Chapter II
II
Lucy
In the bathroom after Rebecca left, part of me wanted to sink back into my tears. To sneak off to my bedroom and spend the rest of the night with takeout dumplings and the Gilmore Girls.
But I’m so glad the other part of me won out. The part that recognized I have achieved something consequential, something that deserves to be celebrated. The part that said my mom would want me to be happy today. To be proud. To be unstoppable.
And I don’t really believe in signs from the universe, but something about the way James called out my name felt . . . momentous.
I’d seen pictures of him, heard about him for years.
But I wasn’t prepared for the impression he makes in person.
He’s tall—taller than me—and broad. I sneak a glance at his face as we walk down the sidewalks of the Village in charged silence.
He seems a bit nervous, which only makes him more attractive.
And the freckles that speckle his cheeks and nose give him a boyish charm that’s pretty irresistible.
It was the way he looked at me, though, when we met. The way he gave me his full attention. The way he didn’t let me run away. I was so grateful for my graduation robe in that moment—it concealed the distinct shiver running up my spine.
Our first stop was the administration building to turn in my gown, and now I’m in my favorite summer dress—a knee-length, flowy red number with cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline.
Knowing I’d be on my feet for hours at graduation, I went with flat strappy sandals, and now I see James is in sandals of his own—a bold choice in a city where everyone has oddly strong opinions about exposed male feet.
“You have nice toes,” I say, causing James to peer down.
“You’re into feet?”
“Let’s not reveal our kinks just yet.”
I want to backtrack the moment the words leave my lips, but James laughs. “Right. I think the revealing of fetishes traditionally falls on date six.”
He’s funny. Why didn’t I tag along on one of Rebecca’s family vacations when I had the chance? “So this is a date? Not just, I don’t know, pity?”
“You’re taking pity on me?” he asks.
“No, I—”
James laughs again, and I feel a rush of warmth in my chest. In the back of my mind, I’d been rehashing that joke I made about musicals earlier, wondering if I overstepped, but now it’s clear he likes teasing too.
He turns to look me in the eye as we continue down Bowery, and I drink in those adorable freckles. There’s one centered perfectly under his left eye that I’m particularly enamored with. “This is a date.” He says it definitively. No playful tone this time.
I have to take a moment to make sure my voice won’t shake before speaking again. “Good.”
“But,” James adds, “there’s a caveat.” He runs a hand through his close-cropped sandy-blond hair. He suddenly seems more nervous, which makes me nervous. What is it? A dozen possibilities flash through my mind in the split second before James continues, “I’m only in New York for the summer.”
“Oh.” The lump in my throat immediately dissolves.
“I’m moving home to Oregon. To open my own restaurant.”
I forgot that he cooks. “That’s amazing!”
“It is?”
“I mean, yeah. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” James rubs his neck, still uncertain. “I just figured I should tell you now . . .”
It clicks—he was worried about leading me on. “How very thoughtful of you,” I say, bumping his elbow with mine. “I guess now would be a good time to tell you I’m also leaving soon. In six weeks, I head to The Hague.”
James nods slowly. “I’m gonna pretend like I know where that is,” he whispers.
My heart swells. So many people over the last few months have acted like they knew exactly what I was talking about when they clearly had no idea. “It’s in the Netherlands.”
“Oh, wow. You’re fancy.”
“Oregon is fancy too. In a natural-wonder sort of way.”
“Good point. We’re basically the same.”
I laugh. “So the caveat is . . .” I have to tease, “that you won’t be proposing tonight?”
James raises his face to the sky, as if graciously taking that hit on the chin. “I just figured it would be the gentlemanly thing to tell you.”
“No, you’re right. Very gentlemanly.” I realize I’m walking a bit serpentine, enjoying the chatter of the strangers we pass and the pepperoni scent wafting out of slice shops.
I’m not sure if it’s James or my crying jag or graduation—or some combination of all three—but I feel great.
Like I’ve been let out of a cage. And I decide to lean into it.
“I guess I just take the general viewpoint that all dating in your twenties is temporary.”
James raises an eyebrow. “A hater of musicals and romance?”
I laugh. “Seriously, though. We’re too young for anything real. We’ve got to figure out who we are and set up the lives we want for ourselves before bringing anyone else into the picture.”
“That’s fair.” He nods. “It would be a lot easier to make a life with someone once I’m settled and have my business running—assuming it doesn’t immediately fail.”
“Exactly. The making-a-relationship-work part, not the failure part,” I clarify.
“OK. No romance for you then.” He says it in a matter-of-fact way that makes me practically snort.
“Where are we going on this doomed date, then?” I ask as we wait at a crosswalk. “And please don’t say anywhere as nice as the place you picked for Rebecca. I can’t afford that shit.”
James chuckles. “No, no, no. I’ve got a much more celebratory spot in mind. And it’s about as cheap as it gets.”
“Should I be scared?”
He points a block down the street. “That depends. How good is your trash talk?”
James
I don’t know anything about this city beyond my tiny world of food friends, so I desperately googled options while Lucy was returning her graduation robe, hoping to find a gold mine within walking distance.
The bowling alley I’ve led us to is dark and musty, drenched in the scent of multiple decades’ worth of cigarettes, oiled wood, and fried food.
There are only six lanes, four of which are occupied by a large group of Armenian men, all seemingly sixty and over, all clad in league shirts that read “Jesus Bowls Me Over.”
I steal a glance at Lucy as we walk in and the full scene hits her, completely aware that many women would not choose this as the destination for a first date or a graduation celebration.
I know I’ve taken a risk, but Lucy seems like someone who’d prefer an adventure over anything by the book.
I brace for potential disaster, but she looks at me with wide eyes.
“This is fucking amazing,” she whispers.
I don’t know if it’s this girl or this night, but it’s starting to feel like I can do no wrong. My confidence level is dangerously high, and I don’t hate the feeling. “Do you bowl?”
“Not at all. Do you?”
“Nope.” I grin. “Shall we?”
A few minutes later, we’re set up on the far lane with a pitcher of Pbr, and we’re modeling our matching neon-pink socks and clownish bowling shoes for each other.
We opt out of the bumper rails and agree within a few frames what a terrible mistake we made.
Almost every ball we roll ineptly down the lane ends up in the gutters, and we mercilessly taunt one another.
“Good thing you have that law degree to fall back on,” I tease in the second frame.
“Do you like living in the gutter? Is it cozy?” she counters on my next attempt.
But as much as we savage each other’s failures, we cheer wildly for each rare success.
Whether I knock down one pin or Lucy knocks down six, we act like we both just won gold in the Olympics, jumping up and down like maniacs, making up victory dances.
Our antics draw more than a few raised eyebrows from the gentlemen at the other end of the alley.
Let them stare.
Lucy
As we begin the eighth frame, I realize I’ve never felt this comfortable with a guy on a first date.
Maybe not even a second or third. There’s something so goofy about James, so unafraid of looking foolish.
And he does look foolish, but that doesn’t make him any less attractive.
Honestly, it’s the opposite. His lack of inhibition, the amount of fun he seems to be having with me and—I hope—because of me, is infectious.
He may not look his sexiest when he’s doing the Electric Slide after knocking down two pins, but right after—that’s the magic moment.
When his face is lit up, he’s not at all embarrassed, and he strides over to sit next to me, his muscular arm falling effortlessly around my shoulders.
That’s the moment when his playfulness becomes an intense turn-on.
He isn’t afraid, and he’s fun. I never realized how much I’d been missing that from previous dates.
Ridiculous, flirtatious, uninhibited fun.
And I’ve been acting as silly as he has, busting moves I’ve never displayed outside my bedroom. The endorphin rush I felt after my sob fest a few hours ago has only intensified. It’s like I’m riding this wave of catharsis, and I don’t want it to stop.
James
A tiny voice in my head is nagging me to tone it down.
This is the limit, it says. You’re about to cross into the land of “ick.” But another slightly louder voice keeps urging me on, reminding me, The clock is ticking with this girl.
What is there to lose? So I keep choosing to trust that louder voice.
And each time, Lucy rewards me with a beautiful, full-body laugh.
Head tilted back, hair bouncing, her hands landing on my back, my chest, my wrist. She isn’t holding back, and neither will I.
We each have truly pathetic scores in the forties as Lucy stands for her final frame. Her first attempt veers into the gutter almost immediately. She turns to me, defiant. “I’m pretty sure that ball is lopsided.”
“Mmm. It’s practically an egg.”
Lucy picks up a new ball for her second go.
She gets set and takes a deep breath, holding the glittery purple orb close to her face.
Then with just terrible form, she sends the ball down the lane.
It drifts within an inch of the gutter, but the spin she somehow managed to put on it pulls it back to center. All ten pins go flying.
We stand flat-footed in disbelief for a solid three seconds. Then I let out an involuntary “Woo!” Lucy turns around, and her entire face glows.
I bound to her, picking her up in a spin before I even realize I’m doing it. My hands feel at home on her ribs, just below her breasts. Her palms press into my shoulders as she laughs. “I got a fucking strike!”
“You got a fucking strike!” I set her back down, a little embarrassed to have done something so bold, but she doesn’t take her hands off my shoulders, so I cautiously let my palms settle onto her hips, trying to focus on the feeling of the soft cotton of her dress and not her body underneath. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
Lucy
Before he can apologize, I spring forward and press my lips to his.
It’s impulsive and brash and not fully in line with my consent training, but I feel a thousand percent certain James won’t mind.
After a split second of surprise, his lips press firmly into mine, and he wraps his thick arms tightly around my waist, grasping a section of my hair in his hand.
I feel the slight tug through my entire body.
The tip of his tongue finds the tip of mine, and we both tilt our heads left in perfect sync, as if this were our thousandth kiss and not our first.
My heart pounds, and my hips greedily push into his. I feel a pulse through his jeans, and maybe noticing, he takes a step back with a boyish grin of embarrassment.
As our lips part, our eyes lock. He seems just as lost for words as I am.
Then the quiet is broken by a grizzled old man at the end of the alley yelling, “It’s about damn time!” All the bowlers begin cheering for us, and James and I burst into laughter. He tosses the men a little wave, and I give them a dramatically deep bow.
As I wipe my eyes for the umpteenth time today, I notice the scoreboard. “Oh shit. I guess that was technically a spare.”
James leans in for another kiss. “Let’s not be technical.”