21. Roman
21
ROMAN
Approximately zero percent of my confusion has faded by the time I get to the restaurant on Thursday night.
I have no idea what I’m doing here. I thought for sure Lily would text me after our session this week and say just kidding . I didn’t understand what she was thinking when she first asked, and I still don’t now.
I don’t think it’s a date, because there was nothing romantic about the way she asked me. If she had brought it up after a lingering touch, I might think otherwise, but no, she asked after a passionate argument about what I should be doing with my life. It doesn’t make sense.
And yet, there wasn’t a chance I was saying no. The only reason I didn’t say yes immediately is because I was startled and confused by the question. But more time with Lily? And outside of the place that I hate the most? Yeah, she didn’t have to twist my arm. Confusion be damned.
But that doesn’t mean I’m not embarrassed when my Uber drops me off at the bar. I haven’t been to a bar since my injury, or really any public place, because it’s both annoying to do research on whether a place is wheelchair accessible, and frustrating to have to orient myself in a new place once I’m there. It’s easier to just stay home, where I’m at least comfortable.
Lily must have sensed my trepidation because she assured me more than once that she wouldn’t let it be stressful for me. I can admit to myself that her promise was enough, but having her pick a non-weekend evening and seeing on Google Maps that it’s wheelchair accessible definitely helped.
The moment I enter the bar and spot Lily at a table in the back, all of my nerves disappear. I’d fumble my way through any new environment for her.
I try not to move toward her as quickly as my chair will allow. But then she sees me, and a blinding smile appears on her face, and that becomes immediately impossible.
“Hi,” she says excitedly when I reach her.
“Hey,” I return gruffly.
She gestures to the place across from her, where she’s already cleared out the restaurant chair for me. “Perfect timing. I think that’s our waitress is coming with our drinks.”
I settle my chair just as her comment registers. Frowning, I say, “Bold choice, ordering for someone you don’t know.”
She huffs a laugh as she leans back in her seat and crosses her legs, every bit the picture of a self-assured woman.
“Roman, I could put your observation about my coffee preferences to shame. Trust me, I know your drink order.”
I lean back in my own chair as I study her, letting myself accept the truth of her statement, but not letting myself believe that it’s for any reason besides those observations being necessary to do her job.
I spot a waitress approaching our table with a smile and two glasses on her tray. “I guess we’re about to find out,” I muse in a low voice.
The waitress stops next to our table with two red cocktails, the same one for both of us. I squint at it, trying to figure out what Lily ordered.
“Hi, folks, how’s everyone doing?” the waitress says cheerily. “Are we planning on some food tonight, or are we just here for the vibes?”
Lily glances at me, then quickly looks back at our server. “We might get some food in a little bit, but we’re good with just drinks now, thank you.”
“Sounds good, I’ll check back in a little bit then. Just wave me down if you need me.”
Once she’s gone, Lily turns her attention back to me. “ Are you hungry? I guess I just assumed we’d chat over a drink first, but this place has great burgers if you want food.”
“What is this?” I ask, gesturing at the drink and ignoring her question.
Her lips twitch. “Try it.”
When I realize she’s not going to answer my question, I sigh and lift the glass to my lips. Immediately, berries and mint explode on my tongue.
And with that comes a memory from two years ago.
I huff a laugh as I set the drink down. “I forgot about this. I don’t think I’ve had a mocktail since that night.”
Lily quirks an eyebrow. “Seriously? But you were selling mocktails so hard that night.”
I shrug. “I could tell you weren’t a drinker. It was the perfect way to flirt with you.”
She twirls her own glass in front of her, clearly hesitating. “You could’ve come over with any line and I would have flirted right back.”
The air between us heats at that quiet admission. I hold her gaze for long enough to see her pupils dilate and her breath catch, until she quickly looks back down at her drink. Which gives me free rein to look at her .
It’s the first time I’m seeing her in street clothes. Normally, she’s in scrubs, and that first night she was in a sexy dress. Now, she’s wearing a simple white long-sleeve shirt with jeans and a pair of tennis shoes. Her hair is down, and I think she’s wearing makeup because her eyes look brighter than they normally do and her lips are pink in a way that makes her look freshly kissed.
Fuck, now I’m thinking about kissing her. Would she taste like berries again?
I cough to clear my throat. When she finally looks back up at me, I gesture between us.
“What is this, Lily?” I ask, my voice sounding rough even to my own ears. “Why are we here?”
She chews nervously on her bottom lip. Fuck, I’m thinking about kissing her again. What did I ask her?
I look down at the drinks and remember. “Are we reliving the night we met or something?”
She shakes her head. “No, of course not. This has nothing to do with our history.”
“Then what? Even with your twisted therapy methods, I doubt a field trip to a restaurant is going to help my recovery.”
Tell me it’s a date. Tell me this night has nothing to do with my recovery.
But no matter how badly I want those to be the words that come out of her mouth, I’m also not surprised when she says, “I just thought it would be good for us if we spent some time outside of the clinic. Is that so bad?”
Thinking back to the moment she asked me out, I try to remember what we were talking about. “You asked me out after our conversation about me going back to school. How does your brain jump from that to dinner?”
She gives me an innocent look that I’m not buying at all. She’s up to something.
“So, what is it? Why are we?—?”
“Hey there, folks, happy Thursday and welcome to Trivia Night!”
I’m interrupted by a voice coming over the loudspeaker. Frowning, I turn toward the sound to find a curly-haired guy sitting in a high-top chair with a mic in one hand and tablet in the other.
“My name is Ted, and I’ll be your host for tonight,” he says into the mic, an excited grin on his face. “In just a moment, our lovely waiters and waitresses will be coming around to offer you a pen and paper if you’d like to participate. Just fill out a team name at the top, and we’ll get started once everyone’s ready!”
I turn back to Lily, my confusion only tripling when I realize she doesn’t seem surprised by this turn of events.
“You brought me to Trivia Night?” I ask incredulously. “Why?”
“Our prize tonight is a little different than our usual.” The host continues. “The team that answers the most questions correctly will win two tickets to the Movie Tavern! So, strap on your trivia caps, and get ready for Trivia Night – History edition!”
My eyes widen as a lightbulb goes off in my head. And my suspicions are confirmed when Lily’s expression turns sheepish.
“Okay, before you get annoyed,” she hurries to say, “I’ll preface this by saying, we can leave if you want to. Or we can stay and not play. The trivia thing was secondary to wanting to hang out with you.”
I sigh. “So, what was the plan, enter me into a competition against my will and revive my love for history?”
Her lip twitches, relief shining in her eyes. “Something like that, yeah.”
I take the pen and paper that our waitress offers us. “The only reason I’m doing this is because I’m incapable of walking away from a sure-fire victory.” Scribbling a few words on the paper, I add, “And when I win those movie tickets, I’m going to make you watch whatever paranormal horror movie is playing in theaters.”
She shudders at the idea. But then she realizes what I was writing and angles her head to look closer.
“ The Agony of De Feet? ” She gives me an exasperated look. “Really?”
I lean back in my chair, feeling entirely too pleased with myself. “Take it or leave it.”
Huffing a laugh, she slides her drink closer to her and finally takes a sip. “If you end up losing, that’s going to be a really embarrassing choice.”
It only takes her five questions to realize…that’s not going to happen.
“How on earth do you know the answer to that? ” she asks, gaping at me as I’m, yet again, writing on our paper as soon as the host finishes reading the question.
“Probably remember it from some documentary,” I say with a shrug.
She shakes her head as if to clear the haze. “Okay, I can understand knowing World War Two facts, but what documentary could you have possibly been watching to know that the construction of the Great Wall of China began in the 7 th century?”
“Probably a documentary on the Great Wall of China.”
For a moment, she only blinks at me. Then she sighs. “You’re annoyingly smart, aren’t you?”
I wink. “One of my good qualities.”
“Which two city-states fought in the Peloponnesian War?” comes the next question. I scribble down Athens and Sparta , feeling Lily’s gaze on me as I do it.
“So, why don’t you want to go back to school again?” she finally asks. “Clearly, you’ve got the brain for it. It probably wouldn’t even be very hard for you.”
I tense slightly at the question, despite having a feeling this was coming.
My shrug is stiff. “I just don’t see what it would accomplish.”
She hums thoughtfully, and I suck down half my drink to busy myself.
“Who was the president during the Cuban Missile Crisis?”
I scribble down John F. Kennedy.
“I heard you spent a lot of time teaching classes, even when you were fighting,” she says it nonchalantly, swirling the straw around her drink.
I, on the other hand, am immediately suspicious. “You heard that? Where?”
She waves me off. “Okay, fine, I read it. But is it true?”
I consider the risk of answering, but eventually nod.
“Interesting,” she muses. I open my mouth to ask her what is so interesting, but I don’t get a chance to get any words out.
“You know, when I was training to become a scuba diving instructor, I had to go through an Instructor Development Course,” she says, staring out at nothing as she speaks. “I thought for sure it was going to be a bunch of practice exams, so I studied like crazy during the weeks leading up to it. And then I walk in on day one and realize: we’re not doing anything with academics. It’s all about teaching. They spent two whole weeks teaching us how to teach. Nothing to do with diving. Somehow, it had never occurred to me, that was a skill in itself. Arguably the most important skill. One that not everyone mastered, because some people flunked the exam.”
She gives me a pointed look, but all I can manage is a bewildered, “You’re a scuba diving instructor?”
Groaning, she drops her head in her hands. “ That’s all you got out of that?”
“Uh, yeah, pretty much. That’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever heard.”
Lifting her head, she sighs and begrudgingly acknowledges, “Okay, yeah, it’s pretty cool. But that’s not my point.”
“Then what’s your point? That because I like documentaries and I’ve taught a couple kids how to throw a punch, that I should be a history teacher now?”
“I mean…yeah, kinda.”
The disbelief likely written on my face just makes her sigh.
“I’m just saying, you have more options than you think. That’s all.”
I don’t respond, I just write down the answer to the next question that’s called out.
“Because when you inevitably get back to your feet and you stop having an excuse to put off living your life, you’re going to need something to turn to. And I think you’d be a great teacher.”
The breath I let out is rife with frustration. I don’t want to deal with this part of my injury right now; the physical aspect of it is hard enough.
“If I promise to think about my future career possibilities, will you let this go?” I ask. “Or is this going to become a career fair?”
She hides her smile by taking a sip of her drink. “No, I’ll stop.”
And maybe I’m still grumpy about the intervention, because I’m still frowning as I ask her, “So, are you going to leave now that you’ve accomplished your mission? Is that the only reason we’re here?”
Slowly, she puts her glass back down. “No, I’m not going to leave,” she says quietly. “We can just relax and hang out now.” When her gaze meets mine, I see everything she’s not saying.
Before I realize it, I’m lost in thoughts of what if this was a date?
I wonder what it would’ve been like to call her after the night we met, to set a time and place for dinner. To pick her up in my nice car, and to open the door for her when I did. To spend the night talking and laughing, knowing I could offer to walk her to her door at the end of the night.
And then I think about what it would be like now .
Because even if she wasn’t my physical therapist and we were just two people on a date, I still wouldn’t be able to do any of those things.
Before I can drown in an inevitable spiral of self-pity, the host’s voice rings out over the speakers.