Chapter 13 The First Date
The First Date
Eliza
Early August, Saturday
The mini golf course in Brookline is exactly as ridiculous as I remembered. Neon windmills, a pirate ship with a working cannon, a loop-de-loop that defies the laws of physics. The kind of place designed for children's birthday parties and adults who refuse to take themselves seriously.
Julian looks deeply suspicious of the whole enterprise.
He stops at the entrance, staring at hole seven. "There's a volcano. An actual volcano with fake lava."
"The lava lights up when you make a hole in one. It's very exciting."
"This is nothing like real golf."
"I told you it wasn't." I select a purple putter from the rack, testing its weight. "Real golf is about expensive clubs and passive-aggressive networking. This is about defeating a mechanical octopus."
"There's a mechanical octopus?"
"Hole twelve. Eight moving arms. Nobody beats the octopus."
Julian picks up a green putter, looking at it like it might bite him. He's dressed casually today, jeans and a henley, and he looks more relaxed than I've seen him in months. Or maybe I'm just looking for signs that he's trying.
He is trying. I have to give him that. He showed up exactly on time at Naomi's, didn't push when she gave him her most intimidating glare, and left his phone in the car when we got here. Small things. But after six months of small disappointments, small victories feel significant.
He gestures toward the first hole. "Ladies first."
"How chivalrous. And how convenient, since you'll get to watch my technique."
"I don't need to steal your technique. I have my own."
"Oh really? What's your mini golf strategy?"
"Hit the ball. Get it in the hole. How complicated can it be?"
Famous last words.
By hole three, Julian has sunk one clean shot and bounced another off a garden gnome. I'm winning by two strokes and trying very hard not to gloat.
He retrieves his ball from the edge of the path. "The gnome came out of nowhere."
"The gnome is bolted to the ground. It's been there for years."
"It looked at me funny."
"It's a gnome. It looks at everyone funny. That's its whole personality."
He lines up his next shot, all concentration and careful aim, and I watch his face as he calculates angles.
This is the same expression he wears in foundation meetings, the one that means he's taking something seriously.
The fact that he's applying it to a miniature windmill makes something warm bloom in my chest.
Stop it, I tell myself. One date doesn't prove anything.
But it's hard to stay guarded when he's glaring at a plastic windmill like it personally insulted his mother.
I step up beside him. "The trick is timing. Watch the blades. There's a rhythm."
"I can see the rhythm. The rhythm is chaos."
"That's what everyone thinks. But look." I point at the windmill's rotation. "There's a pause, right there, when the bottom blade clears the opening. That's your window."
Julian watches for a moment, then nods slowly. "I see it."
"So wait for the pause, then hit it straight and firm. No hesitation."
He sets up his shot again, eyes on the windmill. Waits. Waits. Then swings.
The ball rolls through the gap perfectly, curves around the track, and drops into the hole with a satisfying clunk.
"Ha!" He turns to me with genuine delight on his face. "Did you see that?"
"I saw it. I also taught you how to do it, so technically that's my point."
"That's not how scoring works."
"It's how moral victories work."
We move to the next hole, a pirate ship with a plank you have to navigate. Julian studies it with the same intensity he applied to the windmill.
He lines up his shot. "You used to do this a lot? Mini golf?"
"Naomi and I had a phase in college. There was a course near BU that did half-price games on Tuesdays. We'd go after exams to decompress."
"I didn't know that."
"You never asked."
It comes out sharper than I intended. Julian pauses, putter in hand, and looks at me.
He looks down at his putter. "You're right. I didn't. I should have."
I wait for the defensive follow-up, the explanation of why he was too busy or too distracted or too something to ask about my college mini golf habits. But it doesn't come. He just acknowledges it and takes his shot.
The ball rolls up the plank, teeters on the edge, and falls into the water trap.
"Damn."
"The plank requires a delicate touch."
"The plank requires sorcery."
By hole twelve, I'm winning by two strokes and Julian has developed a personal vendetta against the mechanical octopus. Two of its arms keep deflecting his ball no matter what angle he tries, and his frustration would be annoying if it wasn't so entertaining.
He points his putter at the octopus. "It's sentient. It knows I'm coming and it's specifically targeting me."
"It's a machine. It follows a pattern."
"The pattern is malice."
"Maybe the octopus just has good taste."
He pauses mid-swing and looks at me. For a moment something passes between us, a flash of the easy banter we used to share, the shorthand that comes from years of knowing someone. I'd forgotten how much I missed this. Just being silly together. Not everything has to be a crisis.
Julian takes his shot. The octopus deflects it into a sand trap.
"I'm going to buy this place and have that octopus dismantled."
"That seems like an overreaction."
"It's a proportional response to attempted assault."
"It's a plastic octopus."
"A plastic octopus with a vendetta."
We finish the course with me ahead by three strokes. Julian demands a recount, which I deny on the grounds that math doesn't work that way. We turn in our putters and walk toward the exit, and for a moment it feels almost normal. Almost like before.
Then my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out automatically, and I see Julian notice, see him tense just slightly. Waiting to see if I'm going to get pulled away by something more important, the way he used to.
It's just Naomi, asking if I want her to save me some croissants.
I type back yes please and put the phone away.
Julian tilts his head. "Everything okay?"
"Naomi's bribing me with pastries."
"Smart woman."
"She learned it from me."
We reach his car, and Julian opens the passenger door for me. I slide in, and he closes it gently, then walks around to the driver's side. The drive back to Naomi's is quiet but not uncomfortable, the kind of silence that feels like breathing room rather than avoidance.
When we pull up outside Naomi's building, Julian puts the car in park but doesn't turn off the engine.
His hand rests on the gearshift. "Thank you. For today."
"You lost by three strokes."
"I had a good time anyway."
I want to reach for him. The impulse surprises me, how strong it is. I want to lean across the console and kiss him the way I used to, quick and casual, the kind of kiss that means I'm glad you're here and nothing more complicated.
But we're not there yet. I don't know if we'll ever be there again.
I keep my hands in my lap. "I had a good time too. Even watching you get defeated by a mechanical octopus."
"That octopus cheated."
"That octopus is a local legend. Show some respect."
He laughs, and the sound of it does something to my chest. I'd forgotten how much I like making him laugh.
I open the car door. "I should go."
"Can I..." He stops, starts again. "Would you want to do this again? Something else, not mini golf. Unless you want mini golf. I'd do mini golf again."
"Even with the octopus?"
"I'd brave the octopus."
I stand in the open door, one foot on the curb, and consider. One date was supposed to be enough to see if he could show up. He showed up. He was present, he was funny, he didn't check his phone once.
One date isn't proof. But it's a start.
I rest my left hand on the door. "I have my final panel interview this week. The rescheduled one, for Claire's program. If it goes well, there's a presentation the following week. Kind of a public thing, for the institute."
"The final panel. I remember you saying it had to be rescheduled."
"Would you want to come? To the presentation. Not the interview, that would be weird. But the presentation."
Julian's face does something complicated. Hope, carefully restrained. "I'd like that. If you want me there."
"I'll text you the details."
"Okay."
"Okay."
I close the car door and walk toward Naomi's building. At the entrance, I turn back. Julian is still sitting in the parked car, watching me. I raise my hand in a small wave.
He waves back.
I go inside.