Chapter Four First Date #3
Geez, this guy. But I smile, and I try. “Being a teacher can make you feel invisible and seen at the same time. Your kids rely on you, but then you’re on your own at night, or in the community, unless a child or parent recognizes you.
You feel important and lonely, or possibly overworked and underappreciated at the same time.
” I look at him thoughtfully and break off half of the massive slab of fudge he bought for me, handing it to him.
“I bet first responders feel the same. You’re always there when people need you, but out of the uniform?
Just an ordinary guy.” I look around the bustling little Night Market with fresher eyes.
People all seem to know each other, or at least be friendly and willing to get to know you.
Gordon has gotten nonstop waves, which he just answers with a returned swat of his hand and a grunt.
“I feel very welcome here. More than I did in my own home,” he says slowly, “but that is because this place is special. The people make it special. People like you. Who could stay, if they wanted.”
“Oh, not the guilt trip,” I moan, only half-joking.
“No guilt. Just knowing.” Gordon moves us on to a section of beautifully carved stone items. “Genesis,” he says.
“The Bible?” I ask, puzzled.
“No. Me.”
The tall, dark, and handsome guy running the stand is apparently also on the syllable conservation plan.
“These are beautiful.” I gently run a finger over two candlestick holders made of a smooth, finely grained stone that almost shimmers.
“Wrap them,” Gordon says, money on the little wooden counter.
“What? No!”
“I already paid. Too late.”
In less time than I would think possible, the stoneware is wrapped in paper, and we’re on our way, walking along the darker section of the Night Market, the very back row of the large lot that’s backed by rows of pines and is somehow more shadowy than the rows of stalls and tables before it.
“You don’t have to do that. I can pay for things, too,” I chide.
“You’re my guest. I asked you.”
“Then next time, if I ask you, you have to let me pay?” I counter.
Gordon looks annoyed. “I suppose. I don’t like that, though.”
I soften a little, because he genuinely looks distressed at the thought of my paying for a date. “You could come over for dinner. Have you ever had Filipino food?”
What the hell am I promising? I usually rely on my mom and titas for that kind of thing.
“No. I haven’t.”
“Well, you should.”
“Okay. I will.”
“Tomorrow night?”
There’s an audible swallow. I think it came from both of us. “Yes. Thank you.”
“Good. You’re welcome.”
More walking. I’m careful not to say I like anything, lest he suddenly demand it be wrapped up and put in my car.
“What did you mean, ‘knowing’?” I ask, because I’ve never learned the art of being quiet unless threatened by the stare of an older relative or a concert hall hush.
“Oh. Knowing. I know people who have left. I know people who stay. I know there are people who should stay, because this is a good place, and it deserves good people. Needs good people. You’re good people. We’d be lucky to have you.”
“Aw. Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”
Gordon doesn’t answer.
I know what I think she should say. She should say she won’t leave. She should say she believes me, just because I don’t have any reason to lie.
On the other hand, why should she believe me?
Or think I’m honest? I don’t know if I’m dating correctly.
I give her things when she likes them, because it makes her happy.
I love when she’s happy. I don’t know how to show that, either, and she makes me do stupid things like break bowling balls and give her these painfully awkward smiles that make my jaw hurt.
And I said yes to dinner at her place.
That’s a second date. I didn’t even want to go on the first one.
But now I’m glad I did.
“I don’t know what to say, either,” I confess, deeply miserable about my failure.
To my surprise, Andrea doesn’t demand I speak, or cluck in disapproval. Her hand just slips inside of mine.
So little. So light. These fingers make magical sounds of keys and strings. I make sure I don’t squeeze hard, just curl my fingers a little bit to let her know I like when she touches me.
If she knew I were a troll, if she knew my family had eaten her kind, had eaten cats, dogs, and whatever kills they could make—she wouldn’t like me. Or touch me.
My chest feels like the bowling ball. One big hole.
“I like that you don’t make up answers. Maybe sometimes people don’t need to talk to be happy together. Companionable silence. It’s a thing. It never happened in my house.”
“Mine, either.”
“My parents talked non-stop,” she giggles.
“Mine fought. Or the silence was dangerous,” I admit before I can stop myself.
Instead of retreating, Andrea squeezes her fingers around mine, tightly. “That must have been a rotten way to grow up.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you’re alone?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not right. A guy like you should have a... Sorry. My mouth and brain are incommunicado right now,” she chuckles, a forced, strained sound.
“Should have a dog?” I suggest. I know firefighters and Dalmatians are always together, like bacon and eggs, on kids’ shows and movies.
“Should have a family who adores you.”
“Oh. Oh?”
“You’d be good at it.”
“At what?”
“Being there. Making people feel safe. Feel better. It’s what good people do. I know.”
And I figure she must. She is one of those good people, after all.
Our walk has led us back to where she parked. “Let me get your door,” I say quickly. That will end the date, and then I can go back to the firehouse and think about something else. Anything else.
“Thank you for tonight. I had a great time. I don’t know about staying here... But I’m less sure I want to leave,” Andrea murmurs, unlocking her car, then sliding into the driver’s seat once I open the door for her.
My smile is huge and instant. “Really?”
“Really.” Her smile is just as wide.
I just stand here, holding the door, until I realize that Andrea can’t drive off like that. I quickly shut it, making sure her fingers aren’t in the way. “Good night,” I blurt.
“Good night. See you tomorrow? At six?”
I nod, swallowing hard. “At six.”