"So," he attempted, carefully wielding the cheese knife, "what kind of music do you listen to?"
"I listen to whatever's on the radio at work," she answered. "The girl I share an office with keeps something on all day."
He nodded, fumbling with the knife as he attempted to spread the cheese on a slice of bread. "So no favorite singers or bands or anything."
She took a sip of her water to fight the nausea. "Guess not."
He got up and excused himself to use the restroom. She took the opportunity to do a phone check — text messages from her mom, work emails, the obligatory scan of friend news on Facebook and real news on Twitter — and hastily put her phone away once she saw him walking back towards their table. It killed her not to have it on the table where she could better see updates buzz in, but she knew quite well that it was bad manners.
The next dish was an asparagus and brussels sprout appetizer that had been repeatedly recommended by the online community.
"What do you think?" he asked.
"It's pretty good," she responded. "Crunchy."
"Yeah."
-------
He wasn't sure how to make things better. Despite glowing recommendations from mutual friends, she wasn't quite as engaging or friendly as he had thought she would be. She was pretty, with long straight hair and a dash of freckles (unusual for someone of Asian descent), but so far, that's all he knew about her. And it had been almost an hour already.
Their respective main dishes appeared before them without much fanfare: crab cakes for him, catch of the day (trout) for her.
"To be honest, I'm not a huge fan of seafood," he offered.
"Oh."
She didn't look all too puzzled, but he continued, "But I'm trying to diversify my tastes so I'm not forty years old and still ordering chicken nuggets and spaghetti at every restaurant I go to." He was joking, but she didn't even bother smiling.
"How do you like the crab cakes then?"
"They're better than I expected, actually." He paused before asking, "How is your dish?"
"A little dry," she stated. "But flavorful."
-------
She regretted agreeing to the date. Not because he wasn't agreeable or polite — it was painfully clear that he was trying to make it an enjoyable time — but because she knew she wasn't being fair.
She was waiting on a text message. Or phone call. Or social media update. Or something. Anything that would indicate how a different date was going that evening.
-------
He saw her fidget, then realized she had placed her phone on the edge of her seat so that she could at least feel the phone vibrate against her knee when an update came in. He wasn't sure whether to feel offended or sorry.
"You can check your phone if you want to," he said, smiling as gently as possible to show that he wouldn't think poorly of her or be angry with her.
"Oh no, it's okay," she said, turning slightly pink. She tossed her phone back into her purse. "Sorry about that."
"No, don't worry about it. Really, if you're waiting on something or something at work came up, you can check if you need to."
"No, no," she repeated. "It's fine."
-------
"So," he attempted again as the waitress cleared the table, "have you been keeping up with the [insert politician here] story?"
"Not particularly," she admitted. "I should, since it's all over the news. What stance has he been taking?"
"Well, at first he said the government shouldn't have been liable for what happened, but it seems that public pressure has made him change his mind, at least, outwardly so."
"I see."
"It's unfortunate, he should have just started and stuck with the right stance."
She raised an eyebrow at him. "What is the right stance?"
He tensed up visibly. "Well, I don't think the government could have done anything differently to warrant these calls for liability. Even if people think government should handle instances such as this, it can't. Practically, it can't. It doesn't have that kind of power."
She had to refrain from staring at him too openly in half wonder and half disgust. "What do you mean, it doesn't have that kind of power? It could definitely support a particular policy and work to change the laws and that would send the message that, hey people, this isn't how things are supposed to be. We're not a backwards nation. We care about our people. We're a democracy."
He laughed, surprising her.
"What?"
"Nothing. It's just that those are the most words you've said all evening."
-------
After her outburst, she went back to being relatively reticent. He wasn't sure if he should have laughed, but he couldn't help himself. He could see why friends had thought they would get along well, but that had only been the first glimpse, and it wasn't all that promising.
-------
It was her turn to excuse herself to use the restroom, and she took her purse along with her (to fix her make-up, of course).
She took her time washing her hands, letting the lukewarm water run while she peered into the mirror. She felt a mixed sense of disappointment and dread and weariness weigh down on her as she prepared herself to return to the dining area. She willed herself to smile, practicing a few different expressions, then reapplied the lip gloss she had bought yesterday on impulse.
He had told her to have fun, that he hoped this guy would be able to match her in wit and style — people didn't say things like that to someone if they secretly harbored feelings for her/him, right? All this noble sacrifice of true feelings to defer to someone worthier was stuff that only existed in novels and movies, right?
Right, she reminded herself.
-------
Surprisingly, she suggested they take a short walk in a nearby park. He had to get back to the office to do one last thing before the weekend, but because it was on the way back, he agreed.
Considering it was almost April, the weather was still too cold to walk around without a jacket, but she held onto hers instead of wearing it. He also noticed that her right shoulder was slightly higher than her left shoulder, perhaps out of a habit of always carrying her purse with her right shoulder, as she did now.
"I love coming here whenever I visit," she said quietly. "Lots of memories."
She looked like she had more to say, so he kept silent.
"One summer, I saw a cellist here. It was incredibly hot outside — you couldn't take two steps out the door without sweating — and most of the people in the park were either sunbathing or quickly passing through, but he played like he was in Carnegie Hall or something. Of course, he was wearing a wife beater and sandals, and there were all these strange floral patterns in the wood of the cello, but he was more convincing than any concert cellist I've ever seen."
-------
She smiled at the memory. He had been there with her, taking photos of the cellist from all different angles even as she complained that it was too hot for any non-sadistic human to subject others to the rays of an angry sun. He waved away her complaints, telling her to drink from the frozen water bottles that he had packed, promising to treat her to ice cream in a minute.
"Just one more shot," he kept murmuring.
------
"Have you been to a lot of orchestra concerts?"
"Not a whole lot. Maybe about a dozen or so."
"That's a dozen or so more than me."
She turned to him and gave him a pitying(?) look. "You're missing out," she said.
"Classical music makes me fall asleep, unfortunately," he admitted. "My mom used to turn on a Yo-Yo Ma c.d. every night when I was a kid, for years, probably until I was maybe twelve years old? It was a good c.d., I guess, but it's made me associate classical music with bedtime for my whole life."
"That's terrible." She sounded genuinely disappointed, but instead of feeling apologetic, he suddenly felt very annoyed.
"Well, to each his own, right?" he managed to articulate before clamping his mouth shut and belatedly realizing that he had been feeling this way all evening.
-------
He almost never took shots of her, she had noticed over the years. Whenever she happened to accompany him on a photo shoot, he took hundreds of pictures of their surroundings — a random bench, a construction crane in the distance, ornate clocks, high schoolers playing hand ball, street vendors, broken glass, the clouds on all sorts of days — but not her.
Except once, when he asked her to be a part of one of his photography projects. Despite her best modeling efforts, the photographs turned out terribly in her opinion. It wasn't that he didn't have the skill; she believed it was because he didn't have the heart.
-------
Though he desperately hoped for someone from his office to call him so that he would feel less awkward or rude about making his imminent getaway, his phone remained uncalled. Luckily, they were reaching the edge of the park again, so he tried to think of a different topic to smoothly end their "date," if one could actually dub it a date after the way the evening had gone.
But before he could toss out the subject he came up with (whether she had made an NCAA bracket) she came to an abrupt halt.
He turned to look at her, and she wordlessly lifted one hand and wiped away at her face. He blinked.
"I'm really sorry," she said unexpectedly. "Coming into this, I really wanted to make this work if at all possible, but I just haven't been all..." she made a circular motion with her hand around her face "...here tonight."
"I noticed," he blurted, surprising himself. She too seemed startled by his honesty.
"I mean," he shifted his weight from one foot to another "it's okay. It was supposed to be pretty low-key, low pressure. Or actually, no pressure at all."
"Still," she rested on the word before she became silent.
-------
She had noticed a photograph that he had posted on his blog a few months ago — a girl reading a book. He had posted several portrait shots before, some from gigs and others from simply walking around the city, but there was something different about this one particular shot, and it bothered her.
She then found out a couple days ago that he had been interested in her, and that they were planning on going on their first date during the weekend she would be in town.
"Awesome," he responded when she told him she would be around. "You can help me decide what color tie to wear."
She laughed it off, then declined to do so, explaining that she had to get ready for a date too.
"No way," he said. "Well, if our dates are going awfully, we should plan to fortuitously meet in the park and turn it into a group date."
"What, and then try to set up our dates with each other?"
"No, just make it so awkward that they both feel compelled to leave early."
"Okay then, we'll have to time it right. Let's say two hours in?"
"Deal."
-------
They seemed to linger for a long time (in retrospect it was likely five minutes or so) in silence before she finally spoke up again.
"You know what, let me make it up to you," she started.
"You really don't have to," he assured, not sure what she had in mind and not sure if he wanted to know.
"I'm actually not this terrible of a person," she laughed nervously, "so can you do brunch tomorrow? I'm leaving on Sunday, but I don't really have particular plans for tomorrow before six o'clock."
He thought about it. Sensing his hesitation, she added, "It'll be even more low-key and definitely no pressure at all. But I understand if you don't ever want to see me again. I just feel like I've done a huge disservice to you, as well as our mutual friends."
She seemed genuine about it, but he wasn't sure if it would be worth it. He had planned to do some chores he had put off for the last two weeks tomorrow, and while he mentally conceded that those were some pretty lame excuses, he just felt more resistance the more he sat on the idea. He had just experienced first-hand what it meant to strive to keep the attention of someone who clearly did not want to be around him.
-------
She was big on commitment and big on responsibility. And she felt responsible for making a nice guy's evening difficult, committed to rectifying the situation.
But he ultimately declined, saying that maybe it just wasn't meant to be and that she made things easy for him, in fact, because he had actually been somewhat worried what would happen if things did work out — the distance, the mutual busyness of work and life, the artificiality of communication through technology.
-------
He felt uneasy about turning her down, and he felt uneasy about leaving for the office.
"I should probably walk you back, actually."
She shook her head. "No, it's fine, I'm not too far from the next block over anyway."
"So, even more doable for me. It'll just be a few extra minutes for me. I would probably have just spent it staring at the computer screen blankly anyway. It's been a long week."
"Well, it's the weekend now, so you should catch up on rest."
They passed by a rowdy bar and then a few trinket shops and then waited for the crosswalk to turn.
"Thank you though," she said.
They were three simple words, but they sounded strangely defeated. Maybe he was projecting, maybe it was the growing certainty that she had been wiping away tears earlier, maybe he thought he would regret not giving someone a second chance. But they did, and he sighed as the "walk" sign lit up and she started making her away across the street.
"Hey," he called out.
She reached the opposite side of the street and turned towards him.
"Low-key, no pressure, right?"
She nodded slowly.
"Let's do it. Round two? Or round one if you don't feel like counting tonight." The crosswalk started to count down so he quickly crossed and met her on the other side.
She smiled. "Okay."
He smiled back.
"Maybe leave your phone at home though."
© 2013 by Sarah R.
After her outburst, she went back to being relatively reticent. He wasn't sure if he should have laughed, but he couldn't help himself. He could see why friends had thought they would get along well, but that had only been the first glimpse, and it wasn't all that promising.
-------
It was her turn to excuse herself to use the restroom, and she took her purse along with her (to fix her make-up, of course).
She took her time washing her hands, letting the lukewarm water run while she peered into the mirror. She felt a mixed sense of disappointment and dread and weariness weigh down on her as she prepared herself to return to the dining area. She willed herself to smile, practicing a few different expressions, then reapplied the lip gloss she had bought yesterday on impulse.
He had told her to have fun, that he hoped this guy would be able to match her in wit and style — people didn't say things like that to someone if they secretly harbored feelings for her/him, right? All this noble sacrifice of true feelings to defer to someone worthier was stuff that only existed in novels and movies, right?
Right, she reminded herself.
-------
Surprisingly, she suggested they take a short walk in a nearby park. He had to get back to the office to do one last thing before the weekend, but because it was on the way back, he agreed.
Considering it was almost April, the weather was still too cold to walk around without a jacket, but she held onto hers instead of wearing it. He also noticed that her right shoulder was slightly higher than her left shoulder, perhaps out of a habit of always carrying her purse with her right shoulder, as she did now.
"I love coming here whenever I visit," she said quietly. "Lots of memories."
She looked like she had more to say, so he kept silent.
"One summer, I saw a cellist here. It was incredibly hot outside — you couldn't take two steps out the door without sweating — and most of the people in the park were either sunbathing or quickly passing through, but he played like he was in Carnegie Hall or something. Of course, he was wearing a wife beater and sandals, and there were all these strange floral patterns in the wood of the cello, but he was more convincing than any concert cellist I've ever seen."
-------
She smiled at the memory. He had been there with her, taking photos of the cellist from all different angles even as she complained that it was too hot for any non-sadistic human to subject others to the rays of an angry sun. He waved away her complaints, telling her to drink from the frozen water bottles that he had packed, promising to treat her to ice cream in a minute.
"Just one more shot," he kept murmuring.
------
"Have you been to a lot of orchestra concerts?"
"Not a whole lot. Maybe about a dozen or so."
"That's a dozen or so more than me."
She turned to him and gave him a pitying(?) look. "You're missing out," she said.
"Classical music makes me fall asleep, unfortunately," he admitted. "My mom used to turn on a Yo-Yo Ma c.d. every night when I was a kid, for years, probably until I was maybe twelve years old? It was a good c.d., I guess, but it's made me associate classical music with bedtime for my whole life."
"That's terrible." She sounded genuinely disappointed, but instead of feeling apologetic, he suddenly felt very annoyed.
"Well, to each his own, right?" he managed to articulate before clamping his mouth shut and belatedly realizing that he had been feeling this way all evening.
-------
He almost never took shots of her, she had noticed over the years. Whenever she happened to accompany him on a photo shoot, he took hundreds of pictures of their surroundings — a random bench, a construction crane in the distance, ornate clocks, high schoolers playing hand ball, street vendors, broken glass, the clouds on all sorts of days — but not her.
Except once, when he asked her to be a part of one of his photography projects. Despite her best modeling efforts, the photographs turned out terribly in her opinion. It wasn't that he didn't have the skill; she believed it was because he didn't have the heart.
-------
Though he desperately hoped for someone from his office to call him so that he would feel less awkward or rude about making his imminent getaway, his phone remained uncalled. Luckily, they were reaching the edge of the park again, so he tried to think of a different topic to smoothly end their "date," if one could actually dub it a date after the way the evening had gone.
But before he could toss out the subject he came up with (whether she had made an NCAA bracket) she came to an abrupt halt.
He turned to look at her, and she wordlessly lifted one hand and wiped away at her face. He blinked.
"I'm really sorry," she said unexpectedly. "Coming into this, I really wanted to make this work if at all possible, but I just haven't been all..." she made a circular motion with her hand around her face "...here tonight."
"I noticed," he blurted, surprising himself. She too seemed startled by his honesty.
"I mean," he shifted his weight from one foot to another "it's okay. It was supposed to be pretty low-key, low pressure. Or actually, no pressure at all."
"Still," she rested on the word before she became silent.
-------
She had noticed a photograph that he had posted on his blog a few months ago — a girl reading a book. He had posted several portrait shots before, some from gigs and others from simply walking around the city, but there was something different about this one particular shot, and it bothered her.
She then found out a couple days ago that he had been interested in her, and that they were planning on going on their first date during the weekend she would be in town.
"Awesome," he responded when she told him she would be around. "You can help me decide what color tie to wear."
She laughed it off, then declined to do so, explaining that she had to get ready for a date too.
"No way," he said. "Well, if our dates are going awfully, we should plan to fortuitously meet in the park and turn it into a group date."
"What, and then try to set up our dates with each other?"
"No, just make it so awkward that they both feel compelled to leave early."
"Okay then, we'll have to time it right. Let's say two hours in?"
"Deal."
-------
They seemed to linger for a long time (in retrospect it was likely five minutes or so) in silence before she finally spoke up again.
"You know what, let me make it up to you," she started.
"You really don't have to," he assured, not sure what she had in mind and not sure if he wanted to know.
"I'm actually not this terrible of a person," she laughed nervously, "so can you do brunch tomorrow? I'm leaving on Sunday, but I don't really have particular plans for tomorrow before six o'clock."
He thought about it. Sensing his hesitation, she added, "It'll be even more low-key and definitely no pressure at all. But I understand if you don't ever want to see me again. I just feel like I've done a huge disservice to you, as well as our mutual friends."
She seemed genuine about it, but he wasn't sure if it would be worth it. He had planned to do some chores he had put off for the last two weeks tomorrow, and while he mentally conceded that those were some pretty lame excuses, he just felt more resistance the more he sat on the idea. He had just experienced first-hand what it meant to strive to keep the attention of someone who clearly did not want to be around him.
-------
She was big on commitment and big on responsibility. And she felt responsible for making a nice guy's evening difficult, committed to rectifying the situation.
But he ultimately declined, saying that maybe it just wasn't meant to be and that she made things easy for him, in fact, because he had actually been somewhat worried what would happen if things did work out — the distance, the mutual busyness of work and life, the artificiality of communication through technology.
-------
He felt uneasy about turning her down, and he felt uneasy about leaving for the office.
"I should probably walk you back, actually."
She shook her head. "No, it's fine, I'm not too far from the next block over anyway."
"So, even more doable for me. It'll just be a few extra minutes for me. I would probably have just spent it staring at the computer screen blankly anyway. It's been a long week."
"Well, it's the weekend now, so you should catch up on rest."
They passed by a rowdy bar and then a few trinket shops and then waited for the crosswalk to turn.
"Thank you though," she said.
They were three simple words, but they sounded strangely defeated. Maybe he was projecting, maybe it was the growing certainty that she had been wiping away tears earlier, maybe he thought he would regret not giving someone a second chance. But they did, and he sighed as the "walk" sign lit up and she started making her away across the street.
"Hey," he called out.
She reached the opposite side of the street and turned towards him.
"Low-key, no pressure, right?"
She nodded slowly.
"Let's do it. Round two? Or round one if you don't feel like counting tonight." The crosswalk started to count down so he quickly crossed and met her on the other side.
She smiled. "Okay."
He smiled back.
"Maybe leave your phone at home though."
© 2013 by Sarah R.
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3 comments:
aww, nice!
i was actually sort of hoping she would drag out 2 hours and realize that the other guy was having fun. but i like this ending too! hahaha :x
i liked this :) glad you have time to write again ^^
i quite enjoyed this. :)
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