a long time,” I said. I examined his face. It was so smooth. No deep lines or signs of facial hair. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-seven.”
“You don’t look that old,” I said. “Not that that’s old. I just would’ve guessed younger.”
“Because I’m small,” he said, looking down.
“No, because you don’t have any wrinkles. People never know how old I am either. They think I’m younger.”
“You seem very mature to me,” he said, blushing a little.
“Do I? I don’t always feel that way. Do you like being on your own?”
“Yes.” He took a sip of his tea, as if in deep concentration. “Except that it gets—quiet. Especially at night.”
“I can imagine,” I said, picturing him sitting in the corner of a dark room. No books, no shows, just the glow of a game to keep him company.
“I like going to work,” he said. “When I’m at work, other people count on me, and I have clear goals. I never liked school, but I always liked having a job.”
“That must feel nice,” I said. “To have that kind of purpose.”
His stare was different now—not so much blank as captivated. I had seen this look directed at other people before: Nate, from the faces of girls he had brought home after school; and Mom, from Dad when they were all dressed up to go somewhere fancy. But it was something else to experience it for myself.
“I knew you would understand me,” he said. “I knew it when I first saw you.”
I finished my dessert, and the last bite crumbled into my lap.
“It was rude not to offer you any,” I said. “Did you want some?”
He eyed my empty plate. “No, my tea was good. How was your coffee?”
“It was okay,” I said. “They’re better at biscotti.”
“Making coffee is an art. That’s what my father says. That’s why I want to know more.”
“It is a beautiful thing,” I said.
Then I suddenly remembered the mess I’d left at Nate’s and made a motion to go. I could at least attempt to clean the sink before he got home.
“What time is it?”
“It’s almost ten,” he said. “Should I get the bill?”
“Yes,” I said. “Oh, wait. I have cash, I think. A twenty?”
“No,” he said. He lunged across the table to touch my hand, but he couldn’t reach. “I can pay.”
He placed a few bills from his pocket in the fold. “We can leave faster because I only use cash.”
“You don’t like credit cards?”
“Cash is simpler.”
“I guess,” I said. “If you don’t lose it.”
I stood up quickly to make a break for the apartment.
“Can I walk you home?” he said. “It’s dark.”
“Um—” I wasn’t interested in a leisurely stroll. We had to move fast.
“Unless you don’t want me to.”
“No, it’s not that,” I said. “It’s Nate, his place I mean, the mess I left, but—no, you know, he’s never home by ten anyway. You said it was ten? So, okay, you can walk with me—if we walk fast.”
On our way out, he extended his arm slightly, as if he wanted to hold my hand, but my palms were sweaty, so I put them in my pockets. I didn’t like holding hands. I liked my hands free, for balance.
We walked a few feet apart, mostly silent.
“Thank you,” I said, when we reached the building. “For dinner. It was great. And for walking with me.”
He studied the entrance.
“I know it’s not that nice, but Nate says it’s safe.”
Then he stared at me so intently that I had to turn away.
“I should probably go in,” I said.
I thought about giving him a hug, though I didn’t know how to do it without it seeming forced.
His face was suddenly in mine, glasses scraping my cheek, the bridge of his nose crashing into the tip of my nostril.
But then, after a second, my lips sank into his, softer than they appeared, his tongue grazed my mouth, a slow tease, and for a moment I forgot where we were. So this was a real kiss. It was warm and soft, and a little bit slobbery. I considered that for a moment, and whether I might have liked to try again.
Then I thought of Nate, who was probably already home, putting in calls to the disabled home. I pulled away and told him good night.
Yet in the hallway, he ling
ered. His cologne, a faded musk; his cherry Chapstick, a trace of sweetness.
19
I RACED TO OPEN THE DOOR, BUT THERE WAS ONLY HARRY and darkness. Nate wasn’t back yet, which meant I had time to relax a little first, which was perfect—until I heard him.
“I think we have some beer left in the fridge,” he called from the doorway.
I wanted to make a break for the bathroom, but the trunk got in the way of my foot.
His friend Byron caught me rubbing my toe. His hair was slick, his shirt fitted, and his jeans fancy; they hung loosely from his waist and draped over his shoes at the perfect angle. Every piece of him was in place.
“You okay?” he said.
I examined my toes. No blood. Did they notice the blood on the cushions? It didn’t seem like they did. I wondered when they’d realize the lamp was destroyed.
“I hope we didn’t wake you,” Byron said as Nate entered with beer.
“No, I wasn’t sleeping.”
“Then you should hang out,” he said.
He cracked open a can and handed it to me. It was cold and light in my hand.
I watched the lamp and made a move for it while they were talking about some “asshole bartender.” If I could just somehow hide it—
But I wasn’t subtle enough.
“What happened here?” Nate said, eyeing the pieces on the floor.
“Nothing. It’s just a little— it was an accident. I’m sorry. I’ll fix it.”
He sighed. “With what? Your tool kit?”
“I have an extra one at my place,” Byron said. “You guys can have it.”
We thanked him, and then it was quiet for a minute.
“Damn,” Byron said to me as I chugged.
This reminded me that I was still visible to them, and that you weren’t supposed to drink alcohol as fast as soda.
“Rough night?” he said. “I’ll get you another one if you promise not to pound it.”
“Sure,” I said. “Why not?”
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