23. Now
Now: December 19th
D enver’s car smells like fresh pine. It’s almost Christmas time, and his car smells exactly like the holiday. Growing up it had been my mom’s favorite day of the year. She would go all out for it. She had boxes and boxes of decorations in our attic that we’d pull down every year. We had tinsel, nutcrackers, and flashing lights—the whole thing. But she was always particular about one thing. We were forbidden from buying a fake Christmas tree.
It had to be real, and it had to be cut from a real tree farm. It was probably one of my favorite things we ever did together, besides our crazy Shopping List Game that Mom always won. The year Mom left was also the last year we went out and bought a real tree. Dad and I never bought another. We couldn’t bear to do it without Mom. Thinking about how little we decorate our house around the holiday now is depressing, and I push the thought away .
I’m pulled from my thoughts when I feel his eyes on me. Denver’s. For a moment I almost forgot where I am.
I’ve only been sitting in here for about five minutes, but I’m already lost in thought. Please don’t screw this up already.
“Where did you go just now?” he asks me softly.
I can feel his eyes on me, but I can’t make myself look over in his direction. Not yet anyway. I’m so new to this. I’m sitting on my hands to keep them from trembling. I wonder if he notices how nervous I am. I still don’t know if he’s single… I should probably find that out real soon.
Here I am, drifting away again. “Sorry.” I chew the corner of my lip, it’s a nervous habit. “Your car smells like Christmas, is all.” Not one-hundred percent the full truth, but it’s a lot of it. Enough.
He must not have expected that to be my answer because he chuckles at my response, and when he does it's warm and smooth, like honey. Rich and full of flavor, and something I often lack in life. I barely know the guy, but he seems like someone full of life.
“That’s a new one! I’ve been told it smells like many things before, but never Christmas. I like that.”
So, I’m not the first person to mention the way his car smells. Good or bad. I can’t help but wonder if perhaps it’d been another woman…
As though he can sense my thoughts, he adds, “I’m sure you remember my daughter, Marvel. Last week she told me it smelled like dirty socks. In my defense though, I had just gotten back from the gym. So it probably didn’t smell the best in here.”
Okay, so not another woman. It was his daughter. And, of course, he works out. What does this guy not do? This time I brave a small peek out of the corner of my eye, swiveling my head just the slightest bit.
His eyes are now focused on the road and not me, he’s got one hand resting on the wheel and the other is resting on the middle console—dangerously close to where my leg rests. My face flushes, but in the dark of his car it goes unnoticed.
Unsure of what else to say, I decide to ask him more about his daughter. It seems like a safe topic.
“So, tell me more about your daughter. I love her name, I’ve never heard it before,” I manage.
I’m not sure which coffee shop he’s taking me to, or even what is still open this late, but he seems to be a safe driver, and something about him puts me at ease.
He switches lanes and glances over at me. I turn my eyes back to my window when he speaks.
“Yeah, it’s not the greatest story ever, but believe it or not, I’m a secret nerd.”
At this, I steal another glance in his direction. He doesn’t strike me as a nerd in the least bit. He has broad shoulders and his muscles are lean. He’s strong but not too bulky. Just right. Athletic, but not nerdy. Right now he’s wearing a red, plaid flannel shirt and dark denim jeans. Nothing about him screams Nerd Alert!
If anything, he looks like he could be a male model for REI.
“Really,” I say, unconvinced.
“Yes, really. I still am. I used to collect all the DC and Marvel comics as a kid, and then they started coming out with the movies for all the comics and I was toast. Please tell me you’ve at least watched the movie Marvel about the female superhero.”
I can’t tell how well he can see me in the dark, but I slowly shake my head no. I don’t watch a lot of movies, and I haven’t seen a single movie about a superhero. Lame, I know.
He seems taken back by this. “No? Iron Man? Spider-Man? Batman? Superman?” He pauses between each one, anticipating my answer.
I shake my head no to every single one. Even though one of Mom’s favorite nicknames for me had been Spider-Girl, I can’t recall watching Spider-Man with her. I’ve always assumed she came up with the name because of my long, skinny legs, but maybe I’ve had it wrong all this time.
I am not gaining any points here. But I can’t lie to him. I have no reason to.
“Wow. Well, if we ever do this again sometime maybe you could try one with me,” he offers quietly.
Wait. Is this him asking me on another date? If he’s counting this as one. But where? If he thinks I’m ready to go over to his house…
I jump from the sudden warmth of his hand on my arm. How did it get there and why is he so warm? My heart begins to thunder in my chest, and my hand pushes down on the car’s door handle without even realizing I’m doing it. Luckily, he has all the doors locked, and the door doesn’t budge. I don’t know if he noticed my freak-out, but his hand retreats, and I instantly feel the cold from its absence.
I look away. I’ve ruined whatever this is. He should probably take me home. Why was I thinking that I was ready to do this? Ready to meet somebody?
“Hey,” he says gently.
I don’t say anything back. I’ve already started the retreat inside my shell. It’s what I do best.
“Nicki, can you please look at me?” he tries again.
But I can’t. All I can do is look for a way out of here. I start digging inside my purse for my phone. But who would I call? Wendy isn’t here, and Dad is out somewhere too. I didn’t even bother to ask him who he was meeting. He probably thinks I don’t care. But I do. So much.
We must have arrived at our destination because he pulls the car into a parking space. He puts it into park but doesn’t turn off the car right away.
I can feel his eyes on me again. But I don’t look to see if I’m right.
“Look, I don’t know you very well, and you don’t know me. But I want to. I don’t think us meeting was an accident. We met that day for a reason, Nicki. I… uh… I’ve been through some things, and I don’t want to assume anything, but it seems like maybe you have too. I’m not trying to force anything upon you or rush into anything you aren’t ready for or don’t want. Let’s just start with being friends, if you’re okay with that, and go from there.”
I nod my head gently. I’m afraid if I speak more tears will spill out, like they did earlier at the table with Dad. I don’t deserve a guy like Denver. If only he really knew me. I came here tonight to try and give him a chance, and I think he deserves at least that.
“Okay, I think I can do that,” I manage. I look out the window and almost laugh out loud when I realize where he’s taken me. It’s a bright blue and white neon sign I’d recognize anywhere. He’s brought us to an IHOP. Most certainly not the place I imagined when he’d said he wanted to take me out for coffee and maybe even a bite to eat. But this works, this definitely works. I haven’t eaten here in ages.
“Sorry, I know this isn’t anywhere fancy, but I wasn’t sure you’d want to come with me in the first place. So, I figured this might be a safe choice for a first da—” He pauses, glancing over in my direction.
Our eyes meet and I smile back this time, slowly peeking beneath my shell. “Do you want this to be a date?” I ask quietly.
His eyes crinkle in the corners when he smiles. Warm like honey. He bites his lip while nodding his head. “Do you ?” He challenges me.
I can feel the pink rising back up my cheeks as I force myself to look away, staring into the neon lights my mother once loved, while admitting out loud in the smallest of voices, “Yes. I mean, I think so.”
Heat radiates off my shoulder from his palm as he squeezes it ever so softly, a simple gesture, yet one that soothes me all over and melts me into a puddle of butter. Smooth and syrupy sweet, like my mother’s pancakes that I miss so much.
“It’s okay, Nicki, we can take it slow.”
We smile and chat the evening away in a sticky corner booth in IHOP, drinking coffee and eating pancakes dripping with maple syrup.