Upside Down

by N. R. Walker

  “No, no. Nothing like that,” he replied and the bus slowed to a stop. “Shit. I wish we had more time than five minutes a day.”

  Wait, what? He wants more time with me?

  “Um, me too,” I replied in that traitorous breathy voice. “I mean, what even is five minutes?”

  The doors opened and people started to pile off the bus. He looked a little panicked. “Tomorrow’s Saturday. Are you free tomorrow? For a coffee, say two pm? I have more questions and—”

  “Yes!” I all but yelled, then tried to play it all cool. “I mean, sure. I think I can squeeze that in. I have questions too.” Yeah right, because my plans to do absolutely fucking nothing all day needed scheduling.

  “Awesome. So, Alberto’s at two?” He asked. I nodded; he grinned and, still facing me, took a step backwards to the door. Now some people were trying to get on the bus and he was kind of in their way, but he didn’t even seem to notice. He was too busy smiling at me. “Oh, Alberto’s is just around the corner.”

  I nodded. “Yep. Alberto’s at two.”

  He bounced down the steps and onto the footpath. He pulled his headphones back on. Still smiling, he peered back up at me. The wind tousled his hair under his headphones and he bit on his bottom lip, like he was trying not to smile, and for one split second, for one perfect moment, he was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

  If this was a movie, this shot right here would be deemed a goddamned cinematic masterpiece.

  I all but collapsed into a seat, sighing with relief that I’d spoken to him and he’d asked me his question, which I would no doubt overthink later. But yes, I was so relieved and even more excited because I had a motherfucking coffee date with him tomorrow.

  I fished my phone out and hit Merry’s number. She answered on the third ring with, “So help me Jordan, if he was a no-show and there was no resolution to this freakin’ life-altering question, I’ll be changing my name to River Blossom and moving to Nimbin where I can make hemp-infused soaps, and I’ll grow carrots and smoke purple weed, and you’ll never find me.”

  “Well, it won’t be hard to find you because you just told me where you’d move to and your new name,” I replied. “And you’d be so high from the weed and vegan pot brownies, I’d only have to follow the pizza delivery guy and he’d lead me straight to you. You’d also probably be glowing orange from all the beta-carotene from living on carrots too. You really need to work on your witness protection schemes, Merry. If this was in the Bourne Supremacy universe, you would have died in the first book.”

  She laughed and made a contented sound and I pictured her plonking herself on her couch.

  “Are you home?” I asked.

  “Yes, thank God. And I have no intention of moving from in front of Netflix all night.” Then she groaned. “I should have got myself a drink before I sat down. Jordan, be a darling and come over and bring me a glass of wine so I don’t have to move. And pizza.”

  I sighed dramatically. “I’m sorry, beautiful. I’m far too busy. I need to spend my entire night planning my coffee date tomorrow at two o’clock with one totally gorgeous Hennessy… Hennessy… Mister Hennessy who has no last name because he has no social media presence and he’s too cute for a surname.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “He has no surname,” I answered. “Like Adele and Rihanna. Not that I’ve found anyway. I told you that before.”

  “Not his name,” she cried. “You said coffee date. You said coffee date at two o’clock!”

  I barely refrained from squealing. “I know!”

  “Jordan O’Neill you tell me everything this second! All the details. Who asked whom?”

  I snorted. “Really, Merry. Do you think I’d be capable of asking him?”

  “Well, you could have blurted it out or asked him without meaning to or something. I don’t know,” she said. “So he asked you? Oh my God, Jordan, this is huge!”

  That time I did actually squeal and I might have done a little happy dance in my seat. I did try to keep my voice down, but I was so used to people glaring at me for dropping a motherfucker every now and then, I figured a bit of volume was the least of my worries. “I know! He said he had questions and he wished we had more than just five minutes on the bus each day, and the bus was full so I couldn’t sit next to him. I had to stand and he got up before his stop to talk to me.”

  “Aww, that’s so cute. So, did he ask you the question?”

  “Well, kind of. I mean, he did, but it was weird.”

  “Weird, how?”

  “Well, he wanted to know if I had any intention of going back to the next support meeting. That was his question. The one burning question that drove me crazy.”

  “Hmm,” she said.

  “What does that mean? What does hmm mean? Is that the hmm of judgement? Or the hmm of disdain? The hmm of death? Merry…”

  “Well, it’s just interesting, that’s all. It could mean a few things.”

  “Such as? I haven’t had time to think about anything. He got off the bus and I called you.”

  “Aw, you’re so sweet.”

  “What do you think it means? Should I be worried? Because I asked him if he didn’t want me to come back or if I’d made someone uncomfortable and he looked kinda horrified and said no, it was nothing like that. Just that he had other questions as well, so he wanted to know if I was free tomorrow.”

  “I think maybe he asked you if you were going to the next meeting as a way to ask if you’d felt more comfortable with the asexual revelation you had.”

  I replayed what she said in my head. “Do you think?”

  “Well, it’s better than asking outright where your head’s at, know what I mean?”

  “I guess…”

  “Or maybe he asked you as a way to determine how successful his meetings are.”

  “Oh.”

  “But I think it’s Option A, Jordan. Look at the bigger picture. He’s been saving you a seat, and he asked you out for coffee. I think he’s interested. I think he likes you.”

  My heart pounded and I began to sweat. “Oh God.”

  “Breathe, Jordan. It’s a good thing.”

  I exhaled slowly then inhaled, rinse and repeat. Jesus. “Until I fuck it up.”

  “How will you fuck this up?”

  “You’ve met me. I open my mouth and all there is is explosive verbal diarrhoea. No one is safe.”

  She snorted. “Jordan, he’s not like the other guys. He’s not going to dump you because you don’t want to get into bed with him. Remember where you met him. At a meeting for asexual and aromantic people.”

  There was more heart pounding, more sweating, and now my forehead felt cold and somehow hot at the same time. Or was that my palms? I couldn’t tell.

  “Jordan, you’ll be fine. Don’t overthink it and just be yourself. Be honest with him. And remember, if dating isn’t on the cards, he’d be a kick-arse guy to call a friend, yeah? He likes books, he’s funny, and he’s a decent human being, which we all know is a fucking rarity these days. For all we know, he might need a friend. So how about meeting him for coffee tomorrow with the premise of friends-only? Then there’s no pressure. Let him get to know you. You can get to know him too. Maybe ask him his surname, and start from there.”

  I felt better already. “You know exactly how to talk me down.”

  “Because I know you.”

  “I’m sorry I drove you crazy today at work.”

  “That’s okay. You can repay me by coming into the city with me on Sunday. I need to buy my mother a birthday present.”

  “Ugh. Jeez. I said I was sorry already. No need to be mean.”

  She laughed. “See? And you understand me.”

  It was true. Merry’s mother was one impossible woman. “I will take my punishment for being an arse to you today. How old is Satan turning anyway?”

  “666.”

  “Sounds about right,” I said, feeling so much better. “I’ll be at your place at about ten on
Sunday morning, yeah?”

  “Perfect. And you’ll bring coffee?”

  “Of course.”

  “You’re a lad. Though I fully expect a phone call tomorrow at about twelve as you spiral into freak-out mode.”

  I considered objecting, but we both knew a spiral into freak-out mode was highly likely. If I put pressure on myself, then I would freak out for sure. But to think of him as just a friend was almost calming. Huh. So weird. “No, I think I like the idea of being friends with him. I mean, I need to know him first, right? Regardless of the fact he’s gorgeous and his smile gives me butterflies and he loves audiobooks, I mean let’s not pretend the man isn’t perfect boyfriend material. But it’d be pretty damn cool to have a friend who’s more like me than not, ya know?”

  “Absolutely. Friends is good too.”

  I sighed. “It is. And I would be happy with him just as a friend. I’m not even kidding.” I took a second to internalise that, and I nodded to myself. “I’m actually really okay with that. To the point where I’m starting to wonder if that’s what I need right now. A friend, nothing more.”

  Chapter Six

  Hennessy

  I was nervous. Probably more nervous than I should have been, and I tried to tell myself that I should treat this like any and all of my asexual support group meetings. But something felt different.

  Jordan was different.

  I’d spent most of the morning at work, which was a great distraction, and it allowed me to get a lot done. Except my mind was all over the place.

  I couldn’t even believe I’d asked him for coffee. I had everything planned in my head for our brief encounter on the bus yesterday, but that all went to hell when the bus was full and that sweet little old lady asked if she could take the seat. There was no way I was saying no to her, but then Jordan got on the bus, all flustered and clearly disappointed that this new seat-saving thing we’d started had been thwarted.

  And the idea of being robbed of my daily five-minute conversation with him just wasn’t going to fly, so I gave up my seat and squeezed through the crowd just for the chance of saying hello. I’d wondered what on earth had possessed me and had visions of it being a disaster, but then he’d looked up at me and smiled.

  And I knew then I’d totally made the right decision.

  But five minutes wasn’t enough. Not even close. I had the feeling that he and I could talk for hours. Okay, correction. I had the feeling that Jordan could talk for hours. But I also had the feeling that he’d be interesting and smart, and coupled with his sense of humour, it was refreshing.

  So I asked him to meet me for coffee, which was why I sat in Alberto’s at ten to two, trying to not watch the clock and trying not to get my hopes up that he would even show.

  It was cold outside, the wind was biting and blustery, but it didn’t stop the good people of Surry Hills from being out in it. They walked dogs and pushed prams, holding takeaway coffee cups as they went. Once a not-so-great suburb, Surry Hills was now the hub of trendy coffee houses, cool clothes, and eclectic homewares stores. I liked it here, and although the move had seemed rather daunting six months before, I knew I’d made the right decision. I’d found a home here. The baristas at Alberto’s called me by name. The lady in the fresh produce store always kept a bag of organic pumpkin pasta behind the counter for me because it sold out so fast. My neighbours were nice, not that I spoke to them much, but the move here had been a positive one.

  Leaving Rob and being true to myself was the best thing I could have done.

  And then there was my new support group meetings, which I was incredibly proud of. And then there was Jordan, and something sparked inside me. I didn’t know if it would lead to anything, but it was nice to feel that flicker of hope.

  At exactly five to two, said flicker of hope walked up to the café door. Jordan, wearing blue jeans, a white sweater with a brown jacket, and boots. I was almost a little disappointed that he wasn’t wearing a bright scarf to match equally bright shoes, but he still looked great.

  He put his hand on the door, let out a long breath, and pushed his way in. He scanned the coffee shop, so I stood up and he smiled when he saw me before walking over. “Hi,” he said, breathily.

  “Let me order you a coffee,” I suggested. “You don’t have dairy, right?”

  “Believe me,” he said. “Nobody wants me to have dairy.”

  I laughed. “Duly noted.”

  “Soy latte is fine, no sugar. Thank you.”

  I went to the counter, ordered and paid, and the barista said she’d bring our coffees over. I went back to Jordan and smiled as I sat opposite him. “You found the place okay?”

  He nodded. “I work not far from here.”

  “Where is that exactly?” I asked. “I mean, we haven’t really even got that far in a conversation, have we?”

  “Five minutes a day doesn’t leave time for much discussion, especially when I tend to talk a lot.”

  I grinned at him. “You do. But there’s been no nervous rambling yet today.”

  “Well, I’m not so nervous today. I mean, I was yesterday. After you got off the bus, I kind of had a freak-out so I called Merry and she talked me down.”

  “She’s a good friend,” I prompted, hoping he’d say more but not wanting to push.

  “She’s the best. She knows how to deal with me.”

  “Which is…?”

  “Well, that depends. She either tells me to pull my head out of my arse and stop being such a dick, or she talks me back from the ledge. It totally depends on what I need more, which she seems to know better than me. And I work at the library.”

  I nodded slowly. “That would explain the knowledge of books.”

  He smiled. “It would.”

  “I’ve never been to the library here. I have no excuse. I’ve been here for six months.”

  “You should come by one day,” he said, blushing a little. “I could show you around. It’s really so much more than just a library.”

  “I’d like that.”

  The barista delivered our drinks, and Jordan thanked her with a grin, his unrestrained grin. I kinda got the feeling that Jordan had two settings for nervous. One being where he was nervous, yes, but felt comfortable enough to ramble wildly. The second kind was him being nervous but not comfortable enough to ramble. He had his guard up today, and that saddened me a little. I wanted the relaxed, comfortable, rambling Jordan. Not someone who felt they couldn’t be themselves.

  I was going to ask if he wanted to leave, but he narrowed his eyes at me, a puzzled, thoughtful look to his face. “Can I ask what you do for a living? I mean if you can tell me.”

  “If I can tell you?”

  “Well, yes. I might have searched online for you,” he said, cringing. “For my safety, of course. I mean, I don’t just meet anyone for coffee without at least trying to find out something. I don’t even know your last name let alone what you do for a living. But I searched the name Hennessy because seriously, just how common a first name is it? So I googled, and I have to admit, I have admirable internet skills.”

  I smiled at him because here was the nervous rambling. “Admirable internet skills?”

  “To rival most,” he added. “So I refined the search to your name and the support group meetings, because that’s all I know about you. And I got nothing. Not even a hit on Facebook, and that place is stalker central. So, my official findings are that you’re either in the witness protection program or you’re a spy. In which case you will admit to neither—well, not out loud anyway—so maybe you can wink or something to let me know I’m on the right path. Or if it’s the cliché line of ‘I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you,’ well, I’d rather you didn’t tell me at all and I can just pretend this conversation never happened. I’ll admit I’d be disappointed. The seat-saving thing on the bus was kinda sweet, but I’d survive. And Merry suggested I come here with no expectations of anything more than friendship because for all we know, you’re married or
a spy. Or in the witness protection program. And so much for no rambling. I promised myself there would be no senseless rambling, but clearly that’s not going so well.”

  I laughed and he stopped talking. “I’m not sure what to answer first. My last name is Lang. I’m not familiar with the statistics, but no, Hennessy isn’t a common first name. I’m not in a witness protection program, and I’m not a spy, but there’s a reason you won’t find me on social media, and that’s because I’m a network computer security expert, and believe me, I know the ramifications of having personal details on the internet. And for what it’s worth, I like the rambling. I thought for a second you might not have wanted to be here, but when you do your rambling thing, I get an insight to the real you.”

  “You like my incessant rambling?” he asked. “Okay, sure. Five minutes a day of it might be considered cute, but all day every day is a lot to take. Believe me. Ask Merry. She’ll tell you. And Mrs Mullhearn. She’s our supervisor at work, and she’s like two hundred years old, and I swear she turns her hearing aids off when I get there. Though she can hear me drop a motherfucker at fifty yards, or maybe she reads lips. I don’t know.” He frowned. “Wait. What the hell is a network computer security expert, and why does that explain not having a Facebook account?”

  “It’s a fancy name for professional hacker. I’m paid by large corporations to legally hack into their companies and tell them where their target areas are.”

  “You are not,” he said, his face incredulous. “There is no such thing and you totally just made that up.”

  I snorted. “It’s true.”

  He sipped his coffee. “Well, please kindly disregard my earlier comment about having mad internet skills, because that’d be terribly embarrassing if I’d said that. Which I absolutely didn’t.”