Chapter Eleven
I had a date.
With a woman.
With a woman that could have been the twin to the mermaid in my painting. She actually agreed to see me, and I was so happy–so genuinely fucking happy–that I was practically sick with it.
The show sold out. Every piece was sold, and I couldn’t believe that either. Carla and Liz requested that I be on their regular rotation for exhibitions, and they wanted to talk to me about making prints of some of my more popular pieces. Like Her . That I could agree to. It didn’t sit well with me that there would be copies of Her , but she was popular, and the original would remain with me. It was a good compromise–and the extra income would always be nice.
The rest of the night passed so quickly that when I finally woke up, it was nearly time to get ready. I was off today, and picking the Beans and Barley as the meeting point seemed odd now. I had no idea where Merrow would want to go for lunch, but there were several nice places all on the boardwalk. We could walk together and then decide; whatever she wanted would be perfect.
I had a date . It seemed impossible.
I’d been on dates before, of course. I had a girlfriend for about a year a few years back, right after high school. She was pretty and nice, but I didn’t get blindly excited to see her like how I felt now with Merrow.
Assuming she even showed up. She didn’t have a phone–which was weird as hell, but some people just live off the grid. She didn’t strike me as one of those, but she could have told me that she was from the moon and I would have nodded like an idiot.
Her hair was pink. Like, actually pink. It didn’t even look like it had been dyed, and that made it even prettier, although obviously it was dyed. No one naturally had pink hair, except my fictional mermaid.
God, she looked just like Her . I nearly choked when I saw her at the gallery, smiling at a sketch of a jellyfish. It wasn’t even one of my better sketches.
It was already a quarter until eleven. I tousled my hair, trying to make it look purposefully messy, like an artist would have, and then grabbed my things–keys, wallet, phone–and headed out.
Beans and Barley was busy, but not terribly so. Anne Marie and Sean, the guy that just started, were working and they waved when I came in.
“Hey dude, the show was a hit! I stopped by and I was going to get one of the pieces, but the gallery owner told me that everything was sold out! How cool is that!” Anne Marie bounced as she spoke. The jingle of her jewelry announced her joy as much as the smile plastered on her face. She’d switched her nose ring to a pretty purple gem that sparkled under the lights of the shop.
“Congrats man, that’s really awesome.”
“Thanks guys, that means a lot to me. ”
“Owen Harper, be careful now, you’re actually starting to experience emotions. It might be overwhelming at first,” Anne Marie winked at me.
“Cute.”
“What are you doing here on your day off?” Sean asked.
“Actually, I have a date. I met a girl last night and–”
“Oh my god, Owen ! That’s great! What’s her name?”
“Merrow,” I said, and the vowels rolled off my tongue like silk. Her name sounded so sweet, and I felt the blush coming even as I tried not to stamp it down.
“Cute name. So you’re meeting her here? Is it so I can give you my seal of approval?” she asked, and Sean laughed as he started on another drink.
“I have no idea why I told her to come here, actually. It’s like my default plane of existence outside of my apartment.”
“That’s honestly so sad, but I won’t give you shit about it because you have a date. When are you meeting her?”
“Any minute now.”
And just like that, like I summoned her into being, Merrow opened the door and entered Beans and Barley. She had another sundress on, but this one was lilac. Her pale pink hair was in a long, loose braid, and she wore a small, yellow purse. She was stunning. I didn’t imagine that–seeing Merrow again confirmed that she was just as pretty as I remembered, and even though she didn’t have a phone, she didn’t stand me up.
“Hello Owen,” she said. She stopped a couple feet away from me, and I stepped closer to hug her. I gave her a small, quick hug but not before I noticed the scent of saltwater and juniper. I loved juniper.
“Hi Merrow,” I said. Anne Marie’s mouth hung open and Sean elbowed her before she made an ass out of herself.
“Do you want to get some coffee and we can sit together for a bit?”
“Yes, please. I’m not sure what to get though, what do you think? ”
“Hmm, do you like vanilla?” She nodded, and I ordered her a vanilla latte. Simple, sweet. It suited her. Anne Marie saluted and I rolled my eyes. I got myself a cappuccino and found Merrow sitting by a window, watching people pass her by. I hoped it wasn’t super creepy to just watch her for a minute, because I couldn’t seem to help myself.
Once the drinks were ready, I brought them over and Merrow smiled.
“So, now you’re going to tell me about why you love painting the ocean so much right? The long version.”
I barked out a laugh and she grinned. Merrow’s smile felt like I was staring right at the sun. Any time I painted a mermaid, her face was always serene, calm. But Merrow, who could have been Her in real life, smiled with mischief in her eyes. My hands itched to paint again, to capture that look of curiosity and playfulness.
“I feel like I don’t know anything about you,” I said.
“Me? I’m not very interesting.”
“What do you do for work? Or are you in school?”
“Well, actually, I’m a singer.”
“No way! That’s really cool. Where do you sing?”
“Oh just here and there,” she said, waving it away like she didn’t think it mattered at all.
“It’s kinda neat, don’t you think? We’re both artists. Well, creatives. Just different mediums.”
“That is nice, now that you say that. I didn’t think about it like that,” she said. Her braid was on her shoulder and she brushed it off. It swayed before it settled against the small of her back. I swallowed.
“I love your hair. I’ve never seen someone with pink hair and think, wow, that looks like her natural color. Like, it would be strange to imagine you with any other color of hair.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. ”
“Maybe you should have pink hair too. That seems very artsy to me,” she sipped her drink, shrugging her shoulders. I nearly choked on my cappuccino again, and Merrow plopped her coffee down.
“Do you like it?” I asked, motioning to the cup.
“It’s the best coffee I’ve ever had,” she smiled. I felt like she was telling a joke, but I missed the punchline. Everything about her seemed ethereal, like she was about to float away or my imagination was going to suddenly disappear and take her with it.
“Let me look at your hands,” she said, and offered hers palm up to me.
“My hands?”
“Mm, there’s a lot you can see in someone’s hands,” she said, tracing the lines on her own hands. They looked different too; most people had three major lines, but she had four. There was a deep crease in the center of her palm.
“What do you see in mine?” I was transfixed. This was ridiculous–I’d only just met this woman, and I was already invested in everything about her. Merrow’s delicate fingers trailed over the palm of my left hand, and it sent shivers up my spine, the hair raising on my arms.
“Well, paint, mostly. But I see that your heart line is very defined, and so is the soul line.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard of that one before.”
“The lines can mean different things,” she traced the line in the center of my palm, so gently that the skin tingled and itched. I didn’t dare scratch it.
“It means that your soul is very bright and full of magic.” The sorrow that I was used to seeing in the painting slowly came into focus on her face, and I flipped my hands over to hold hers. Her fingers were webbed, just up to the first knuckles. The skin there looked so fragile, so thin. It reminded me of tiny fins, and I thought again of my painting. I’d never made the webbing prominent, but I always saw it when I dreamed. I felt like I was dreaming again; how could she be real?
“Isn’t that a good thing? I feel like you’re retreating now.”
“Sorry. I get lost in thought sometimes.”
“Merrow, I just realized that I don’t even know your last name.” I tried to smile, to play off this moment as nonchalantly not the best thirty seconds of my life.
“Oh, it’s Whitetide.”
“Merrow Whitetide. It seems like you have more magic instead of me.”
“Magic is what we make it, don’t you think?” Our hands had untangled and I missed having a reason to touch her. Being with Merrow felt special–like I was special–and it was a little intoxicating.
“Have you lived here long?”
“No, I’ve traveled around most of my life, really with my family. We move around a lot.”
“Sounds like you’re a nomad.”
“Something like that,” she laughed. Her answers all seemed like she kept me at arm’s length, like she didn’t want to say too much. Every word seemed so effortless but so distant. “Oh, I got a phone. Put your number in it,” she said as she fished the little phone out of her yellow bag. It was a simple phone, more like a trac-phone than anything.
“You just got this?”
“Yeah, I don’t use it much,” Merrow said. I opened the phone and typed in my phone number, and sent myself a text. Merrow smiled and flipped through the emojis until she found the mermaid one. She tapped it a few times and sent it to me, after watching me carefully on using it. She tucked her hair behind her ear, a small stray piece that looked so incredibly soft. She saw me looking at her, staring really, and she bit her bottom lip, giving me the smallest smile.
“It’s just so odd that you don’t have a phone.”
“Strict family,” she said, and then told me about her aunts that she was visiting, who were technically just family friends, seeing them for a while before she moved on again. Merrow was a traveling singer who took gigs wherever she could find them. She finally started opening up to me, and we laughed and laughed.
She loved the taste of seaweed and fish, but didn’t eat any other meats. She loved fruit. She loved music and art, and telling stories. Merrow said she told stories with her songs and promised to sing for me someday.
Someday. Like we were planning to do this again, like she wanted to spend time with me when she could spend her days with any man she chose. Merrow tucked another stray lock of hair behind her ear, and I saw that she had more smaller braids hidden in her long strands.
“Tell me about your life, Owen Harper. You paint and you make coffees, but who are you? Do you dance in the moonlight? Do you enjoy watching the waves hit the beach?” Her folded hands cradled her chin, and when she cocked her head to the side, the little smile that tugged at her lips put me right on the spot. It was like she could see through me, through every wall I’d ever constructed, and she just sat there, waiting.
“I’m not much of a dancer,” I finally said. How much time had passed? Was it awkward? I couldn’t tell.
“I love to dance,” she said, shifting her weight to trace circles on the rim of her coffee. I took another sip, grateful for a reason to be quiet. I wanted to spill every secret I ever had for her to examine. Did she want to hear about my favorite colors to paint with? Or what my favorite foods were? Did she want to know all of those things about me that I wanted to know about her? Questions bubbled up in my chest, dying to be asked.
“Did the painting bother you?” I blurted out. “Was that why you agreed to see me today?”
“It was a surprise, but no, I agreed to see you because you have kind eyes. And you’re pretty cute.” A faint, almost imagined stain tinted her cheeks and I grinned at her.
“You think I’m cute?” I fumbled, the word cute coming out sounding too short.
Merrow laughed and the sound was so familiar. Each breath of her laugh sounded like a melody. I’d heard it before, I knew I had, but where . Maybe I had met her before. Maybe I saw her once long ago and I’ve been quietly, secretly, subconsciously obsessing over this woman.
“How old are you?” I asked, and she raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, that’s rude right? I never understood why that was rude. Everyone ages. Not that you look old. You don’t. You’re gorgeous. Oh god, I need to stop rambling.” I ran my hands through my hair, trying to soothe my frayed nerves. It wasn’t working.
“I’m twenty-five, my birthday was actually yesterday.”
“Oh, happy birthday then! We should go out and celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“Well, yeah. We could… go to the carnival. It’s all set up. We could eat cotton candy and ride some rides. Maybe I’ll suddenly be a brilliant pitcher and win you a prize.” Her nose creased while she thought about my proposal–but not in a snotty way. Merrow was truly thinking this over, like she was deciding if this was how she wanted to spend her time. I watched the emotions flicker across her face in a flurry before her eyes lit back up and she beamed, wide and joyful.
“I’ve never been to the carnival before.”
“You’ve led a really sheltered life, huh?”
“I guess you could say I lived in a cave, yeah.” I laughed, and she grinned–it was the biggest smile she had given me yet. Merrow’s jokes were offbeat but it made me laugh even more. Her soft huff of a laugh sounded lyrical, and I was desperate to hear it again .
“Well, madam cave-dweller, let’s go to the carnival.”
She beamed at me and it was like a light inside of her turned on, making everything about her face shimmer. It had to be just my eyes. By the time we made it outside, the sun was high overhead and the heat of the day set in. Merrow reached for my arm, tucking her hand in the crook of my elbow, and leaned against me. The heat from her hand outmatched the heat of the summer and it sent little electric sparks through me.
She started to hum, and the song was so familiar. I knew it. I’d heard it for years in my dreams.
“What song is that?” I asked, the heat now turning to panic. Did I dream this girl into existence? My chest overheated, the music wrapping around me like a vice and I struggled to breathe.
“Song? Oh, it’s just a tune that I made up. I’ve been humming it forever. Is the carnival nearby?”
“Yeah, it’s not far.” The tune echoed around between my ears like the roaring of the waves. I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t hear the words that Merrow was saying and I desperately wanted to listen to her. I needed to. I had to hear every word that came from her lips, but her song drowned everything out. Even though she had stopped singing already.
Stumbling over my feet, I caught myself before I tripped on the sidewalk. Merrow steadied my arm, concern washing over her delicate features. She was truly just like the painting. The way her brows knitted together, the parting of her lips–the scene was nearly an exact replica.
“Owen, can you hear me? Owen? What’s wrong?” Merrow smoothed my hair out of my face, reaching up on tiptoes to brush it away. Her fingertips were soft like the bristles of my finest paint brushes. Black spots danced at the edges of my vision, and I knew then that I was blacking out. This happened once before, when I found out I was leaving the best foster home I’d ever been in. My head was heavy and spun, until I leaned against the solid brick wall of some shop. I wasn’t even sure how far we had walked before the dizziness hit.
Before she started humming.
“Merrow, I’m not feeling so great suddenly. Can we go to the carnival another day? It’s here all summer–”
“Owen, don’t worry about that. I’m worried about you . You look so pale, and your skin is clammy. We need to get you home.”
“We?”
“You’re frankly delusional if you think I’d just leave you like this,” she said, placing her hands on her hips with an eyebrow raised. My cheeks flushed so hard until I was sweating, but she didn’t move an inch away. Merrow stayed so close I could smell her perfume, salt and juniper, that reminded me of the ocean. Clean and vibrant like what a perfect summer day would smell like.
“I can get myself home–”
“You can’t, considering you can barely stand. Come on, lean on me and guide us to your home. Let me help you.”
“This is hardly how I planned this date to go,” I admitted, bitterness tinging every word. Nearly collapsing in front of this literal dream girl was not how I wanted this day to go.
“Life can be unexpected, Owen Harper. But you know this means you’ll have to take me out for another date, yes? Our day was just beginning.”
“Deal. And thank you,” I said, as I stood back up. I'd sunk down to the sidewalk now, my head between my knees trying to get some blood flow back to my head, to ease the dizziness. Merrow rubbed soft circles on my back, and I bit back tears. I couldn’t remember the last time someone was so caring, so doting to me when I was ill. Merrow hummed again, and the dizziness came back.
“Let’s get you home,” she said again, and I didn’t fight when she tried to pull me to my feet, wrapping her too-warm arm around my waist. We moved silently save for her humming as I pointed and guided us back to my apartment building.