16. sixteen
sixteen
Nora
First Friday
Our over-the-water deck seating area is officially closed for the season, but that doesn’t stop me from seeking refuge outdoors on Friday afternoon after my shift. It was an uncharacteristically slow afternoon at the diner, and after making myself a pumpkin chai, I head outside to get some fresh air. This unparalleled view of the harbor is part of what keeps me here at Delia’s. I love looking out at the stretch of ocean surrounding the dock, listening to the sounds of the waves gliding up the pebbled beach and watching the grey mist retreat beyond the coastline. Breathing in the briny scent of the sea and distant woodsmoke always calms me. It’s a mild autumn day with clear skies, so I settle into my chair, drawing one knee up to my chest and resting my chin on it.
Brooks is coming to pick me up at seven tonight. Tonight . I’ve felt like I’ve got a cloud of starlings swirling in my stomach all day.
He’d made a good argument after my workshop. How could I have said no to spending five Fridays with him? The prospect was sparkling and irresistible. But now that our first agreed-upon Friday has arrived, I’m nervous as all get out.
Ollie is at his dad’s this weekend, and although I thought it would help matters to have him out from under my feet, it hasn’t. I miss him even more knowing that I don’t have my wingman, my best buddy, to act as a buffer between me and my fragile feelings. I could have used someone to hide behind tonight.
I relish a few precious minutes of quiet contemplation before my co-workers decide to interrupt my tranquility.
“So,” Roman says, plopping himself down in a chair across from me. “What are you wearing tonight?”
“Please take pictures!” Kate pleads.
“Is he taking you to dinner first?” Audrey asks.
I look between my friends, circling the lid of my coffee cup with my index finger and watching the steam twist into the humid air.
“Oh no,” Roman says. “We’ve overwhelmed her.”
“How are you feeling?” Audrey asks, leaning closer.
“Part of me is floating somewhere up there,” I say. “Above the clouds. It feels like I’m dreaming. But then the other part of me is scared out of my mind.”
“Why?” Kate says. “Brooks seems like an absolute sweetheart.”
“He is,” I admit, and the swirling in my stomach intensifies. He really is. “I’m so out of practice. I haven’t dated anyone in ages. What if I’m bad at it? What if he tries to kiss me?”
“He-llo! Kiss him back!” Roman cries.
“It’s just been so long since I’ve been…courted.”
Roman snorts. “Courted? What are you, a spinster in the Regency era? Goodness, honey. Brooks has gone to great lengths to get you back. The least you could do is let him kiss you!”
“Let’s look at the facts, shall we?” Audrey interjects. “Brooks texted you immediately after Roman gave him your number, and he didn’t hold it against you when you ghosted him.”
“That’s true,” I admit.
“Then, he whisked you away at the Harvest Market,” Kate adds.
“He even came to your workshop, Nora,” Audrey says with a pout. “He is precious.”
“Precious!” Roman echoes. “You have nothing to worry about with that man. He is a walking green flag.”
“See, that’s how I felt about him when we first dated. But when he left Kitt’s Harbor, I felt like he chose his career over me. I’m scared that he’s going to do the same thing all over again when spring training starts up in February.”
My friends grow quiet, looking at each other in turn.
“Nora,” Roman says, reaching across the table for my hand. “You’ve got to give him a chance to prove to you that he’s changed. He’s not the same young buck who dumped you all those years ago.”
“I know,” I sigh. “But it’s hard not to worry about the future. Especially with my track record.”
“Maybe you should share your worries with Brooks. Clear the air right at the start,” Roman suggests. “Play a little Truth or Dare. If things take a turn and clothes start flying off, all the better.”
Kate smacks Roman’s arm. “She’s worried about him kissing her, Roman. Not seducing her.”
“She’s a mother , Kate. She knows full well how babies are made.”
I swallow. Nope. Not going to let my mind drift in that direction. It would never come back to me. Forever lost to the wind.
“Roman’s got a point,” Audrey says. “It wouldn’t hurt to lay things out for Brooks right from the get-go. Talk to him about how things ended the last time you dated and walk through how things are going to be different this time.”
“We did agree to be open and honest with each other,” I say. My therapist encouraged me to expect that from everyone in my life after what Nate did. Especially men I might potentially date.
“Cheers to honesty,” Roman says, raising his cup in the air. “And to Betty–may she never lead you astray,”
I snort. “You mean Beverly?”
“Whatever. The old bat who listens while you talk about your issues.”
“Thank you for the advice,” I say with a laugh, giving Roman’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “You’re the ones who got me into this mess, so it’s the least you could do, really.”
“We had no choice, honey. There’s just something special between you two. It’s undeniable,” Roman says.
That’s how I’d felt when Brooks and I were young and still in the blush of first love. Things may not have worked out the first time, but after seeing him at my workshop, there was no denying the tangible tether that still exists between us. I’d been in a giddy haze for hours after he left. Maybe it had always been there, a tiny string linking us together, even across the time and distance. Who am I to deny the undeniable now?
I swipe some lip gloss over my lips and drag my fingers through the roots of my hair, trying to give it a little more volume. I tug the hem of my deep green sweater down, turning in the mirror to make sure it covers my legging-clad rear. I’d texted my sisters a picture of my original outfit and had then changed four more times until I was given the sisterly stamp of approval. Apparently, there are rules now about how many colors one can wear at the same time, and I was breaking all of them.
Brooks and I agreed to take turns planning our Friday activities, with Brooks heading up the plans tonight. Lucky for me, our activity warrants comfy clothes I can move in. Right up my alley, much to Sydney’s dismay. For once, she deemed it acceptable for me to wear leggings in Brooks’ presence.
At 6:59, I hear a knock at my front door. My heart feels like it’s being yanked right outside my chest. He’s here.
I take a deep breath, wishing once again I had Ollie here with me as I move towards the door. I realize as I’m doing so that Brooks is the first man to come calling in two years. And no, Tommy Collins doesn’t count. Maybe I am a spinster, like Roman said. Twenty-seven and already on the shelf.
But the way Brooks looks at me as I swing open the door, his blue eyes bright in the glow of the porch light, makes me think otherwise. He gives me an easy smile, one that surely would look perfect on the big screen at Boeing Park, and my stomach drops into my toes. Suddenly, the neckline of my sweater feels suffocating, and this doorway is too small.
“Hey,” Brooks says, his eyes traveling down my frame in a slow, appreciative assessment. “You look great.”
He says it so casually, so guilelessly, that I have no choice but to believe him. A sweet warmth slips down my limbs and through my body, like wax dripping down the sides of a yellowed beeswax candle.
“Thank you,” I say, still half hidden behind my door. I move aside and allow Brooks to step across the threshold.
He immediately pulls me towards him with one strong arm around my shoulders. I slip into his embrace, and my hands bunch against his firm chest. There’s a heightened awareness of the points of contact between our bodies. The soft feel of his sweatshirt against my chin. The cool texture of his jacket under my fingertips. The toe of his left sneaker against my right foot. I flatten my palms against his chest and appreciate the fact that he has filled out in all the right, masculine ways since we were seventeen.
“You ready to go?” Brooks asks, pulling away with a quick glance down at my hands still resting on his chest. I drop my hands and adjust the hem of my sweater just to keep them busy.
Brooks steps back out onto the porch, and I appreciate just how good he looks tonight, especially with his hair styled and not peeking out from under a baseball hat. I think I may have to tug at one of those dark swirls of hair at the base of his neck just to see if it feels as soft as it used to.
“Yeah, I think so,” I say, snatching my house keys and wallet off the entryway table before tucking them into my coat pocket. I suddenly feel the looming sense that I’m forgetting something. I pause on the porch steps, patting my pockets as my brain draws a blank.
“You sure?” Brooks asks with a teasing smile. “We can do something else if you’re not excited about what I’ve got planned.”
“It’s not that,” I insist. “I just feel like I’m forgetting something.”
“Let’s see…” Brooks says, lumbering down the porch steps. “I’m here. Check. You’re here. Check. Rollerblades are in the car. Check.”
“Okay, yeah. You’re right,” I sigh. It always feels so weird when I leave the house without Ollie. My hands feel empty without the diaper bag, water bottles, and snacks…SNACKS.
“Oh!” I gasp. “I remember what I needed to get. I’ll be right back.”
I slip back inside the house and run to the pantry, grabbing two Fruit by the Foot. I hold one out to Brooks, who is looking like an ad for an athleisure brand, standing casually with his hands in his jogger pockets on my porch.
“For you,” I say, presenting the snack to him with a ceremonial swish.
“No way,” he says, and a grin splits his face. “These are my favorite.”
“I know,” I say. “I remember. They’re Ollie’s favorite, too.”
“My guy!”
“Remember that one time before play-offs, junior year, I think, when you stress-ate like ten Fruits by the Foot? Wait…Fruit by the Foots…whatever they’re called. These things.” I flap mine in the air for emphasis.
Brooks laughs. “I forgot about that.”
“You were so sick, you almost had to sit out the game.” We meander down the porch steps, and he glances over at me with a smile that nearly makes me trip and fall flat on my face.
“I can’t believe you remembered that. Wanna know something funny?” Brooks opens the passenger-side door for me. “I used to eat one of these before every game. It was part of my ritual. But one of my New Year’s resolutions this year was to eat less Fruit by the Foot and more…actual fruit.”
“And how’s that going for you?”
“I was on track until the Wild Card series. Then, I binged an entire box by myself later that night, after we lost. Made me so sick.”
I laugh as I slip into his Tesla. After he shuts the door behind me, I pull on my seatbelt and take a quick inventory of his car. It’s pristine. Not a rogue french fry, sticky juice spill, or sour milk stain to be seen. My car constantly looks like the snack aisle imploded inside it and smells like bacon…and probably diapers. Brooks’ car smells fresh, like he’s just gotten it cleaned, and I can see my reflection on the massive LED screen on the dash.
“I can leave these here if you’re not going to eat yours,” I say. “I don’t want to throw you off your nutrition goals.”
“Oh, believe me, I’m going to eat mine. And I’m going to enjoy it.” He hands it to me as he backs out of my driveway. “Can you open it for me?”
“Right now?”
“Why not? You’ve dangled temptation in front of me. How am I supposed to resist?”
I unwrap both snacks and hand him one. He unrolls it with one hand and takes a bite, pulling to break a piece off from the long strand.
“Oh yeah,” he says. “So good.”
“So,” I ask between bites of strawberry-flavored roll-up. “Why rollerblading?”
“Why not?”
I get a hit of Brooks’ cologne as he readjusts in his seat and palms the steering wheel. Oh me, oh my. Long gone are the days of cheap aftershave from the Walmart deodorant aisle. Whatever he’s got on smells expensive—like it’s made from the tears of mermaids in the Mediterranean.
“Admit it. You chose this activity because you know I’m a klutz and you wanted to challenge me with something that requires both balance and coordination. Neither of which I possess.”
“You’ll be fine,” he says, glancing over at me with a grin. “I’ll be right by your side.”
That’s exactly the answer I was counting on. I don’t intend on releasing him from my grip the entire night.
“I used to rollerblade as a kid, actually,” he says. “So, it’s technically not something entirely new, but I haven’t done it in a long time.”
“I’ve never rollerbladed in my life. If I go down, I’m taking you down with me.”
“Bring it on,” Brooks says with a smile. “I have to admit something to you. I thought that Kitt’s Harbor still had a roller-skating rink, but apparently, there isn’t one anymore.”
“I could have told you that. It closed right after we…” I almost said broke up. Oops. “After high school,” I amend.
“I knew I should have asked you beforehand.”
“You had an entire week to plan this, didn’t you? Plenty of time to ask the resident expert.”
“Hey, come on. I had a lot of ideas, and it took me until yesterday to narrow it down to just one,” he says. “We’ve got a bit of a drive ahead of us because the closest roller-skating rink is in Port Angeles.”
My stomach swoops. “No worries.”
“It’s actually the only roller-skating rink on the entire Olympic Peninsula,” he says. “I figured it would give us a chance to talk more. You know, get to know each other again.”
A nervous surge floods through me as I realize that I’m going to be trapped in close proximity to Brooks for the forty-five minutes it will take us to get there…and forty-five minutes back. That’s the longest I’ve been alone with a man since I was…well…married.
I finish off my Fruit by the Foot and stare nervously ahead, building up the courage to initiate the conversation we need to have tonight.