Chapter Six
Nobody had ever had the nerve to walk up to Rose, look her straight in the eyes, and invite her to dinner. Until Landon.
He found her in the library. The voice in her head telling her she was not enough had grown so quiet in those first few magical weeks—thanks in part to Poppy’s unending stream of unfiltered guidance—but when her White Noise essay came back with a bold black B on the cover page, the voice let out a loud scream.
You see? it said. You can pretend all you want, but you’ll never be good enough.
She hadn’t even entertained the idea that academics were something she would struggle with.
Even at her lowest and most distracted, she’d never failed to perform.
She would just have to do better. She would have to try harder, until the voice no longer screamed, but whispered.
So, she buckled down. If she wasn’t in class, she was studying.
If she wasn’t studying, she was sleeping.
When Landon sat down across from her in the library in a cushy armchair, dark hair ruffled from the hat he’d clearly just pulled off his head, tone playful and hopeful, she should have said no, but his offbeat presence instantly calmed her. He didn’t even need to ask twice.
Their small college town was brimming with restaurants, tucked into alleys, on back streets and side streets—as many as possible to meet the demand of the little college.
The tree-lined campus walkways gave way to tree-lined sidewalks that melted into bookstores, galleries, and bakeries.
Rose had timed her walk perfectly so that the sun was just setting behind the steeple of the Congregational church, set high atop a hill and visible from almost every angle of the sloping downtown.
Rose felt what she could only describe as embarrassment.
She should have broken out of the bubble of the library sooner, even for a few minutes.
If someone had asked her to describe the town that bordered the campus, she would have lied, speaking in sweeping platitudes.
Now, if asked, she would tell them that the town smelled like freshly baked cookies and popcorn thanks to the artistry at work at Otter Creek Bakery and the small two-screen movie theater that seemed to play only classics.
She would tell them that the river ran through the town’s center with such force that listening could easily be likened to meditation, and that regardless of what they sold, every store somehow had the ethos of a farm-to-table restaurant.
That’s what she would tell her mother, if she ever asked.
It was what her father already knew, behind those increasingly vacant eyes.
Rose paused a moment at the door to the restaurant underneath a sign that read SABAI SABAI THAI.
She had the sudden urge to call her father and tell him that she’d been asked to dinner by a funny, earnest boy with the mannerisms of a stick insect.
Rose imagined the way the smile would spread across his face, accentuating the deep lines on his forehead and between his eyebrows.
She could almost hear his voice, mellifluous and low, telling her how pleased he was; that she had made his day with that news.
The thought was enough that Rose gave in and dialed the number she’d had memorized since she was fifteen years old. A woman picked up on the third ring.
“I’m calling to check in on my dad,” Rose said, with a false cheer she’d perfected over the years. “He’s in room 303. How is he doing today?”
“You’re James’s daughter,” the woman said warmly. “Will you hold while I go check in with his care nurse?”
“Sure,” Rose said. “Of course.” The river roared behind her and she closed her eyes, letting the sound wash her nerves.
“Rose?” the woman said, coming back on. “Thanks for holding, sweetie. He settled down after breakfast, but he’s been a bit agitated. Nothing that would require changes in medication, and his nurse wanted to be sure I told you that he had a wonderful time in music therapy this afternoon.”
Rose swallowed. She shouldn’t ask. She knew she shouldn’t. “Has he mentioned me?”
“Not today.” The woman paused a long moment before saying, “The nurse says you’re always welcome to try, though. Do you want me to put you on with him?”
Did she? Rose wanted to tell him about the date with Landon.
She wanted to share this place with her dad: the smell of cookies from Otter Creek Bakery, the sloping downtown, the trees and the river.
Could she risk the possibility he would think himself talking to a stranger—an animated young woman in a beautiful place he no longer remembered?
“No, that’s okay,” she said. “But if he asks for me, would you call?”
“Of course,” the woman said. “Of course.”
Though it pained her each time, Rose had learned how to compartmentalize these feelings.
She closed her eyes and imagined stuffing them in a box and locking the lid tight—a trick from her high school guidance counselor.
They would wait for her there until she was alone and ready to face them, though sometimes she left them without light longer than she should.
Rose pocketed her phone and opened the glass door.
The restaurant was cozy, heat blasting from ancient vents though it wasn’t cold enough yet to feel necessary.
The decor was simple and pleasant—sturdy furniture, brightly painted walls, basic wood paneling, and a Buddha statue on the hostess desk.
Large windows offered views of the charming downtown and the few people passing by.
Landon sat in the back, at the very last table, face reddened by a particularly bright candle shining in a pink votive.
He waved with just the smallest bit of hesitation, as if wondering if she’d turn him down at the last minute.
Rose waved back, trying to exude a sense of calm she did not feel.
Her heart was beating too fast for whatever this was.
“Hi,” Landon said, standing as she approached. She was about to tell him not to get up, but in the time it took her brain to give the signal to her mouth, he’d already crossed the table and pulled the chair out to the side for her to sit.
“You don’t have to do that,” Rose said.
“Already did.”
She pulled in the chair loudly and stared down at her fingernails. If she just looked hard enough, she could dare herself to be the girl he’d met all those weeks ago. It was staggering to Rose how quickly she’d extrapolated from one experience—one underperformance—that she didn’t belong.
“I like your sweater,” he said. “That color looks great on you.”
It was, of course, from Poppy’s closet—one of at least fifty sweaters with “delicate, hand wash only” on their dainty labels. It was bold and beautiful.
“I like wearing green here,” Rose said. “It makes me feel like part of the landscape.”
Landon laughed. “Well, you don’t look it. You stand out, Rose.”
She picked up a menu to hide what his words had done to her. There was something about sitting across a table from him that stripped her bare in a way that even stripping her clothes off hadn’t. “No one has ever accused me of that.”
“Get used to it,” Landon said with a sweet, lopsided smile. “See anything on there you like?”
Rose skimmed the plastic-wrapped menu she’d been cradling. “Curry, probably. Green, medium heat.”
“Green again.” He smiled. “I hear the dishes here are surprisingly spicy.”
“I like spicy.”
Their waiter sidled up to the table and poured ice water into the empty glasses in front of them. “Ready to order?”
“Another minute, please,” Landon said, still studying the menu. “I just want to make sure I’m not missing anything.” The waiter nodded and left them.
“This menu is as long as a phone book,” Rose said. “Are you really going to read the whole thing?”
“There.” Landon’s pointer finger landed on a target. “Suea ring hai. I’ve never had it before.”
Rose laughed. “I’ve never had almost everything on this menu.”
“Exactly,” Landon said, the lopsided smile evening out as it grew. “I try to order something I’ve never eaten before.”
“Huh,” Rose said, cocking her head. “That’s kind of cool.”
“It’s all I’ve ever wanted, to be ‘kind of cool.’”
“What made you decide to do that?”
Landon put his menu down and smoothed out a few bubbles in the plastic.
“My parents took us out to dinner a lot. Mom absolutely loathes cooking unless it’s a holiday.
But when you do something that’s supposed to be special over and over, it starts to feel normal.
Boring, even. So I did what I could to make it fun.
Jess wanted no part in it, though she did find her own thing.
She must have read over two hundred books while we were camped out in restaurant booths. ”
Rose couldn’t know that this quirk she initially found so sweet would someday come to annoy her so much they’d have to leave her favorite Cambodian restaurant before their meals arrived, smoke practically billowing out of Rose’s nostrils as she begged him to just order something he knew he would like—something that wouldn’t cause a stomachache that would take days to recover from.
“Are you telling me that this”—she waved her hand at the two of them and gestured to the place settings—“is not special? This is just Saturday night for you?” She was mostly kidding, but there was a kernel of truth to the question.
If she’d read the room wrong, she wanted to know sooner than later, her tolerance for unclear expectations at an all-time low.
“No,” Landon said, suddenly serious. Then he lifted his arm up to reveal an enormous sweat stain leaking through his blue button-up. “Saturday night dinner doesn’t usually make me so nervous I ruin my clothes.”
“I make you nervous?”
“Oh yeah,” he said, all smiles once again. “Terrified.”
“Another first.”