Chapter 5
five
The Next Evening
Keeping it one hundred, something has to change.
I sit at my parents’ table on Bainbridge, dragging my fork through a piece of lasagna I’d usually demolish. The kind of meal I often brag about to coworkers. Tonight it sits there, half-eaten, cooling.
Mom notices.
“You’re picking.” She taps the napkin next to my plate.
“It’s delicious, but I don’t have much of an appetite.” I drag my fork through the wide noodles and rich sauce.
Dad watches me over the rim of his glass. He doesn’t say anything right away. Instead, gives me space to talk myself into sharing my troubles.
Doesn’t take long. “I went out last night. To a nightclub.”
“You did?” Mom lifts a brow. “Voluntarily?”
A corner of my mouth twitches. “Yeah.”
“Where?” Dad suppresses a smile.
“The Mission.”
Mom leans back. “Not your usual scene.”
“No,” I admit. “It’s not.”
Silence settles as I cut into the lasagna again, a smaller bite this time.
“So…there’s a girl,” I add.
Dad nods once. I can see something clicks into place. “Alright.”
“Tell me.” Mom sets her fork down.
“She’s a busker at Pike Place.” I sigh. “Plays guitar. Sings like an angel.”
“And?” Mom tilts her head.
“I started going to see her on my lunch break every day.” I drag my fork through the sauce, buying a second. “Just to watch her perform.”
Mom’s expression shifts, softer now.
“Every day?” Dad asks.
“Yeah,” I admit, keeping my eyes on my plate. “She hands out these cards after she plays. Name, number, QR code. Yesterday, I took one.”
“And looked her up,” Mom says.
I nod again. “Yeah. I scanned the code and looked up her stuff online. Found out she bartends at The Mission.”
Dad leans back, watching me. “So you went.”
“I did.” I let out a breath. “I dragged Daniel and Jamie from work with me.”
Mom smiles. “Moral support.”
“Something along those lines.” I glance up. “It wasn’t even a plan. I saw her name, saw the club, figured I should go.”
“A wild hair,” Dad says.
“Yeah,” I admit. “Pretty much.”
“I went in expecting to find her behind the bar.” I shake my head. “Then she walks out onstage with a guitar as the opener. She captivated the entire room.”
Mom’s eyes widen.
“After her set, she goes right back to bartending with no ego at all,” I continue. “That’s when I thought, okay, I should go talk to her.”
Dad leans forward. “And?”
“And nothing.” I cast my eyes downward. “I stood there. Thought about it. Then I left without.”
Mom watches me for a second longer than usual. “What stopped you?”
I shift in my seat. “Everything.”
“Ah, sweetheart.”
I look up. “She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”
“How do you mean?” Dad drums his finger on the table.
“She’s out of my league.” I gesture vaguely. “Crowds. Music. People watching her. She’s magic.”
Mom studies me. “You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?” I swallow.
“I don’t get why you put yourself down as if you’re not good enough.” She grips my wrist. “When you’re amazing.”
I don’t answer.
Dad leans back, folding his arms.
Heat creeps up my neck. “I’m not a very social person. I get tongue-tied. It makes me feel less than. Unworthy.”
“How so?” He studies me for a second.
“I can talk to women,” I go on, eyes still on the table. “At work, in meetings. I know what I’m doing there. I sit down, I explain things, I answer questions.” I glance up. “The thought of talking to her is terrifying.”
Dad leans forward a little. “You’re a bit of a late-bloomer and have your first crush, which can be terrifying.”
“Yeah.” I whoosh out a breath. “It makes me wish I’d been a little more social in school. My skill set is extremely lacking.”
Mom squeezes my wrist. “Honey, everyone develops on their own schedule. You’re still a young man.”
“I know.” I rub the back of my neck. “Tell me this. What good is being able to create a cool game when I have no ability to walk up to a beautiful girl and say ‘hi.’”
“It helps more than you think.” Dad grins.
“How?”
“Your gift is focusing on things you like and sticking with it.” He swirls his fork in the air. “You never quit anything important halfway through.”
“Dad’s right. Hope isn’t some finish line, she’s a person. With her own characteristics and faults. Try talking to her about how the songs make you feel. Start there.” Mom reaches over and nudges my plate a little closer. “Eat.”
I pick up my fork. Take another bite. Chew. Swallow.
“You’ve built a beautiful life.” She pats my shoulder. “You’ve got a great job with bosses who value you. The kind of money I never dreamed of making at your age. You exercise and take care of yourself and own a condo. Sweetheart, you don’t have any reason to feel unworthy.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
Dad taps the table lightly. “Did your friends give you any advice?”
I think about Jamie and Daniel. “Yeah. They gassed me up. Kept telling me to go talk to her. Said I had a shot.”
“And?” he asks.
I shrug. “I got close.”
“Not close enough?”
I don’t argue.
“You know…” Mom stands and circles behind me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “You look the same as you did at eighteen.”
I blink. “What?”
She musses my hair. “Same clothes. Same haircut. Same everything.”
“Mom—”
“It is. You’ve changed everything else.” Her fingers press lightly into my shoulders. “Why not upgrade your look?”
I stare at the table. “I don’t think about it.”
“Maybe it’ll give you a boost of confidence.” She sits next to me.
Dad nods. “She’s got a point. Continuing to dress like a teenager when you’re a man might keep you in the wrong headspace.”
“Seriously?” I shift in my chair. “You’re saying if I get a new wardrobe, suddenly I’ll have a personality transplant?”
“No.” Mom chuckles. “We’re encouraging you to stop hiding behind an outdated version of yourself.”
I don’t love the advice. Which probably means they’re right.
“Fine. I’ll try anything. What do I do?”
She frames my face with her hands. “Start simple.”
“Upgrade the basics.” Dad nods.
“Basics,” I repeat.
“Fitted clothes, or at least more tailored.” He crosses his arms, assessing. “Expand your mind outside of the hoodies and baggy jeans you’ve defaulted to. You can be comfortable and stylish.”
“Your haircut needs an upgrade too,” Mom adds, “try a salon rather than a ten-dollar barber.”
I run a hand through my hair on instinct. “You really think changing things up might help.”
“It will,” she assures me. “You’ll feel so much better about yourself.”
“Then what?” I finish dinner and push my plate away.
Dad shrugs. “Try again with no agenda other than to tell her you love her music. Nothing more.”
“Keep it simple?” I let out a short laugh.
“Absolutely. Go with the flow.” He smiles. “You’re not pitching a product.”
“What if she doesn’t want to talk to me?”
He holds my gaze. “You try again another time or you don’t. It’ll be up to you.”
“If it’s any consolation,” Mom reaches for his hand, “I said yes to your dad, and look at us now.”
He brings her fingers to his lips. “Swallowing my fear and asking you out was easily the best decision I ever made.”
I watch them for a second and my ribs feel like they’ve got room again.
“Alright.” I push my chair back.
Dad raises a brow. “Alright?”
“I’ll try it.”
Mom smiles. “Good.”
Later, I stand on the ferry, wind cutting through my jacket, Seattle glowing across the water. My phone sits in my hand. Nordstrom, appointment booked with a stylist. Salon, booked. I stare at the confirmations, thumb hovering over the screen before I lock it and slide it into my pocket.
I lean against the railing, watching the city get closer.
Next time I see Hope, I’ll gather my courage and talk to her instead of standing there waiting for something to happen. I’ll say something. Anything. Even if it comes out wrong.
Something shifts inside me. Not big or dramatic, but enough.
Next time won’t look like last time.
Not if I have anything to do with it.