The time to ask if he would’ve wanted to come to the shower has definitely passed. Changing plans at the last minute would be bad, probably be a big red flag. I know it is for me. Plus, what if he wouldn’t want to reschedule? Or what if he meets my family and thinks we’re all a little out of pocket? I hadn’t even thought of that! I can’t be the weirdo who introduces someone to their family on the first date!
I smile down at the screen, feeling heat radiating through me. So this is the best decision for us. Date first, shower later.
ME: Me either
I put on a pair of brown tights with my turmeric-yellow miniskirt and an olive-green cropped sweatshirt. I look between a pair of heeled booties and my black Vans, and decide the Vans make the most sense. What if I have to park far from the entrance?
I let my hair down out of its braids. I dried it with a hot air brush this morning and combed more oil through it, so instead of being a tangled mess, it’s just wavy and thick. After I put on my makeup, I take one last look in the mirror before putting my phone into my purse and walking over to my window.
The sound of the bathroom door creaking raises the hairs on the back of my neck, and I stand frozen in front of my open window as I listen to the floor creak. I hold still until I hear Sam pass my closed door and shut the door to her bedroom, and then I step out of my window one leg at a time and shut the window behind me.
It’s cold outside, enough that I can see my breath in front of my face. I traded my coat for a jean jacket so that I’d look more like a high school girl than the Michelin Man. As I make my way to the edge of the roof, I can hear the music that Mom is playing in the living room. I had to help her start decorating this afternoon for Sam’s party. She’s really taking the winter wonderland theme to heart. We had to cut out snowflakes to hang from the ceiling. And we used green scrapbook paper to make a bunch of Christmas trees to hide all over the living room as part of a game. Each tree has a fact about Sam and Geoffrey’s relationship on it.
Thankfully, directly below my room is part of the kitchen that doesn’t have any windows. I toss my purse down first and look over the edge to try to gauge the best way for me to jump off. Which turns out to be for me to sit down on the edge of the roof, praying I don’t get any stains on my skirt. I look over the black tips of my Vans and envision my feet on the ground below.
I start counting down from three in my head and then realize that three isn’t enough, so I start over from ten. At six, I think I hear a knock at the door in my bedroom, though from out here it could also be in my parents’ room. I snap my neck around to look, wondering if maybe I should’ve locked my door.
When my door doesn’t fling open, and my cover isn’t blown, I lean forward. A shingle loosens beneath my hip. All too fast, it slides, shifting my body just enough that I lose my balance and feel gravity pulling me as if we’d been playing tug-of-war and I just now gave up.
Needless to say, it hurts when I land in the bushes. I roll off the bushes involuntarily, my body seeking solid ground without my control. Grass never felt so soft, and I’ve never been so thankful for my parents’ not expanding the deck behind the den.
When I roll over, I feel the cold fabric of my purse. I pull it to me and push myself up off the ground, not wanting to waste any time. I stick close to the house, hiding under windows as I make my way around to the front. I pull twigs out of my hair as I bolt across the lawn, praying Mom or Dad aren’t looking out the living room window right this second. For once, Sam’s parking in my spot in the driveway proves to be a good thing because all the way down in the street, my parents won’t be able to tell if my car is still here or not.
My heart doesn’t stop racing until I’m in my car turning at the end of our street, and know there’s no way they’ll be able to find me for the next few hours. Even though my heart slows, my body buzzes all over. I can’t believe I’m doing this! Sneaking out to meet a guy that I really like, a guy that’s actually into me. I keep trying to stop smiling but I can’t.
I park behind November Always and look at my phone. Darth hasn’t said anything since earlier, so I send him a quick text letting him know that I’m here, before getting out of the car. The daunting thing about not knowing him is that I don’t know who I’m looking for. Any of these cars could be his, and as I push through the door of the diner, I scan all the booths and barstools, wondering if anyone is him.
Surprisingly, the diner isn’t super packed. When you first walk in, there’s a clear path that runs the length of the diner. To the left is the sit-down counter, with a stainless-steel rim that juts out above the royal-blue cushioned barstools. The counter stops short of an emergency exit at the back. On the right side are old train seats that were converted into raised booths. The seats are gray with a royal-blue-and-purple confetti pattern that is fun but also not too much. There’s a weird calming energy that comes over me whenever I come here. Even on Halloween, I felt better once we arrived. And in the past, when I came here with my family, there was just always something nice about Sam and me sitting across from our parents, talking over waffles and pancakes dusted with powdered sugar.
It smells of syrup and coffee, and I wave to the waitress behind the counter and point to an open booth. She waves me on, and I step up into the seat, thankful that I can look out the window while I wait. I check my phone again and see that Darth hasn’t replied.
“Can I start you off with something to drink?” asks a guy not much older than me wearing a royal-blue paper hat with his diner uniform.
“Coke?” I say, realizing I should wait until Darth gets here before I order a milkshake. I wonder if he’s been to this diner before or if Halloween was his first time.
“One Coke coming up,” the waiter says, smiling and adjusting his glasses.
I check my phone again when the waiter leaves, and slide it onto the table when I see that Darth still hasn’t replied. I remind myself that I could’ve easily ended up running late, had anything about tonight gone differently. If Sam got into the shower before me. If she came into my room after her shower to go over last-minute plans that I would’ve had to pretend I cared about…
When the waiter returns with my glass bottle, I close my eyes and take a long sip through the straw, savoring the way the bubbles burn sweetly in the back of my throat. When I open my eyes, I startle.
“Mia?”
“Ben?” I say, staring at the last person I expected to see.
“What’s up?” he asks, leaning against my table.
“Nothing, just waiting for a friend,” I say, watching him. I remind myself that Darth Vader is Black, and Ben is Hispanic, his skin tone significantly lighter. The thought that Darth could be him is nice but unrealistic.
“Mind if I join you while you wait?” he asks, helping himself to the bench across from me.
He waves the waiter back over and says, “I would like two milkshakes. One chocolate and one—” He pauses to look at me.
“You don’t have to get me anything,” I tell him, leaning forward to sip my cola again.
“We’re celebrating. I got an A on my senior thesis paper!”
“Oh my gosh!” I say, louder than I intended. I blush a little and say, quieter, “Congrats! That’s so exciting.”
“I know. Don’t get me wrong. I still have to nail the presentation portion at the end of the semester, but it’s nice to know I’m over one of the hurdles. But, yeah, what kind of milkshake do you want? My treat.”
“Chocolate,” I say, smiling to myself about how we have the same favorite flavor. I watch him as he looks to the waiter. Does this mean the dog park is officially behind us?
“Two chocolate milkshakes,” the waiter says, tipping his hat to us.
“When did you get the grade?” I ask, glancing down at my phone.
“Today,” he says, unzipping his jacket. “Earlier this afternoon Mr. Zeigler posted them online. I told my parents and I told some friends, but I wanted to come here and have a milkshake. I told myself tha
t if I got an A, I would celebrate with a milkshake.”
“You definitely deserve one,” I tell him, leaning back. I admire him as he sits across from me. This is how things were originally supposed to go. We were supposed to end up here together. Thinking about that reminds me of how I thought I’d ruined any chance of him being my date to the wedding.
“You do too,” he says, recapturing my attention. I look up from my striped straw sitting in my half-finished cola.
“For what?”
“For solving that triple polynomial equation this week. You, me, and Michelle are the only ones who got it right.” He watches me for a moment before adding, “Plus, I imagine that kidnapping random people’s dogs to take them to the dog park is an exhausting venture.” He smiles slyly.
“I’m sorry about that,” I blurt. “I mean, pretending that it was my dog. I don’t know why I did that.”
“Was that your first time going to a dog park?” he asks.
“Was it that obvious?” I ask, resting my elbows on the table and covering my face with my hands.
“A little,” he says.
We pause when the waiter comes back. I notice that his name tag reads MARSHALL B., and I thank him before he walks away. He offers to get me another Coke, and I accept.
“Sloane was dog sitting and brought me to the park and asked me to—take over,” I say, trying not to lie without admitting the full truth.
“Ahhh,” Ben says, leaning down to take a sip of his shake. He licks the chocolate ’stache on his lip before adding, “So she left a dog in the care of someone who had no idea what they were doing. It sounds like you’re the victim here.”
He raises his eyebrows, and even though he’s joking, I can tell he’s being serious enough, so I don’t feel as embarrassed.
“I had no idea what I was doing,” I admit, leaning toward my straw and taking my first sip of the milkshake.
“Me yelling at you probably didn’t make things better,” Ben says, and I can hear the apology in his voice.
“Your being there helped,” I say, feeling my face get hot.
He smiles at me, and I reflexively look down so that he can’t see how much it affects me. I tap the home button on my phone and see that there still isn’t a text from Darth. But there are a few missed calls from Mom and five texts from Dad.
“Where’s your friend?” Ben asks.
I tell him that I don’t know, and glance around the diner. People from a few of the tables have left since I arrived, and a couple more people have showed up at the counter. But no one looks like they’re looking for me.
I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and watch the entrance to the diner. I can see that someone is coming, but through the glass covered with the November Always logo, it’s hard to discern if it might be Darth Vader. It’s not until the person steps completely inside that I realize another familiar face has arrived.
“Gavin!” I call out, waving.
He looks around and quickly finds me leaning out of the booth. He waves and walks over, then stops short when he sees Ben sitting across from me.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Getting some food. What are you doing here?” he asks quickly, eyeing Ben before looking back at me.
“I’m waiting for someone, and then we ran into each other,” I say, pointing to Ben.
“Hi. I’m Ben,” he says, smiling and holding out a hand for Gavin to shake.
Gavin takes his hand and shakes it absentmindedly, looking around the diner.
“I’m Gavin,” he says, even though he’s facing away from Ben and looking over toward the counter.
“Is this not the friend?” Ben tries to whisper, but I can tell Gavin hears him.
“No,” I say back. “This is Gavin. We’ve been working at the community garden together.”
“That’s cool. How has it been?”
“It’s going well. We’ve been remodeling the greenhouse. It’s kind of our special project,” I say.
I turn to look at Gavin and see him looking down at his foot, braced against the step up into the booth.
“Gavin, this is Ben, who I told you about,” I say, tilting my head in Ben’s direction and widening my eyes at Gavin.
“The Ben?” he asks, looking at Ben more closely.
“The Ben?” Ben asks, curious.
“I told him about what happened at the dog park,” I say. “I was so embarrassed.”
“Even though you had no reason to be,” Gavin adds quickly.
“Well, it’s all behind us now,” Ben says before taking another sip of his milkshake. He looks at mine and asks if I want another. Then, before I can answer, he asks if Gavin would like one.
“No,” Gavin says, looking toward the counter again. “I’m just getting takeout for me and my girlfriend. I can’t stay.”
“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” I say, watching Gavin, wishing he would look at me. “And I thought you were still grounded.”
“You never asked, and that ended a while ago,” he grumbles, low enough that I don’t think Ben heard. “But, yeah,” he says more loudly. “I’m just gonna wait for my food and get out of here.” Then to me he adds, “It was nice seeing you,” before walking over to the counter.
I watch as he walks up to the edge and starts talking to the waitress. Our waiter emerges from the kitchen with my Coke, and I turn back to Ben, feeling a little weird.
“So,” Ben says.
I check my phone and see that Darth still hasn’t texted me back. I text him again asking where he is, and if he’s still coming, but part of me feels like I’m being stood up. Another part of me fights to ignore the stone settling in my stomach as I tap decline on a call coming in from Mom.
“Are you guys ready to order?” Marshall asks as he pulls my empty Coke from in front of me and sets down the new one.
Ben raises his eyebrows. “I could eat,” he says, shrugging his jacket off his shoulders.
“Me too,” I say, happy that if I’m going to get stood up on my first real date, at least I’m spending the time with my high school crush.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Over a burger and a tuna melt, Ben and I talk about math team, and about swimming and soccer, and then we circle around to his dog, Carly. I wonder if this is what Gladys meant when she said not to watch the kettle, to just let it boil. I don’t have to think when I’m talking to Ben; we just move from one topic to the next without even realizing.
“Isn’t your sister getting married?” he asks as he reaches across the table to dip one of his fries into my puddle of ketchup.
“She is, in December.”
“That’s soon,” he observes, raising his eyebrows.
“Oh, I know. She knows. Everyone knows,” I say, laughing a little. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Are you excited?” Ben asks.
I sip my Coke, taking a moment to think. “Of course I’m excited. It’s just that so many things are changing all at once, you know?” Just being at November Always gives me an eerie feeling that the past is farther behind me than I thought. Sam used to do my hair and ask me fifty questions about the boys in my grade to figure out if I liked anyone—not that she knew any of them. Sometimes she’d tell me about the parties she went to in college, and I’d give her two French braids before she went to sleep. Now when she’s home, one of us is almost always slamming our door because the other took too long in the bathroom, or she’s asking me to do something for her but is never willing to return a favor as small as bringing me a glass of water from downstairs.
“I definitely understand that,” he says. “But change is good sometimes.”
“I know,” I say, looking down at the crumbs on my plate. “Soon she’ll be married, and hopefully she’ll go back to living in her apartment full-time instead of spending the night at our house so much.”
Ben smiles. “I’m sensing some tension?”
“Like, even though we grew up in the same house, afte
r she left for college and moved out, I got used to having the house to myself. My parents keep to themselves; I keep to myself. Half the time it’s like no one else is home. But now Sam has basically moved back in, and she showers when I want to shower. She eats my apples and drinks my fresh pressed juices and uses all my creamer!”
“She sounds like a sister,” Ben teases.
“How would you know anything about that?” I ask. “You probably suffer from only-child syndrome since your brother moved out so long ago.”
“Not really. My cousins are always around, and my aunts and uncles treat me like I’m their kid whenever they’re over.”
I try to imagine Ben in his big family. I wonder if his cousins are older or younger, if he’s more like a big brother or the younger brother. I don’t ask, though. I just keep watching him while he watches me.
“When is the wedding?” he asks.
“December twenty-second.”
“A true winter wedding,” he says, musing.
“Definitely. Sam is going all out on the decorations, and the tablecloths, and the centerpieces; she even tried to look up weather patterns for December nineteenth through the twenty-second for the past five years so that she could predict whether it might snow or not.”
As I list details, I see Ben’s eyes widen, so I keep going. “The cake is going to be decorated with snowflakes so that it looks like it’s snowing over a forest. And the reception is going to have a range of seasonal cocktails for everyone to try.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and she’s marrying Geoffrey Davenport, from the Davenport jam business. So, they’re going to incorporate their jams into the dessert menu. There’s going to be a sampling of tarts.”
“That sounds cool,” Ben admits.
We fall silent. He sips his milkshake, and I lean in to finish my cola. Music plays softly from the jukebox, and I notice the words for the first time. It’s “Devil Like Me” by Rainbow Kitten Surprise. I nod my head gently to the beat and watch Ben sipping his milkshake, and something stirs inside me.
The Meet-Cute Project Page 16
