Upside Down

by N. R. Walker

  He sat on a bench seat and I sat beside him. “That.” He nodded to the restaurant, to his work. “That madness is just a day in the life of Jordan O’Neill.”

  I chuckled and he handed me one of the takeout bags and a pair of wooden chopsticks. “Thanks. What exactly is this we’re eating?”

  “Deep fried heaven.”

  I snorted. “Is that a thing?”

  “Try it and you can tell me.”

  In the bag were thin strips of something that looked like fries but thinner and wispier and a browny-orange colour. There was a light drizzle of some kind of sauce. It looked interesting, to say the least. “Heaven, you say?”

  He used the chopsticks deftly and shoved a few strands of whatever it was in his mouth. He hummed and did a little happy wiggle in his seat, then pointed his chopsticks at my takeout bag. “Try it.”

  So I did. And, oh my God. It was sweet and salty, rich and acidic, yet soft and crunchy, and… and… and it was freaking heaven.

  He grinned at me. “Told you!”

  “What the hell is it? It has every taste and every texture, and where has this been all my life?”

  Jordan laughed. “Mango fries with some kind of salt and chili seasoning and a dressing I’m too scared to ask what’s in it because what if he says it’s some kind of mayonnaise with a dash of fish sauce and buffalo testicles, I’ll never be able to eat them again and that would be a tragedy.”

  I laughed again, something I’d done more today than I had in a long while. “Mango fries?”

  “Well, it’s dried and sliced really thin, then Sunan does some gastronomical wizardry.”

  I ate another mouthful, then another. “And he does it well.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  We ate in a companionable silence, savouring every mouthful. It was then I noticed the clock on the very aptly named Clock Hotel. “Oh crap. I didn’t realise the time.”

  “Need to get ready for a hot date?” he asked, then baulked. “I mean… it’s not my business if you are, because if we’re doing this only-friends thing, then—” He waved his chopsticks. “—go forth and date at will.”

  I stabbed another mouthful of heaven and shoved in it my mouth. It gave me a second to get my thoughts in order. “No date tonight. Unless dinner with my best mate and his wife counts? Although Veronica has been trying to set me up with every not-straight man she knows. It’s painful, if I’m being honest.”

  He looked genuinely stricken. “Ugh. You have my sympathies.”

  “Apparently it’s not a blind date. Not this time, anyway. Just dinner, probably wine, and some laughs. I don’t want to date just anyone,” I said, eating another mouthful.

  His lips twisted in some kind of pout, but he didn’t say anything.

  “And I’m completely okay with the friends-only thing,” I added. “And I mean it.”

  He nodded quickly. “Yeah, me too. But I do owe you another coffee, and it’s completely normal for friends to meet for coffee.”

  “It totally is.”

  He stared at me and I tried to ignore the rise and fall of his chest, his pink lips, or the grey clarity of his eyes. “Uh, yeah coffee… I was thinking maybe next weekend or before a movie or something. Because that’s what friends do, right?”

  My smile widened. “Absolutely. So? Next weekend?”

  “And every afternoon on the bus,” he said. “Well, not coffee. But if you can save me a seat, we can talk at least. It’s okay if you can’t. Don’t go kicking some old lady out of a seat on my behalf.”

  “I won’t. But I do have a lot more questions, and there’s so much we didn’t get around to talking about.”

  He smirked. “A question a day? Will five minutes be long enough?”

  “Probably not. But you do have my number if you’d rather text.”

  He blushed again. “I do.”

  “I better get going.” God, leaving him was the last thing I felt like doing. “But Monday, yeah? On the bus?”

  “On the 353 at 5:06. I’ll be the one with the matching shoes and scarf.”

  “I’ll be the one… well, I’ll just be the one on the bus that’s probably smiling at you.”

  Jordan’s smile became more of a grin and his cheeks tinted pink. “There’s a good chance I’ll also be the one who trips over, takes out some poor guy in his fall, and yells out motherfucker really loudly, horrifying just about everyone on the bus.”

  I chuckled and met his gaze. “I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you today,” I admitted, ignoring my thumping heart. “And I really love these Thai mango fries, and I’m certain I’ll need to have them again soon. And I think I’ve laughed more today than I have in a long time, and I’d really like to see you again.”

  He swallowed hard and nodded. “I’d really like that too.”

  I licked my lips and my hands itched to touch him, just a palm on his arm, or maybe squeeze his hand, but we weren’t there yet. I didn’t even know if he was comfortable with that…

  “In case you didn’t know, you’re kind of great, Jordan,” I said before I lost my nerve. I stood up in a vain attempt to try and leave, but I turned around to face him. “And well, I’ll look forward to Monday. Unless you wanted to text me tomorrow sometime. Or later tonight when I get home. Or I could text you, which would probably be better.”

  “Hey,” he said, smirking. “Nervous rambling is my thing.”

  “Shut up, you make me nervous.”

  He burst out laughing and it was a good time for me to make my leave. “See you Monday,” I said, walking away. And of course I only made it halfway across the park before I turned back around to get one last look. And he was smiling, biting on his bottom lip, and my heart banged against my ribs.

  Waiting until Monday just might kill me.

  Chapter Seven

  Jordan

  “I swooned. I fucking swooned.”

  “I thought you were going to say it was a friends-only thing?” Merry asked. She was wearing a blue knee-length skirt, a yellow cardigan, white tights, and red shoes. The ensemble could be described as a dropped Rubik’s cube, but she managed to look adorable. She had her hair done in two braids, her dark fringe framed her face perfectly, and her bright red lipstick was warning enough for all to beware.

  I handed her the berry iced tea and kept the lemon one for myself. “I did! I told him that meeting him with the boundary of friends-only would eliminate the chances of me having a major meltdown if I thought it was an actual date date.”

  “But you ended up with his number, another date, and you swooned.”

  “He said I was great and he’d had a great day, and he did that thing.”

  “What thing?”

  “You know, when they’re walking away and if they look over their shoulder?”

  “Lemme guess. He looked over his shoulder?”

  “He totally did. And throughout the day he kept looking at my lips, and he said he has so many more questions, and he was fun, and he’s smart. And he’s not an undercover cop or in the witness protection program. He’s some internet ninja who gets paid a shitload of money to be an internet ninja.”

  Merry tilted her head and squinted at me. “What the hell is an internet ninja?”

  “I don’t know. Big corporations pay him to hack into their business websites and tell them their weak spots.”

  “How is that even a thing?”

  I shrugged. “Fucked if I know, really. But I accused him of making it up and he promised me it was actually a thing.”

  “So have you texted him yet?”

  “No.” I tried not to look so horrified.

  “How many times have you thought about texting him.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Jordan, I’m pretty sure if he gave you his number and told you to text him, he wants you to text him. And if he doesn’t give out personal information as a general rule, that would make you the exception.”

  “What would I say to him?”

  “T
hat you had a good time yesterday,” she suggested. “I don’t know. Just be yourself. Remember, if he doesn’t like the real you, he’s not good enough.”

  “You could totally get a job writing messages in fortune cookies.”

  “Where do you think I got that from?” She sipped her iced tea. “And he’s probably at home checking his phone every five minutes and wondering why you haven’t texted him already. He’s probably driving himself crazy overanalysing everything he said yesterday that might explain why you haven’t texted him yet.”

  “Are you trying to guilt me into it? Because I will remain strong. Oh my God, that is a new low, even for you.” I stared at her; then I blinked. “Fucking fuck. Now I’ve left it too late. What if he is wondering if he did something wrong, and what if he thinks I don’t like him?” I started to sweat, and it was a bit harder to breathe. “Good God, Merry, what have you done?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” she replied. We had somehow walked into a clothes store without me realising it. She held up a floral blouse. “Do you like this?”

  “Yes. My Nan had curtains just like it.”

  She grumbled and put it back on the rack, choosing a yellow one instead. “What about this one?”

  “You look like a banana Paddle Pop.”

  “I like banana Paddle Pops.”

  “Then buy it, but if random strangers walk up to you on the street to try and lick you, don’t complain to me about it.”

  She put the yellow one back and opted for a dark red one. She read the label, then held it up against her chest. “The tag says it’s merlot.”

  “You look like you bathed in the blood of your enemies,” I answered honestly. “I like it. And it would go really well with your brown or navy tunic.”

  She nodded thoughtfully and took the shirt to the counter. “I knew there was a reason I brought you.”

  “Merry,” I whined. “What do I do?”

  “Text him.”

  I whined and stopped short of stomping my foot. “But what if—”

  Merry turned to the young lady behind the counter who was ringing up the sale. “If you spent the day with someone and had a wonderful time and they gave you their number and asked you to text them, what would you do?”

  The young girl shrugged. “Text them.”

  Merry turned to me. “See? It’s two to one. You’re outvoted. Either text him or stop the whining.”

  This was Merry’s ‘I’m so sick of your bullshit’ tone, so I was pretty sure I’d whined long enough. “Okay, okay.” I pulled my phone from my pocket, found his number, and sent him a text.

  Hey, Hennessy, this is Jordan. Hope you survived the dinner party last night. I had a really good time yesterday, just thought you should know.

  I pressed Send before I could change my mind. Then I cringed at myself, and then I cringed at Merry. “God, this is all your fault. He’s going to think I’m an idiot, and even worse than that, he’s going to think I’m a clingy idiot. And what if his friends did try hooking him up again with another blind date? And what if he was an asexual Matt Bomer, and then Hennessy will be all like ‘Jordan who? That really weird guy that has verbal diarrhoea and yells out motherfucker to little old ladies on the bus?’”

  The girl behind the counter stared at me, and Merry did that head-tilting thing again. “You called a little old lady on the bus a motherfucker?”

  “Not directly. Also said it to the sliding door at work when I tripped over the chair. That was the only time I said it yesterday for the entire time we were together, which is like a record for me.”

  Merry nodded. “That is pretty good for you.”

  “I’m trying to find a new word, but there just aren’t any that are as versatile as motherfucker.”

  Merry gave that a thought. “True.”

  “I know. But I’m trying to stop saying it. I need something cutesy to say instead.”

  “Yikes is pretty good,” the girl behind the counter said.

  “Yikes?” I asked and took Merry’s shopping bag, giving the now-creepy sales lady the eye, because honestly, who the fuck says yikes? I gave Merry a wide-eyed stare. “Come on, Velma. Let’s go see what Scooby Doo is up to.”

  I dragged Merry out of the store, we dumped our empty drinks in a bin, and I told her very seriously, “If I ever say yikes in lieu of motherfucker, it means I’ve been kidnapped by aliens or some shady government agency, and yikes is my distress beacon and you should drop everything and call Jason Bourne or Idris Elba or someone.”

  Merry laughed. “Duly noted.”

  My phone beeped in my hand and I tripped over my own feet, almost falling to the ground but catching myself just in time. “Motherfucker.”

  Merry grabbed my arm. “Jordan, be careful!”

  “This is entirely your fault,” I told her. “You made me go to the support meeting, and you made me speak to him on the bus, and you made me text him.”

  “Well, hurry up and read his reply!” she said, ignoring my place of blame and waving her hand in a hurry up fashion. “Don’t leave me hanging! What did he say?”

  I held my phone out with my hand over the screen. “What if it’s not good?”

  “Oh Jesus H Christ, Jordan. So help me, read the motherfucking message.”

  An elderly man who happened to be walking past, gasped at Merry, frowning. “Well, I’ve never…,” he said, hand to his heart as he scurried away.

  I grinned at her. “Yeah, Merry, you really shouldn’t swear.”

  She inhaled deeply, her eyes shooting daggers at me. “Siri, what’s the average prison time for grievous bodily harm?”

  “Siri, where can I find myself a new best friend?”

  Merry glared. “Jordan. Read the goddamn text.”

  I peeked at my screen, my stomach in knots, my heart in my throat.

  Hey, Jordan, so good to hear from you. No blind date set-up, thank God. I had a great time yesterday too, and I’m thinking of all the questions I’m going to ask you on the bus. One for each day, right?

  I grinned at Merry. “Every day on the bus, he’s going to ask me those questions he mentioned. And it’s good to hear from me and he had a great time too.”

  Merry rolled her eyes but smiled. “I think it’s safe to say next weekend is a date.”

  I made a crazy face and did a happy dance, then stopped. “Oh my God, what do I reply?”

  “Just be yourself.”

  I cringed. “God, I don’t want him to run away screaming.”

  “Well, say something that’s fun and flirty, in an asexual way.”

  I stared at her. “What does that even mean?”

  “Well, nothing too flirty or sexy.”

  My stare became a squint. “Uh, have you met me? Any attempt at me being flirty has either ended in mortification for everyone involved, including innocent bystanders, or the guy asking if I’m feeling okay or if I’m allowed out unsupervised. It’s not good. It’s horrendous, actually. And as for sexy? All I want really big and rock-hard on a guy is his IQ, and what I consider to be hardcore porn is a picture of a guy reading a book with a hard cover. Soft-core porn is a paperback, and browsing Amazon is my version of PornHub, okay?”

  Merry snorted. “Well, let’s just hope Mr Amazing is on the same page.”

  “God, I hope that too. You have no idea.” I quickly thumbed out a reply.

  I’m looking forward to it. I hit Send, then added another. And I’ll try not to disappoint.

  My phone beeped almost immediately with his reply. That’s highly unlikely.

  I made a high-pitched sound and clutched my phone to my chest and tried to gather my thoughts enough to reply with something half-intelligent.

  It’s only fair if I have questions for you too, I replied.

  And I’ll be only too happy to answer.

  I almost swooned again, right there on Pitt Street. Can I apologise in advance?

  For what?

  The questions I ask and the answers I give.

  Ha!
I don’t think so. Don’t ever apologise for being you, Jordan. JSYK, I wouldn’t be thinking of questions to ask you if I wasn’t interested in your uncensored answers.

  Uncensored is risky. You might want to reset your hologram program back a day or two.

  “I can’t go back to yesterday because I was a different person then.”

  The air left my lungs, my world tilted, and I had to lean against the building wall. “Jesus, Jordan,” Merry said, alarmed. She grabbed my arm. “What’s wrong?”

  I handed her my phone. “He quoted Lewis Carroll,” I tried to say, but it was barely a squeaky breath.

  “Oh, Jesus,” she whispered. Her eyes went from my phone to me, then back again. “So that’s it then. I’ll start planning the wedding.”

  I ignored that and concentrated on breathing. Breathing seemed important.

  Merry handed me back my phone just as it rang. It was Hennessy’s number. I hit Answer, and his smooth voice met my ear. “I thought it’d be just easier to talk rather than text. Is that okay?”

  “You can’t just quote Lewis Carroll to me,” I said into the phone. “You can’t quote literary giants like Alice in motherfucking Wonderland to me while I’m in public. That’s not fair. You say stuff like that and I forget what oxygen is. You can probably watch the six o’clock news and there’ll be the headline Asexual Gay Man Forgets How To Breathe, and there’ll be video footage of me freaking the fuck out in the Pitt Street mall.”

  He laughed. “I should have sent a warning first?”

  “Yes, you should have.”

  “You called yourself asexual,” he said, ever so casually. “So I take it that revelation is going well?”

  “Did I? I don’t think I said that.”

  He hummed a noncommittal sound. “So what’s happening in Pitt Street?”

  “I’m with Merry. We’re shopping while we wait for Merry’s mother. She’s getting her talons done.”

  Merry laughed and leaned up close to the phone. “Accurate description is accurate.”