Chapter 1.
She had picked out the cocktail bar. She had initiated the date, too.
The bar was a sight, I had to give her that.
Plush chairs, golden details on the wall, soft jazz playing over muffled conversations and laughter.
Panic briefly flared in my chest upon scanning the tables – I was terrible at recognizing faces, and it got worse when I only had their photos as reference.
I breathed out a sigh of relief upon noticing a mass of chestnut curls – easier to spot someone with significant features.
I flashed an awkward smile to the cheerful guys behind the counter and made my way over to her.
She glanced up at me, her dark brown eyes immediately softening as she smiled. “Morgan, is it?”
“Yes.” I mirrored her smile as I sat down on the stool – to my relief, placed so that my back faced the wall and I could oversee the space.
The polished tabletop was a bit too low for my liking, or the chair too high.
My eyes flickered from the tables to the door, always mentally mapping my exit if it would be needed. “Nola, right?”
“That’s right.” Her smile widened, eyes crinkling at the corners. I immediately felt stupid for asking such an obvious question.
Despite the anxiety about socializing with someone new, I wasn’t so nervous for those dates anymore. In fact, I wasn’t even sure why I still bothered. Was it the hope that, despite knowing better, someone could make me not want to run?
While we exchanged pleasantries, I listened with half a mind. She quickly became immersed in talking about herself, and I studied her body language, listening between the lines to catch what she didn’t tell me.
Reading people was easier when they weren’t paying attention to me.
In casual conversations, I had to focus on many things at once: micro-expressions, verbal and non-verbal cues – all while simultaneously managing my own body language, tone and expression, to make sure I wouldn’t come off as rude, weird or different.
Luckily, most people preferred to talk about themselves, allowing me to observe.
I’d spent years teaching myself social cues, and now, every interaction was an opportunity to learn and improve.
She told me she worked at a children’s hospital.
She was thirty-five years old. She used to always fall for the wrong guys until she met her current husband – kind, loving, caring.
She was bisexual, and he allowed her to date girls on the side.
She didn’t think she was romantically interested in women, although she was open for that to change.
She didn’t tell me how sensitive she was to the opinions of those around her, but I heard it in the way she framed her words.
How badly she craved validation. How marrying a man like her husband wasn’t just a want, but a need.
She might’ve burned out if she spent the rest of her life proving herself to the wrong people.
She repeatedly told me how lucky she was to meet him – I thought he must be just as lucky to have her.
“Now tell me about you, Morgan.” She gifted me a warm smile.
“What do you want to know?” With the most confident grin I could muster, I leaned back in the chair, absentmindedly playing with the mint sprig in my tea.
I’d stopped drinking alcohol years ago. I needed to regulate my nervous system, not further destabilize it – alcohol was just one of the many things I’d given up for that.
“You told me you’re twenty-six years old, that you work at an IT company, that you studied business and moved to Lumis Nexus for career opportunities.” Nola sat up straighter. “Now, I want to know about you. How would you describe yourself?”
The question briefly tightened my throat. Out of habit, I lifted my hand to chew on my nails – then quickly stopped when I noticed what I was doing.
“That sounds like a question for a job interview.” I flashed another grin, delaying my response. Even at a job interview, I never knew how to answer the question – I just knew how to give an answer they probably wanted to hear.
Nola lowered her head as she laughed, revealing bright white, uneven teeth.
She shifted the conversation to how she hated job interviews – how grateful she was for not having to work anymore now that her husband took care of the finances, allowing her to focus on her creative and intuitive passions.
“So, Morgan.” Nola let my name roll off her tongue as she leaned back in the chair, taking a big sip of her mojito. I tried to listen to my body, see if her voice ignited a spark in me – but nothing came. “What are you looking for?”
Another question I had no good answer to.
“I don’t look for things,” I said in a casual voice, taking a sip of tea. I didn’t like how it burned my tongue, but I liked even less where this conversation was going. “Whatever is meant for me will find me.”
Nola laughed, flashing her perfectly imperfect teeth again. I made a mental note to make her laugh more often – if she wanted to see me again, that was. “So you’re up for something casual?”
A brief wave of panic made my heart skip a beat. She was beautiful. Pleasant energy. But did I want to be intimate with her?
I tried to tell myself that healthy feelings were supposed to develop with time. It was too soon to decide that whatever I was looking for wasn’t her – and yet, I already knew.
“I don’t really like to make such decisions upfront,” I said, my eyes briefly darting toward the door. “I like to get to know someone and see how the vibe is, you know?”
She nodded slowly, studying me through squinted eyes. “And yet, you are on a dating app.”
“Aren’t we all?” I flashed a smile I hoped seemed genuine. “It’s 2055. Aren’t we all trying to see what’s out there?”
Nola chuckled again. “Well, yes and no. I like to see how the vibe is… but when the vibe is good, I’m here to have fun.”
I nodded slowly, lowering my face to hide my disappointment. So, no friendship then.
Friendship? Who uses dating apps to make friends?
Nola tried to ask me about my sexual preferences, but I was mentally clocked out already. After multiple minutes of mentally debating various excuses to end it, I went with early work tomorrow. I breathed out a sigh of relief when she didn’t seem offended.
I offered to split the bill, but she insisted on paying. On the subway back home, I turned my face to the window to hide the stubborn tears pressing against my eyelids – not like anyone would notice, they were all burying their faces in their own screens.
Nola was kind. Beautiful. Fun to be around. I quickly figured that out. And she was safe. Safe because she was married to a man, so she wouldn’t fall for me. And safe because she was too kind, fun and open for me to fall for her.
Then why did I feel nothing?