16. Daphne
Daphne
I’d thought that Rickie would be smug about my decision to have dinner with him. But he’s quiet as we make the final delivery of applejack to the bar. I watch through the windshield as he carries the crate inside, muscles bulging, eyes feral. He looks angry, honestly.
Not at me, though. When I approached the truck after work, he’d given me a soft look. And then he’d let out a sigh.
Something is bothering him. I can feel it.
Once again I'm struck by the realization that men just confuse me. Rickie always gives off a dangerous vibe. It’s more sexual swagger than violence. But now he’s in a mood that should probably frighten me. But it doesn’t.
Reardon, on the other hand, looked like a Vineyard Vines advertisement in crisp preppy shirts and white-toothed, harmless smiles. Yet he stabbed me in the back at his first opportunity. And when I called him on it, he screamed at me and called me a stupid whore.
And he slapped me. I was terrified. That’s the part I never mentioned to Rickie, or anyone else. It's just too embarrassing.
I truly believe that most women are born with an instinct that helps them figure out who’s scary and who’s safe. But mine just never kicked in. This is why I avoid men. It’s a pretty good reason, too. I should have said no to dinner.
But I didn’t.
At the noodle shop, we’re given a plum table by the window. I put my napkin in my lap and pick up the menu. Honestly, this is a treat. Rickie is right that I never go out anymore. I haven’t had the emotional energy to reconnect with friends, or go out on dates. Anxiety has eaten my life.
I glance around at the restaurant, which only has a few patrons so far, because it’s early. But everyone here looks so relaxed and happy. This is just what I need—a short break from reality. For the next hour, I can be just a lucky girl who’s out for dinner with a ridiculously attractive boy.
The waitress arrives, and we order. Rickie thanks the waitress. Then he turns those gray eyes on me, and asks me a polite question. “How was work today?”
“Fine. Good, actually.” He listens respectfully while I prattle on about data collection.
“So why public health?” he asks suddenly. “How’d you choose it?”
“Well, at first I thought I wanted to be a doctor and literally save lives. My father died young of a heart attack.”
“Right. That really sticks with your brother, too.”
“I know. So I started college as a premed bio major. But then I took some classes on healthcare policy.”
“And you loved it?”
“No, I got angry.”
Rickie grins. “Go on.”
“The way we deliver healthcare in this country is so screwed up that the doctors can’t even do their jobs.
I mean—there are politicians who can’t stand the idea of food stamps for hungry children, because one able-bodied guy might accidentally get a free sandwich he didn’t earn.
Those same guys will defund women’s healthcare—all of it—no matter that the data shows that free healthcare for poor women reduces all government expenditure.
They will burn it to the ground just so one undocumented immigrant doesn’t get a handout, or just in case somebody gets an abortion. ”
And now I’m getting worked up. Again. It’s a real mystery why I don’t have a lot of dinner invitations.
But Rickie just reaches across the table and smooths his thumb across the back of my hand. “Go on.”
“I just need science to win. That’s all. Public health is about making good policies. I need the grown-ups in the room to make the decisions. Or we’re all lost.”
“That’s admirable,” says the new, subdued Rickie.
“Okay, what’s wrong?” I finally ask. “You’re quiet and it’s creeping me out. At least when you’re flirty and crass, I know how to handle you.”
“Sorry.” The smile he gives me is sheepish. “Rough day.”
That’s when the waitress brings us two steaming bowls of food. I’ve ordered the salmon fried rice, and it looks like heaven. I unwrap my chopsticks eagerly. God, I need to get out more often. And I will eventually. After I unfuck my life. Somehow.
Rickie ignores his own bowl to watch me dive in. Then he puts his beautiful face in his hand, and asks me the question I was hoping he wouldn’t ask. “So tell me—why did I once crassly offer to stamp your V-card?”
Crud . I never wanted to have this conversation. “What if we just pretend that never happened?”
He waits.
I take another life-giving bite of rice and then sigh.
“Oh, this is going to sound ridiculous. Because it was. I told you this truly pathetic tale of imagining myself in love with someone. And I confessed that I’d…
” Yup, this was going to sound stupid. “I’d waited for him, if you catch my drift.
And he’d just found the love of his life when I met you. I was a little depressed about it.”
I smile like it's all hilarious, but he doesn't smile back. “So I was going to swoop in and show you a good time?”
“Well, you offered. I didn't know whether I was going to accept.”
I probably was, though. I’d felt reckless, and I wanted my life to have a little more danger in it. Besides—Rickie is hot and smart and funny—which really does make him my type.
He finally picks up his chopsticks and pokes at his ramen soup. “I suppose that sounds like something I’d do. But that guy in those texts sounds a little creepy.”
“Eh. I thought you were awfully forward. But never creepy. You asked me in a way that was half joking. But I liked how different your outlook was from mine. As if the world was just here for your amusement. Like—let’s just go where the night takes us.”
“Interesting.” He takes a slow sip of his beer, and seems to think about it.
“Honestly, I liked the way you didn't care so damn much about every little thing. I was jealous of your attitude, and I wanted to borrow it for a night.”
He’s quiet for a couple of minutes. And I hope we can move on. “Listen,” he says eventually. “I want to tell you something, although it's probably just wishful thinking. I'm pretty sure that Saturday night of the party is the same one I ended up in the hospital.”
My iced tea stops halfway to my mouth. “Really?”
He nods.
“I guess you’re really sorry that you stood me up, then.”
He smiles sheepishly. “Hindsight. Am I right?”
“Or—” The realization dawns. “Maybe you got hurt, and didn't even mean to leave me standing by the gate in the rain for forty-five minutes.”
He tips his head from side to side, considering. “See, I love that idea. But it's a stretch. How I could accidentally get wasted if I was planning to come and get you? And fall off a high fence, all before eight o'clock?”
He makes a few good points. And I love this idea a little too much as well. If he’d already been hurt, then I’m not the nerdy virgin he’d abandoned when someone better came along.
“But either way, Daphne, I'm sorry. I apologize. You must think I'm such an asshole.”
“Well, I know you a little better now and I find you to be a very entertaining asshole.”
Finally he smiles. “I’m still sorry.”
“I know you are. And I accept your apology.”
He glances down at his overturned phone. “Those messages though, so smug.”
Uh oh . A contrite Rickie is even more dangerous to my libido than a crass Rickie. It makes him more real. I can’t let myself like him this much. “Can we just drop it now? Besides, you're still smug.”
“About some things,” he says. “But I've been taken down a few pegs lately.”
“You too, huh? Welcome to my quarter-life crisis.”
He picks up his beer and takes a swig. “The offer to take your virginity still stands, but I assume that ship has sailed.”
I reach across the table and poke him with my chopsticks.
“Yeah, I thought so.”
For the hundredth time, I wish he weren’t so ridiculously attractive. The simmering heat I feel when he smiles at me is very distracting.
He settles in to eat, and I relax. After a minute, he stretches one hand a few inches across the table, just far enough for his fingertips to brush mine.
It's the lightest brush, and then it's over. “Look, I’m very drawn to you,” he says quietly.
“My gut tells me that I must have been drawn to you then, too. Right from the beginning.”
“Well, there's proof of that.” I try to sound nonchalant. “You offered me sex.”
He flinches. “I just wish I had that time machine, you know? I’d like to think I handled you with care.”
Suddenly, my insides are all gooey. And my heart is sparking dangerously, like the flux capacitor on Marty McFly’s DeLorean.
The moment is broken when my phone pings with a couple of texts. But I don’t want to look away. No man has ever watched me the way Rickie does. Like he’s waiting for a sign.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I don't know how to explain how we were with each other. And I can’t say for sure what you were thinking.” I still don't know what this man is thinking and he’s sitting right in front of me.
“Don’t apologize,” he insists. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I can't even offer to make up for lost time, because my offer was pretty sleazy in the first place.”
“Unless it wasn’t meant to be,” I hear myself point out. See? I’ll always be that hopeful girl—the one who thinks that this time the boy wants me for more than just sex.
“I’m not willing to give myself the benefit of the doubt." He picks up his chopsticks again.
“Fine, but believe it or not, I'm over it. I went on to meet far sleazier men than you, who proceeded to do far worse damage than standing me up.”
My phone keeps pinging. “Better see who that is,” Rickie says. “Also, there's two guys over there watching us, and they look familiar.”
I reach for my phone while also glancing over to see who he means. And I spot my cousin Kieran and his boyfriend across the room, menus in hand. When I turn my head, they give me twin smirks.
I frown as a reflex. And of course the texts are from them.
Kieran: Who's your hot date?
Roddy: Nice muscles. And those tats! @Kieran, did you know Daphne had a bad boy kink?
I groan.
"Everything okay?" Rickie asks, frowning.
"Sure. It's just my cousin giving me a hard time." I pick up my drink and take a sip while subtly showing the guys my middle finger.
There's a burst of laughter from their table, and I can hear it all the way over here. Rickie glances in their direction and smirks. “Oh yeah. I remember them from your birthday party. Hey, guys.” He gives them a wave and a smile.
Is it weird that I'm relieved to see that cocky smile come back—the same one that I sometimes want to wipe right off his face?
“So,” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “What are you writing that paper about?"
“Subjectivity in Aristotle,” he says. “A hylomorphic analysis.”
“Huh. Well that sounds…”
"Boring?" he guesses.
"I was going for complicated."
Richie gives me a secretive smile. "Sure you were."
"No, really. From one nerd to another—you shine on. One of my goals in life is to always put at least one million-dollar word in the titles of all my papers."
His smile grows hotter. “I knew you were special.”
My phone beeps again. I send a suspicious glance toward Kieran. But he and Roddy are deep in conversation.
“Did you know your grandpa likes this restaurant?” Rickie asks.
“ What? ”
He nods to a table behind me. And when I swivel my neck around, there sits Grandpa. He’s eating the salmon fried rice with a fork, not chopsticks, and he’s seated across from that woman he was dancing with at my birthday party.
Grandpa waves with his fork and gives me a wink. Then he taps his phone on the table with one of his bony fingers.
“What the hell?” I gasp. I pick up my phone and look at the text.
Grandpa: You and the new roommate are dating? I see how it is.
I let out a little shriek of dismay. “Why can’t I just eat some fried rice without a peanut gallery?”
Rickie’s smile gets a little wider. “Your family is hilarious, Daphne. Just roll with it.”
I tap out a quick response. Gramps, I’m not on a date. Also it’s rude to text at the table.
Grandpa: Then why are you replying?
“The man makes a good point,” Rickie says.
“Don’t read my texts. And I hate you.” I power the phone all the way down.
“No, you don’t,” he says, and the cocky expression that I know so well is back. “Not that I deserve it, but you don’t hate me.”
Fine. Fine. So I ate out with Rickie and I liked it. And I hate that I know how good a kisser he is. There will be no more kissing.
And this wasn’t a date. Even though Rickie doesn’t let me pay my half of the check. “My idea, my bill,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say a little stiffly. “We’re still not dating.”
“I heard you the first time,” he says with an easy smile.
Only it turns out that I’m the only one in Vermont who’s not on a date tonight. As we’re leaving the restaurant, Rickie holds the door open for…
My mother. My mother is walking into the noodle shop in a dress, with a man I’ve never seen before.
“Oh!” She stops short in front of me. “Daphne, honey. Hello.”
“Mom,” I say curtly. “Who’s your friend?”
“This is Gil,” she says, nodding a little too vigorously. “Gil, my daughter.”
The man smiles and shakes my hand nervously. He has a salt-and-pepper mustache that needs a trim. “What a wild coincidence, running into family tonight.”
“It’s not such a wild coincidence, apparently.” My voice is tight, and my mother gives me a disapproving glance. But she’s about to see for herself. “Maybe you’ll get our table by the window. Have a nice meal.”
Mom and I just blink at each other awkwardly for one more moment, and I realize that I’m really not emotionally prepared to see my mother on a date .
“See you at home,” she says. And then she walks into the noodle shop.