CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Marcy
Friendship. I could be friends with a hot man who fixes my car, wears perfectly fitting clothing, supports my dreams, is easy to talk to, and makes my stomach flip. Now he runs with me, and I like it. No problem, this will be easy. Just clear skies and smooth sailing, right?
In a moment of what may have been considered questionable judgment, but my loved ones would consider a necessary step to avoid dying alone, I sent Nick my phone number.
I can’t decide if I am ready for him to use it, but here goes nothing.
I was nauseous as I sent that last email, vacillating between my anxiety induced leg shaking and the twinge of hopefulness that giving an attractive man your number can cause.
Not that I have had much experience, but I am learning.
I am also now learning that just because you give someone your number, doesn’t mean that they will text you right away.
Unclear why I assumed that would be the case.
Thankfully, I had a full day’s worth of work to distract me from the torture that would be staring at my phone and willing it to vibrate.
I busied myself with two patients in the birth center that were interested in resources for postpartum mental health support.
That was followed by educating a mother about the warning signs of her son relapsing on pain pills again, and reviewing how to establish some boundaries with him.
I then completed several biopsychosocial assessments in the emergency department.
By the end of the day, I am fried and ready to drive home.
I have almost forgotten about giving out my number until my phone starts vibrating in the pocket of my soft, yellow, knit hoodie.
I don’t recognize the number, but it’s a Minnesota area code, so I decide to take my life in my hands and answer.
“Hello, this is Marcy.”
“Hi Marcy, this is Nick. Nick Anderson.” My stomach drops like I am on a roller coaster.
He called? Don’t normal people text first?
He is older than I am, but still, he is safely in millennial territory, and therefore texting should be his preferred method of contact if he isn’t a serial killer. Thumb ring is activated.
“Oh, hi Nick. I didn’t expect you to call.” My anxiety is having a field day.
“You didn’t? I must have misread the situation. I thought you sent me this number, but maybe it was someone else?” I can hear his smile through the phone, and now I can’t help but smile back as I make it to my car and get in.
“I’m sorry, I assumed you would text me is all. Isn’t that what normal people do? Test the waters with some texts before committing to the call?”
“Hm…you make a good point. I like the phone call. Maybe it’s old fashioned but I like to hear the other person’s voice. Leaves less chance of a misunderstanding of tone over text.”
“Fair enough.” I like that about Nick, he has a confidence about things that reassures me.
“Would you prefer I hang up and text you? I want you to be comfortable.”
“No, I like hearing your voice too.” I like hearing his voice? “As friends, I mean, of course.”
“Ah yes, of course as friends. Anyway, would you like to go with me to the Festival of Fall Fun tomorrow? I hear it is quite the rage downtown.”
“Go with you?” My car suddenly feels hot. I unzip my hoodie and wipe my forehead with the napkins scrunched in my cupholder. I was planning to go to the festival, but suddenly my nerves have thought of several reasons that I can’t make it. I take some deep breaths and calm myself.
It is a town tradition, raising money for upkeep of the local senior center. The day starts with a parade, followed by a carnival and open-air market in the downtown shopping district, and concludes with a dinner and dance in the town square.
“Marcy?” Oh right, speaking. Focus.
“I, uh, yes, I would like to go. To go with you.” I stutter out.
“Great, I will meet you at the bottom of your stairs around noon. We can wander and get lunch and see where the day takes us. Sound okay with you?” It sounded like I needed to upgrade my deodorant immediately, pick an outfit, and learn how to do my hair and make-up properly, since I have managed to put that off for the past 28 years. “Marcy? You okay?”
“Yes, yes sorry! Noon sounds great, see you then.” I manage to spit out.
“Okay…Marcy? This is a no pressure situation. I just like being around you. If you don’t want to hang out, no harm done, completely understand.” His voice was sincere, not patronizing or judging. It gave me confidence.
“Nick, I would like to go to the festival with you. See you at noon tomorrow. Please be ready to eat fried dough.”
“Always ready for fried dough. Great, have a good night.” He hangs up and I sit there in my car with my phone still at my ear for an extra moment while I try to calm my beating heart and remember how to drive home.
I stay up too late trying to decide what to wear on my outing with Nick.
Outing, not date.
My apartment now looks like my closet has exploded in every room. Pants, sweaters, and t-shirts manage to cover every surface I would normally try and sit on, and I find myself falling asleep on a pile of my tank tops.
We aren’t meeting until noon, but by 7 a.m. I can’t sleep anymore.
I throw on the first outfit I tried last night and decide to go with my instincts.
My jeans are the same pair that I wore the night I saw Nick at Brothers.
They fit me perfectly and have enough stretch that my fried dough consumption shouldn’t be a problem.
I then layer a thin, navy, boatneck, sweater over a slightly cropped, white tank and some white sneakers.
My curls have decided to cooperate today, so I decide to let them fall over my shoulders and hope that humidity is on my side.
After getting dressed and putting on the same simple make-up I wear to work each day, I decide I should clean my apartment.
I turn on the latest season of Hoarders so that I can binge it while I clean.
There is no better inspiration to scrub my home than the prospect that I too could get lost while living in piles of clutter and garbage.
By eleven thirty, my nerves have returned all my clothing items back to their respective shelves.
My kitchen is spotless, with every dish in its cupboard home.
Floors are vacuumed, bathroom bleached and shining, bed made, pillows fluffed, and meds taken.
It doesn’t look like I live here anymore but I suppose that was the point.
I grab my work bag but think twice and decide to take out my once used, tan, cross-body purse.
I have no idea why this feels like the right occasion, but my first non-date in six years seems as good as any. Not nervous at all.
As noon arrives, I am at the bottom of my stairs and my hands are damp, rings spinning at an impressive speed.
He says this is a “no pressure” situation, and it’s not like I haven’t been alone with the man before, but for some reason my insecurity in my own feelings and social aptitude have my nervous system on edge.
I find him attractive; I want to spend time with him, but I know all I can ever have with him would be temporary, and I am still not sure I can handle that. My anxiety feeding on the unknown.
Then, Nick walks around the corner and gives me a smile.
And that’s it. My nerves calm, well dull at least, and I take a deep breath for the first time since sending him my phone number.
He isn’t intimidating, he is warm and happy to see me.
He has on jeans and a black sweater, pushed up to his elbows so his tattoos are visible.
His beard neatly trimmed as always, and his eyes are so blue and bright that I can’t help but return his gaze with my own ridiculous grin.
“Marcy, are you ready to Fall Festival it up?” He asks with a teasing expression on his face. It’s so dorky, and so what I needed.
“Born ready. In fact, this is only the twenty fifth time that I have attended this festival, so you have the perfect tour guide.”
“There is the confidence I like to hear, let’s go.
” He takes my hand and I hope that I stop sweating in time for this to be enjoyable, but he says nothing.
His large palms envelope mine and are calloused against my skin.
I can’t help but think about that video of him working on my car.
The work he was doing with these hands. My mind then wanders to what else he could do with his hands, but I divert my attention quickly.
“Did you eat lunch, because that might need to be our first stop?” I inquire as we head toward Main Street.
“I have been saving myself for this occasion, so I am starving. Someone mentioned the fried dough being special.” He gives me a flirty side eye.
“Hmm…that sounds vaguely familiar.”
We make our way to the center of the Festival of Fall Fun, and it’s just as charming as any episode of Gilmore Girls has ever been able to convey small town gatherings to be.
All the local shops have put out some product on the street, welcoming people in to browse.
There are several small tents and tables with local wares for sale.
Any and all farm stand style good can be found; Goat milk soap, local honeys, homemade fudge, maple syrup, and farm fresh eggs, just to name a few.
There are a couple of antique food carts that are serving popcorn, drinks, and the fried dough.
A couple blocks away, the carnival is full swing in one of the parks and the rides and laughter serve as background music to the downtown market.
We get in line immediately for the fried dough and head toward a bench next to the river to sit and enjoy.
“This festival is like something out of a movie, Marcy.” Nick takes a bite of the fried dough, powdered sugar now dusting his beard. “And you weren’t kidding about this, it’s phenomenal. What’s the secret? Is that nutmeg?”
“I don’t know, I gave up trying to get Mrs. Adams to tell me her secret ingredients a couple years ago. She said I could have it if I went on a date with her son.”
“Wow, and you didn’t think that was worth it?”
“He lives in her basement, collects antique dolls, and believes he is going outgrow his Type 1 Diabetes.” I explain.
“Okay, so maybe there’s a red flag somewhere in there.
” We both chuckle while we share our fried dough and watch the river swirl by us.
His company is comfortable, and he seems so self-assured and relaxed that it is easier for me to feel the same way.
We grab coffees and wander the shops. He buys me a scarf that I say I like and holds my hand.
I introduce him to the shop owners and other acquaintances from town that stop to say hello.
He knows a surprising number of people in town already, a testament to the type of energy he puts into the world.
The whole afternoon is warm, and this terrifying feeling of contentment is swirling in my heart.
I could like this. I could love this. I could lose this.
Nick is all smiles, all charm, and it is contagious.
Everyone we interact with clearly picks up on it too.
The sunshine in his demeanor sets the tone for the outing and I couldn’t help but admire that about him.
I try to be a positive person, but it’s quietly so.
Nick can cast his glow, which makes being in his orbit feel particularly warm.
Until it wasn’t. Until I watched his light burn out.