13. Nicole
Chapter thirteen
Nicole
T his is my second time attending Soapbox. The first time, Tasha told me about it, and I caught a ride with her and some of her friends. Considering I’m more than four years older than them and in a completely different stage of life, it was a bit awkward. I had a good time, but the evening didn’t click. I just know Adam will appreciate the variety show of expertise as much as I do, so I’m hoping for a better experience tonight.
I glance over at Adam in the driver’s seat. He’s focused on the road, hands precisely at ten and two on the steering wheel. I snuggle down into the warmth of the heated passenger seat and pull Adam’s sweatshirt tighter around me.
I’m not blind or clueless. I know Adam has a thing for me. But he’s never overtly hit on me or made me uncomfortable in any way. I feel flattered and desirable when I catch his lingering looks. But it can’t happen. I realized several years ago, with the help of my therapist, that every boyfriend I’ve had—all three of them—was interested in me first.
With my first boyfriend in high school, Ethan, I was crushing on a completely different guy when his best friend let it slip that Ethan liked me. I had hardly noticed Ethan up to that point, but now, suddenly I forgot all about my crush and instantly moved on to him. We dated for three months toward the end of sophomore year, but I often wondered if we even had anything in common. Would I have been interested in Ethan if he wasn’t interested in me first?
Senior year, I dated Brandon from Halloween all the way through graduation. Again, I barely knew he existed until he asked me out. It felt nice being noticed. Being sought out. Personality-wise, I actually found Brandon kind of annoying, but it felt good to have a boyfriend. When we split before Brandon left for his out-of-state college, I wasn’t heartbroken.
And then, of course, Steven. That was a whole trainwreck—so much so that even the thought of a new relationship starts my brain spiraling down the drain of worst-case scenarios. I will never again let anyone make me feel that broken.
My therapist suggested a lack of self-confidence might contribute to my apparent pattern of, essentially, taking what I think I can get in terms of dating. If low self-esteem was my problem in high school, my relationship with Steven definitely didn’t help matters. Since him, I haven’t had strong feelings of attraction to anyone, and if any man has been interested in me, I was oblivious to it. Until Adam. But I’ve recognized the pattern now, and I’m determined not to continue in it. So, if a man, like Adam, is interested in me when I don’t feel the same, that man is not an option.
Adam and I are coworkers. Colleagues. Nothing more. Despite the cute way his lips pinch and his eyes twinkle when he’s sharing a funny story. Despite the amazing way his hoodie smells wrapped around me. Despite his adorable dog. I just don’t see him that way.
We arrive at the amphitheater with just enough time to hit up the food trucks and snag seats before the program starts. There are three trucks, including my favorite—a food truck that focuses solely on arepas. All kinds of fancy, complicated arepas with different fillings and even toppings. My usual is the black bean, sweet plantain, and cheese arepa. So good. Adam’s in line at the grilled cheese truck when I get my food, so I grab us a table.
I watch as he orders and then waits to the side for his food to be ready. He didn’t change after work—neither did I since I didn’t go home first—so he’s wearing khaki colored corduroy slacks and black loafers. Over the red and gray plaid button down shirt he wore to work, he’s added a sporty navy pullover hoodie that fits snugly across his chest. As the window attendant hands Adam his food, he pulls his hands out of the front pocket of his sweatshirt. He turns and scans the crowd, so I wave to get his attention.
Adam carefully sets two paper boats of food on the table. Before he can sit, I grab the sleeve of his sweatshirt and shout, “Tater tots! They had tater tots?”
He settles into the chair next to me with an amused expression. “Nope,” he deadpans.
I release his sleeve only to smack the same spot as he grins at me .
“Sorry. I just really love tater tots. I didn’t know that food truck had them.” I eye the ever-increasing line and check the time on my phone. “Maybe I have time to get some before the first speaker…”
Adam checks his phone as well. “I don’t think so, Nicole. If they start on time, you won’t make it.” He peers at me through the glass of his lenses, his expression unreadable. “Just take these.”
“No, I can’t do that. They’re yours. What else did you get?” I inspect his other plate. “A wrap?”
He shrugs. “Yeah. Chicken Caesar. But seriously, I won’t eat all these. At least split them with me? Eat as many as you want.”
I know it’s a line. If I hadn’t said anything, I’m sure he would have eaten all the tater tots he ordered and paid for. But for tater tots, I’m willing to play dumb a bit. “Okay, thanks,” I say.
I pop one tot into my mouth, and it’s perfect. Crisp on the outside, warm in the middle. Yum. This. This right here is why my weight is always a little higher than I’d prefer—I just enjoy food too much.
The Soapbox host calls the crowd to attention. Our seats are decent—to the left of the small stage and only a few rows back. Soapbox is held on the auxiliary stage, which is a more intimate venue than the amphitheater’s main stage where they hold concerts and local high school graduations. The auxiliary stage is slightly raised—easy to hop onto without stairs, but high enough that I have no trouble seeing the host up there. Seating is mostly small bistro tables like the one Adam and I share, with some bench seating right in front of the stage.
The host is a Black man with long, curly hair, and who is, without explanation, dressed like a pirate. He explains the sequence of the program: there are ten presenters who will speak for five minutes each. A five-minute break in between each presentation will allow them to switch out the slide decks and the new speaker to get situated.
The first presenter is a high school student who talks about surfing as a metaphor for life. He tells a story about his first wave, and how his success required him to be present in the moment with focus and intent. I actually find myself tearing up a little as he describes his moment of triumph—that’s what he calls it.
Following the surfer, a woman who looks to be in her forties talks about her path from writing fiction as a hobby to self-publishing online. She’s published four romance novels in the last two years with plans for three more in the upcoming year. I send myself a text with her name so I can remember to look her up later. As if I need anything else on my Tbr.
By the start of the second break, Adam and I are done eating. It doesn’t escape me that he ate maybe three tater tots, and I polished off the rest. I feel guilty, so I scoop up the empty containers from both of us and take them to the trash. I’m not gone more than a few minutes, but when our table is in sight again, I see a woman with dark brown hair standing there talking to Adam. She looks to be about his age, maybe a few years older. She’s pretty in a girl-next-door way and is dressed in a black pencil skirt with nude tights and a red cowl neck sweater .
I drop into my chair, and Adam shifts his attention to me before glancing back at the woman.
“Nicole, this is Ashley—Dr. Cartwright. She works at Harkness, too. She’s presenting later tonight. We both started working at the college around the same time and were in new employee orientation together.” Adam smiles at Ashley as he introduces her.
“Ashley, this is Nicole–”
“His coworker,” I quickly interrupt. I’m cementing the boundary lines. We are coworkers. Period.
Adam’s eyebrows furrow together. “Uh, yeah, Nicole and I both work in the library.” See, he agrees. Coworkers.
I turn my attention to Ashley. “What are you presenting about tonight, Dr. Cartwright?”
She meets my eyes and smiles. “Call me Ashley,” she insists. “I work in the coastal environmental science department at Harkness. My work right now is mainly focused on using constructed oyster reefs as living shorelines to protect salt marshes from erosion. I’m going to talk about that.”
I feel the crankiness trickling out of my body as I take in her words. My brain is pinging, and I’m not sure which part of her statement to focus on first.
I start with: “My sister is a coastal environmental scientist. In New Orleans.”
“Oh,” Ashley exclaims. “You should try to recruit her over to Harkness. We’re still growing our program and could use more faculty. ”
I consider that for a minute. “I’ll definitely let her know, but she’s more about laboratory work than teaching. She’s a researcher more than anything.” I shrug.
“Ah, I see. We’re not really a research institution, as I’m sure you know. What’s your sister’s research focus?”
As we’re talking, Adam pulls a chair over from a neighboring table and sets it between us. Ashley smiles at him and sits, her attention back on me.
“Good question. She recently switched research teams, but I think she’s researching algal blooms in the Gulf? Does that sound like a thing?” I laugh. “Her name is Molly Delaney.”
“Definitely a thing. I’ll look up her work.”
“Speaking of work, yours sounds so interesting! I guess I’ll hear about it when you speak, but I’m dying to know more.”
I feel Adam’s eyes on me and when I turn my head, I meet his gaze. He’s beaming as he watches Ashley and I talk. He has a gleam in his eye, gaze trained on my face, as if waiting for my reactions. I give him what I intend to be a questioning look.
Ashley notices the exchange and stands. “I better head back to my own table. They’re about to start again, and it’ll be my turn before long.” She reaches her hand out to shake Adam’s. “So nice to run into you here, Adam. And Nicole….” She smiles at me. “Really nice meeting you. Would you like to get together sometime for lunch or coffee? We can talk more.”
I nod, smiling. “I’d like that. Email me?” I know she’ll be able to find my contact information through Harkness’ email system .
Ashley nods once before making her way to the other side of the stage where she’s sitting with a few other people.
Adam is still beaming at me when I turn to glare at him. “What?” I ask, my cheeks heating up.
He shakes his head. “I’m just thinking that I may have something new to add to my list of skills.” I raise my eyebrows at him in question and he smirks. “Friend matchmaker. You two seemed to hit it off.”
I laugh. “As if you had anything to do with it!” I hit his shoulder playfully. “You didn’t know Ashley would be here tonight, and besides, I dragged you out, so pretty sure this is a coincidence.”
He grins. “Maybe so. But still, I’m glad. Ashley is a nice friend.” He seems to emphasize the last word. “Her fiancé is a great guy, too. We’ve hung out a few times.” He watches me out of the corner of his eye.
“Cool,” I say nonchalantly. I know what he’s doing. But it doesn’t matter because Adam and I are just coworkers.
The rest of the evening is full of listening and talking and laughing. Between each speaker, Adam and I chat about the presentation topic and then off on tangents wherever that leads us. Ashley gives a phenomenal presentation. I text Molly throughout with my commentary, which she mostly ignores.
After the last presentation, we wait for the crowd to thin before heading back to the car. Adam nudges me with his elbow. “You should do this,” he says.
The night has only gotten cooler. I have my hands balled up inside the front pockets of the hoodie I’m wearing. I’m ready to get back to those heated seats in Adam’s car .
“Do what?” I ask, watching the bottleneck of people exiting through the gate.
“Present at Soapbox.”
My head snaps toward Adam, and I laugh. “What would I even talk about?”
Adam shrugs. “Graphic novels. Comics. Tater tots.” He grins slyly at that, and I blush thinking about how many of his tots I ate. “Whatever you want. You speak well, know how to hold the audience’s attention. I think you’d be great.”
I laugh again, but Adam’s gaze is serious, earnest. “I don’t know,” I say. “Maybe.” That actually might be fun. Turning the tables on him, I ask, “Why don’t you present? You could talk about memes.”
“I’m not super comfortable speaking in public,” Adam admits. “Why do you think I’m in technical services instead of instruction?”
“That’s valid,” I allow. “But speaking in public more could help you feel more comfortable.”
He blanches at the thought. “Yeah, I really don’t think so.”
As Adam drives me home, the car is dark and quiet. The silence is companionable; just right for two people who spent the last few hours talking about everything and nothing. Even though I gave so much of myself tonight, letting Adam know me in a way I haven’t with anyone new in a while, I’m surprised that I feel full, not depleted. The warmth from the seats in Adam’s car spreads into my core, my heart radiating the same heat.
He pulls up in front of my apartment and insists on walking me to the stairway leading up to my front door. We both stop at the bottom of the steps. There’s electricity between us, an energy I can almost feel crackling in the air. I’m afraid if we touch, I’ll feel the shock on my skin like an electrostatic discharge.
Adam reaches up as if to brush the hair off my face, but stops, leaving his hand hovering in the air near my shoulder. “Thanks for inviting me, Nicole. I had an amazing time with you,” he says, his voice low and rough.
“Me too,” I whisper. I clear my throat, the spell of the cold night air and Adam’s proximity blurring the lines of my thoughts. My mouth is speaking again before my brain has time to process the words. “Do you want to come up for a few minutes?”
His hesitation, the split second of his eyes tracking my face with reluctance, is like a bucket of water on my head. It jerks me back into the real world, into my right mind.
Before Adam answers, I blurt, “Never mind!” I laugh robotically. “I mean, no, of course not. It’s late. Why would you?”
There’s regret written all over his face, an apology on his tongue. When he starts, “Nicole…”
I laugh again and dart up the stairs before he can say anything further.
“Wait, Nicole.” He extends his arm, as if to pull me back down, then drops it helplessly to his side.
“Good night!” I call behind me, feigning a nonchalance that I hope covers my supreme embarrassment. I slam and lock the door behind me, sliding my back down until I’m on the floor with my head in my hands.
Annnnd … I’m still wearing his sweatshirt.