“I’m majoring in English literature.”
“Ah, right. Well, this is the place for that then.” He chuckled. “I’m reading history.”
“Reading?”
“It’s what my degree is in. I’m a finalist. I graduate in the spring.”
“Oh, okay.” Since he still hadn’t let go of my arm, I felt weak in the knees.
“You been to England before?”
“Never been outside of Utah before.”
“Must be quite a change, then?”
I nodded.
“Sorry, you trying to get somewhere?”
“Just back to my house for dinner.”
“What, you live out?”
“Um... I live in a boarding house with the other people on my exchange program.”
“Oh, so do they feed you well or is it just rubbish food?”
“Um, I dunno.” My mind wasn’t working real well. I must’ve rehearsed a million conversations with him in my dreams, but that didn’t make the actual conversation any easier, you know? “Just, lots of boiled vegetables and stuff...”
“Chippy is better than that.”
My confusion must’ve shown in my face, because he started to laugh.
“You have chippies in America?”
“I... don’t think so.”
“Ah, no, you must have them.”
I shrugged. “Maybe we call them something else?”
“A fish and chip shop?”
“Oh, sure, I guess.”
“Real English culture, that. Tell you what. Come with me to the chippy. All right?”
“What, now?”
“What? You’d rather have potato and leek soup or some rubbish like that?”
“Um, okay.”
He smiled, like he was proud he got me to change course. “All right, let’s go.”
“The chippy’s over off the High Street,” Nora explained. “Kind of down an alley, past where the Chaing Mai restaurant is, or was. I haven’t been down there in ages.”
“Was the food good?”
“Disgusting. Batter fried sausages and greasy fish and chips. Might as well just eat fried lard, not that I cared. He paid and put vinegar on my fries so that I could have them the ‘real English’ way. I thought I’d faint at any moment. It was like a dream. I wanted to pinch myself, literally.”
“Was he just friendly like that?”
“No, I think he’d seen me skulking around.” She smiled. “And apparently he didn’t mind it.”
“I’ve never had a date like that,” I admitted.
“Well, sounds like you’ve been dating the wrong men.”
I woke up fully clothed on top of the covers of the bed in one of the guest rooms. I had a hazy memory of helping Aunt Nora to bed before I staggered here. Everything was dark, which meant it was after sundown. I glanced at my watch and saw that it was four in the morning. That was the problem with jet lag. I was now wide awake and would be tired again before bedtime.
Still, there was no point just lying there. There was a bathroom just across the hall from this room, so I took a quick shower in the antique, footed tub. The chrome was all gold tone, which gave it a luxurious look, and the shower curtain was heavy linen, lined with plastic. I dried off with one of the fluffy towels, dressed, and went back to the guest room. This was the one I usually stayed in, and the last time I’d been here I’d left acrylic paints in the closet. They were there, just as I’d left them.
There was also a set of colored pencils, and I grabbed those and got my sketchpad out of my luggage. A quick perusal of the walls along the hallway turned up several pictures of my Uncle Paul. I chose the youngest looking one and carried it back to my room. With the lamp on and me positioned right underneath it, I got more or less the kind of light I wanted. I’d had a lot of practice in this room.
The picture of Uncle Paul looked like it’d been taken when he was in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. I did a rough sketch of his face with softer lines. The photo did show his gray eyes that had had my aunt so entranced all those years ago.
While I sketched, my mind wandered to how things had progressed with Len after that first meeting. I saw him at every church activity, from Monday night Family Home Evenings (which those of us unmarrieds did in groups at each others houses) to Thursday night sports (usually volleyball at church) and Saturday picnics and temple trips. He showed up without fail, always in clothes that looked like they’d been stolen out of the discard pile of a thrift store, his hair threatening to become a mullet, his PDA in hand, and a smirk on his face like he knew what everyone thought of his appearance and could only laugh in response.
He always greeted me with a, “Hey, Eliza,” then quickly looked away.
One Thursday night, about six months ago, the activities coordinators decided to make us play the Newlywed Game with partners we were to select at random. The only rule was that we couldn’t have ever dated each other. Now, this was a really, really stupid idea and I said as much to Len, who was seated right behind me on the floor of the gym. “Half the girls are gonna get left out,” I said. The gender ratio in the ward was way out of whack. “And what’s the point of quizzing people about each other when they’ve never dated? They won’t know anything.”
“They could be friends,” he pointed out.
“Well, right. Okay, look, I don’t want to be left out. Partner with me?”
“I dunno...”
I turned all the way around. This felt very high school, sitting on the wooden floor of the gym, worried about whether or not I’d get left out as people chose teams. “What do you mean, you don’t know? You got too many other girls lining up? You can’t choose?”
“I’m the membership clerk. I know all kinds of random facts about people from their records. Doesn’t seem fair.”
“Oh come on. You know our parents’ names, like that’s gonna come up. Or our baptism dates? And you’ve memorized them? Quick, what’s my birthday?”
He shrugged that off, but I felt mortified for a moment. He knew my birthday. He knew my age. Or if he didn’t, he could easily find out. Moreover, if I played this game, I might have to reveal my age. I’d tried to hint that I was about twenty-eight. Old enough not to be interested in the young guys just fresh off their missions, but not too close to that dreaded age of thirty-one.
He looked over at me again and said, “Fine, okay. We’ll team up, but unless you own an Xbox and know the difference between Evol burritos and every other kind of frozen burrito, we’re gonna lose.”
“How many great works of art can you name?”
“I was an art history major.”
“What?”
“Just kidding. I didn’t go to college.”
“Oh okay.”
“That was a joke too.”
I folded my arms and waited.
“Computer science degree from the University of Oregon, in Eugene.”
“That’s hilarious. Ohmigosh, just the best joke ever.”
That cracked him up. “You?”
“Fine art, University of Utah. Really. Truly. Totally serious. Don’t laugh.”
“That’s cool. My middle name’s Gareth. My astrological sign is Pisces, and my first car was a Ford Taurus. That’ll get us through the first round. Trust me. I’ve been in this ward forever. Played this game a million times. What’s your middle name?”
“Renee.”
“Astrological sign?”
“They’re not gonna ask that, are they? I don’t even know.”
“First car?”
“Honda Civic.”
“Your astrological sign is Libra, if you care.”
“You memorize that off everyone’s membership records?”
He shrugged. “I have a good memory.”
The sickening thing? He was right. We sailed right through the first round with those three questions. Three quarters of the couples got disqualified and joined the rest of the unattached girls on the floor to watch the rest of the
game.
For round two, I and the other girls went to wait in the hall while the activities coordinator quizzed the guys. After she ushered us back in, I sat in the folding chair next to Len and hoped our impending crash and burn would at least be humorous.
“Where did you serve your mission?” was the first question.
“I didn’t go on one.”
“Five points!” I don’t know why she did points in increments of five, but whatever. I never watched the show, The Newlywed Game. Maybe it was how they did it too. She moved on down the line and I ignored the results. This game was a pretty stupid way to spend a Thursday evening.
“What would be your ideal first date?”
I glanced up, surprised that they were back to us so soon. “Steakhouse.”
“Five points!”
I looked at Len. People were usually surprised to find out I was so into red meat. I liked to think that it was because I looked like a health freak, all trim and toned. He lounged in his chair, one arm draped over the back, and returned my gaze evenly as the question was put to each other couple.
“What was your first boyfriend’s name?” The activities coordinator stood over us again.
I kept my gaze on Len. “Greg.”
“Five points!”
Len’s expression didn’t change.
“Why do you know that?”
“I listen, and I have a good memory.”
“Are you stalking me?”
“Yeah... don’t flatter yourself.” He smiled.
“I never told you about my first boyfriend. I don’t ever talk to you.”
“I overheard it then. I don’t know. I don’t remember where I heard everything. I just have a good memory for random facts. Like that your mom’s maiden name is Harris and your favorite flavor is vanilla.”
“What’s her favorite flavor?” I pointed to Jenna.
“She’s my ex-girlfriend.”
“Oh... well-”
“Just kidding.”
“How is that funny?”
He laughed. “I don’t know, it just is.”
And then it was time for him to leave the room. I got all three questions about him wrong, and we got disqualified.
But he’d gotten my attention. I knew I had to be very careful about what I said around him.
When I returned to sit on the floor between Hattie and Jenna, they gave me sympathetic looks. “How did he get you to pair up with him?” Hattie wanted to know.
“He’s got a photographic memory.” That didn’t precisely answer her question, but it nudged the conversation onto another topic.
“Yeah, he’s smart,” said Hattie. “But I felt so bad for you, having to sit next to him.”
“Totally,” agreed Jenna. “He’s just gross. Dresses like a homeless guy.”
“He just turned thirty.” Hattie said this with satisfaction. “One more year and he’s out of the ward.”
“Does he ever even date?” I asked.
“Yeah, he had a girlfriend a couple of years ago,” said Jenna. “But they broke up and she married someone else.”
“My Aunt Shelly is always trying to set him up with friends’ daughters from Utah and stuff.” Hattie’s Aunt Shelly was Len’s mother.
Len didn’t bother to return to the gym after we got disqualified. He often disappeared from church activities, usually to do some work in the clerk’s office.
The next Sunday, after church, I went to the clerk’s office, a boxy little room with a narrow window and an ancient computer. The keyboard had a layer of grime on it that turned my stomach. Len sat in the office chair with the keyboard in his lap and tapped away while his gaze flitted from the paper next to him to the screen, to the doorway. “Oh, hey,” he said.
I folded my arms across my chest.
He lifted his eyebrows and the tap-tap-tap of the keyboard tapered off.
“Be honest,” I said. “What else do you know about me?”
“Look, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”
“Just promise me you’re not a stalker.”
“Guess that depends.”
“On what?”
He raised his hands defensively. “Look, as far as I can tell, the only difference between a stalker and the most romantic guy ever is how the girl feels about him. If she’s interested, the guy can sneak into her house and do her dishes or leave her love notes, and it’s sooo sweet, but if she’s not interested, it’s freaky.”
“Okay, what is that supposed to mean? You want to know if I’m interested in you?”
“Nah, I know the answer to that one.” He turned his gaze back to the computer screen and resumed typing.
When I didn’t leave, he looked up at me again. “What?”
“You know my birthday.”
“Mmmm.” He turned back to typing.
“Look... don’t tell anyone how old I am.”
“Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know. Just don’t.”
“Of course not.”
I should have turned to leave then, but I didn’t. It had been so long since a guy had flirted with me, I couldn’t shut down my one source of male attention, even if it was Len. “And you’re wrong, okay?” I said.
“About?”
“I don’t know you, so I don’t know how I’d feel about you. It’d be better if you didn’t go around gathering random facts about me, because yeah, that’s a little freaky.” Lies. Him collecting facts about me was more than “a little” freaky, and I did know how I felt about him. I felt he was a loser.
“I’m guessing you’re not into nerds.”
“Well, not really, no.”
“Okay, and you and your artist intuition have picked up on the fact that I’m a nerd, right?”
That made me laugh.
He paused and looked at me again. “So it is possible to entertain you.”
“Yeah, when you’re being funny, not random.”
“If I asked you out, would that be funny or random?”
“I don’t know.” I felt rooted to that spot. Logic dictated that I politely break off the conversation and leave, but I didn’t. It’d been eleven months since I’d been on a date. Eleven months that I’d been invisible to all men.
“Well, let me know when you decide.”
I lifted my chin. “Sounds like a purely hypothetical question, and I don’t see the point in answering those.”
“Fine, go out with me.” He flicked his gaze in my direction, but kept his focus on his work. “There, not a hypothetical. You happy?”
“Hey, no reason to get mad at me.”
He stopped typing and smoothed his hair back from his forehead. “Why are you dragging this out? Just say no and then you can go off and tell Hattie and Jenna how awful this was and I can go back to doing the tithing.”
“I’m not like that. Really. I’m not that bad.” I had no intention of telling my friends that he’d asked me out. They’d have been mortified.
“Okay. Sorry.” He fidgeted with the stack of paper beside the keyboard.
I’d hurt his feelings, much to my surprise. He always seemed so aloof and amused by everyone and everything. This was the first time I’d seen him unhappy. “Um, okay, if you’ve got a specific idea for a date, let me know.” It seemed nicer than just “No.”
He still didn’t look at me. “Okay.”
“Okay... you know my phone number?”
“I can look it up. I don’t have it memorized, if that makes you feel any better.”
I left. At least I’d been nice to him, and it wasn’t like he’d really call me. Only, by the time I reached the parking lot, I had a text. “I really like kids’ movies. You want to see Danger Dog this Friday night?”
I was so shocked that I didn’t reply then. I went home and fretted over it. A movie meant going to a public place. What were the odds that we’d be seen? I should have just said no, but the image of his downcast, hurt expression made that impossible. I couldn’t be that cruel, so
in the end I said yes, as long as we went to the six p.m. showing. That one wasn’t likely to have anyone in the ward at it since it was too early to be convenient but still a full price evening show. And that’s how it was I ended up going out with Len Hodge, the supernerd.
These thoughts ran their course as I finished off my sketch of Uncle Paul. I’d put a lot of effort into the eyes, making them stare off the page with real intensity. Aunt Nora had been so lucky. No guy that gorgeous had ever looked at me that way.
The sky outside was now light enough that I could move over to the window, only when I did, I saw a figure standing in the driveway, staring at the house, hands on hips. From this angle it looked like it was a woman. She moved and I saw that it was. She wore a long dark coat, not the sort of thing people wore in the summer. It was still six a.m., though. Not a normal time for someone to come by.
I went downstairs. Maybe it was Nora’s friend, who’d come back to return the key.
When I got downstairs, I peered through the window beside the front door. The figure was still there, but at the sight of me, she took her hands off her hips and retreated across the street. The trees in the front yard then obscured her from view.
I craned my neck and tried to get another glimpse of her, but it was no use.
Two hours later, when my aunt came downstairs, I told her about what I’d seen.
“Mmm, she really short?”
“I couldn’t tell,” I said.
“It’s probably Louisa. Paul’s sister. She stops to glare at the house whenever she walks by. I think she wishes that she’d inherited it.”
“Oh.”
“I don’t like her. Horrible woman. Best to just leave her be.”
“I drew a picture of Paul,” I said. “A sketch. I need you to tell me what to keep and what to change for the final painting.”
Her face lit up.
I went back upstairs, got the sketch from the bedroom, and went down to show her. Her gaze softened at the sight of it. “That’s him,” she said. “I’d make his nose a little broader and his eyebrows had a different slant, but you got the eyes perfectly.” She blinked a few times and rested her head against her hand. “I’m so tired,” she admitted.
Paint Me True Page 5