Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
I’ve seen my fair share of movie first dates. They’re all the same. The couple hits it off instantly. Within minutes, they’re head over heels in love with each other. This is nothing like that.
We’re in a small diner with a distinct hipster vibe. There are mismatched chairs—some with cushions, some without. The vaulted ceiling is painted black with chestnut-colored beams. On the wall closest to us, there’s exposed brick while the other walls have abstract art popcorned around them.
Caleb sits across from me, hands fidgeting in his lap as his eyes dart around the room.
I take a sip of my strawberry Italian soda and pick up the menu again. I may not love the idea of a date, but if he wants to buy my dinner, I’m not going to argue.
“Have you decided what you want to get?” he asks.
“I’m still looking at the menu, aren’t I?”
He tips the top of my menu down and points. “The biscuits and gravy are really good here.”
“Those are hit or miss for me.”
“Well, there’s mac and cheese. You can never go wrong with that.”
I sigh, setting the menu down. “I hate going to new places. I’d rather go somewhere I’ve been to a million times because then I can order blindfolded and know nothing will go wrong.”
He laughs. “But then you miss out on so many good things.” He leans forward to get a better look at my menu. “Let me pick.”
“What?”
“Let me choose something new for you.”
I cover the menu, bewildered. “No, thanks. I’ll go with the mac and cheese.”
He sits back in his chair. “This place has a four-point-nine out of five rating, so trying something new might not be the end of the world.”
“Nope.” I wave the waitress over.
She pulls her order pad out of her apron and taps her pen on the front page. “Have we decided?”
I smile big enough for Caleb to notice my sarcastic confidence. “I’ll have the mac and cheese please.”
She scribbles my order down. “And for you?” she asks, pivoting toward Caleb.
“Well,” he says, mimicking my fake smile and looking straight at me. “I’ve never had the Reuben sandwich, so I’ll go with that.”
The waitress nods as she looks between us. “Okay, I’ll get that started for you guys.”
I slump back into my non-cushioned seat, becoming well aware of its poor excuse for back support, but I’m too stubborn to sit up straight again.
“So, has it been hard going back to school?” he asks.
I shrug.
He twiddles his thumbs, looking down. “How are your parents?”
I shrug again.
He rocks his jaw, staring off. “So you’re just not going to talk this whole time?”
I snap my fingers. “Now you’re catching on.”
“Well then,” he says, clearing his throat. He pushes his chair out and stands. I watch in confusion as he takes out his wallet, reaching into it for a wad of bills. “This should cover dinner.” He rests his hands on the table when he speaks. “And you should probably find another ride to school.”
I choke. “What?”
He steps out from the table and walks by me, heading for the door.
“Wait!” His eyes drop to where I’m gripping the fabric of his shirt. My heart skips, and I jerk back, shoving my hands in my pockets. “What do you mean?”
“You didn’t keep up your end of the deal,” he says.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“You said you’d keep an open mind. This”—he gestures from my head to my toes—“is not an open mind. You don’t even want to be here.”
“But I—that’s not—” My mouth hangs open. “What about your dinner?”
“I lost my appetite.”
My head aches from the idea of having to figure out my way to school again. Caleb is my best option. I need him to keep driving me.
“Please, sit back down. I promise to answer your questions this time.”
He grimaces, sucking in a breath. “I’m not sure this is a good idea anymore.”
I sit up, holding on to the table for support as my mind goes dizzy. “Please. Give me one more chance,” I say.
He’s right. I was being a jerk.
He sighs, eyes narrowing. His stare cuts through me. “Should I?”
I cower under his gaze, focusing on my hands. “I’ll answer whatever you want.”
“Whatever I want?”
I nod.
“Okay,” he says, sitting back down. He folds his hands into each other and rests them on the table. “So, why don’t you like me?”
I roll my eyes. “Really? That’s what you’re going to ask?”
“You said I could ask you anything I want, so start talking,” he says. There’s an edge to his voice now. I don’t like it.
“I don’t have a reason,” I say.
“That’s not an answer.”
My gaze drifts up to take him in.
Caleb is conventionally attractive: dark hair, dark eyes, tall, dimples when he smiles, sharp jawline.
I’m not oblivious to that. But I’ve never thought of him that way.
In my mind, he’s still the lanky boy I grew up with.
The one that wore glasses that were way too big for his face for two years before he discovered contacts weren’t the worst thing in the world.
“Come on.” I sigh. “In what world would we be good together? I’m well aware that I’m an acquired taste. I’m rough like sandpaper, and you’re . . . soft.”
“What?” he laughs. “I’m not soft.”
I raise an eyebrow. “In all my years of living next door to you, I’ve never seen you yell at anyone.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m soft.”
“If something ever happened between us, and I’m not saying anything will, I’d ruin you. I’m a bomb. Everything I touch becomes a disaster.”
“That’s not true.”
I scoff. “What do you know?”
“I know you don’t see your own value,” he says. His eyes are uncomfortably serious. “You think all you ever do is mess up, but that’s just a lie you tell yourself.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s what most people would say.
” I point to myself. Then, I start counting on my fingers.
“I’m a barely functioning wreck. I sleep too much.
I’m hardly passing my classes. I haven’t brushed my hair in two days.
And I’m not even a nice person, so why on Earth are you doing this?
Why do you want to date me? I don’t get it. ”
Caleb is quiet for a moment before he whispers, “February second.”
I freeze. The date is stuck in time, a sharp reminder of loss.
It went from a typical, uneventful day to one that would forever be tarnished for the remaining members of his family.
Caleb was thirteen when he found his dad dead in his parents’ room.
No one else was home, and I still remember the sound of him pounding on our door and the tears streaming down his face when we opened it.
My mom called the police while he sat in our living room waiting for his mom to get home.
He takes a deep breath. “You were there for me.”
All I did was sit with him. I hated seeing him upset.
I didn’t know what to do or say, and for a long time we didn’t talk.
Eventually, I offered him a cherry soda, but when I opened it, it sprayed me in the face.
He smiled. Ever since then, I’ve left a cherry soda on his porch every year on the same date.
I figured it would remind him of something funny on a day that’s so hard for him.
“I didn’t do anything that special,” I say.
“You saw me when no one else did.” He swallows and lowers his voice. “And you didn’t treat me differently when I went back to school.”
I laugh. “We didn’t get along in school.”
“Exactly.” He smiles.
“Wow.” That’s all I can say.
“Bec?”
“What?”
He stares like he’s studying me, searching to see past my walls. He can’t. They’re made of iron. “I wanted to be that person for you. I wanted to be the one person that didn’t treat you differently after everything that happened.”
“And you thought getting me to sign a contract saying I’d go out with you is your way of not treating me differently?”
He shrugs. “Well . . . maybe I did treat you slightly differently.”
“You think?”
Our waitress sets my food down. “Here’s that mac and cheese.” She places Caleb’s plate down next. “And here’s that Reuben sandwich. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
I shake my head, and Caleb says, “No, thank you.”
“Enjoy,” she says, hurrying off to bus a table at the other side of the room.
“This looks amazing,” he says. The overflowing sandwich is cut in half, and the cheese is oozing down the center. He picks it up and holds it out to me. “Try it.”
“What? No. That’s yours.”
He tilts his head to the side. “Open mind, remember?” I let a few seconds pass. “My arm is getting tired.”
“Fine,” I say, taking the sandwich. “One bite.”
“Thank you. Was that so hard?”
I take a small bite, just enough to get a taste of everything together. While it’s not something I’d normally order, I’d eat it again.
“It’s good, huh?” he asks.
“Yeah, it’s not bad.”
He takes the sandwich back, taking a bite. “Not bad? It’s amazing.”
“Now this,” I say, gesturing to my mac and cheese. “This is life changing.”
Caleb unravels his cloth napkin, letting the silverware rattle on the table. Then, he picks up a fork and stabs it into my pasta.
“Hey!”
It disappears in less than a second. “You’re right.”
“Eat your own food.” I pull my plate closer to me, wrinkling my nose.
He chuckles and continues eating his sandwich. Every so often he asks me a question, and I try not to answer defensively or sarcastically. We talk about bands we like, and by the time we finish eating, we’re discussing movies and TV shows.
Talking with Caleb about everyday things isn’t so bad. Except for his lack of taste in movies. That could use improvement.
“Well, what movies do you like to watch?” he asks.
“I like sci-fi movies and shows. Sometimes I watch ones that are funny because they’re so old, and then other times I like movies that really make you think.
The kind of movie that’s so well written that it’s almost believable that you’re flying on a spaceship headed for Alpha Centauri.
” My words continue to flood out. I can’t seem to stop.
I’m still talking about TV shows when we walk outside.
A timid lopsided grin covers his face.
“What?” I demand. “You think it’s silly, don’t you?”
“No, it’s not that,” he says, slowing as we near the car.