by Beth Vogt
“Erik.”
“What?”
“That’s his name—Erik.”
“You have to be more creative than that. Something like Nanuk or Oscar or Swimmy.”
“Swimmy?”
“It’s better than Erik.”
“You said I get to name him—and I did.” She tucked the plush memento into the top of her black cross-body purse. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But that furry thing looks nothing like me.”
“You’re right—whiskers but no beard.”
“You’ve never liked my beard, have you?”
Sadie scanned Erik’s face: his deep-set blue eyes, hawkish nose, and firm jaw. “I admit I wasn’t too happy a few years ago when you announced you were growing it.”
“Why not?”
“I wasn’t crazy about the whole lumberjack look.” Sadie reached up and touched the dark blond hair covering his jaw. “But your beard is nice. You keep it trimmed—not all wild and crazy like Karl Marx or . . . or one of those Duck Dynasty guys.”
Erik’s boom of laughter caused the people around them to stop and stare. “That’s quite a jump in history—Karl Marx to Duck Dynasty.”
“You know what I mean.” She dropped her hand, tucking it into the pocket of her skirt. “It’ll be a long time before I give you a compliment again.”
And it would be even longer before she touched Erik Davis’s face again. His beard was soft. And his full lips had curved into a much-too-alluring smile. Where had the thought of letting her fingers trail up to the hair along his temple, which he also kept trimmed close, come from? Followed quickly by a desire to kiss him.
“You want to go see the mermaids?”
What? Sadie shook her head, clearing her thoughts. The mermaid show. “No, I don’t think so.”
Erik linked his arm through hers. “You never dreamed about being a beautiful underwater sea creature?”
“No.”
She’d dreamed about being beautiful for years—all the while enduring the teasing of classmates. A taunt whispered across her mind. Pirate. But if you were the only kid in class wearing an eye patch, what else would your classmates call you? Disappearing into the ocean had never been part of the dream. Becoming invisible, yes.
“Sadie?”
Sadie pulled her hand away from her left eye. “What?”
“Do you have a headache?”
“No. No. I’m fine. Lead on to the next exhibit.”
It’d been worth crawling underneath the exhibit to the viewing half domes to make Sadie laugh again. Of course, the space was built to accommodate children, not grown men. Through the haze of blue water, distorted multicolored fish darted by against the backdrop of the faint outlines of the people standing around the tank. Where was Sadie? How long did he need to stay under here to get her talking to him again? And why had she suddenly gone silent?
As he backed out into the open space again and rose to his feet, he bumped into someone. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem—Erik?”
Dusting his hands off, Erik turned and faced Charlie Ferguson from church.
“Hey, Charlie. You here with the family?”
“Yep. Angie’s talking with Sadie.”
“Perfect day for the aquarium, isn’t it?” The two joined Sadie and Angie and the Fergusons’ three children. “Did you all watch the mermaid show?”
“We sure did.” Angie looked from Erik to Sadie and back again. “So, what brings you two to the aquarium?”
Erik draped his arm around Sadie’s shoulder, unable to ignore the way she stilled. “We’re on a date.”
Now Sadie went ramrod stiff. “We’re not dating . . .”
“Yes, yes we are. Dating, I mean.” Erik kept the smile on his face despite Sadie’s swift kick to his ankle. Ouch. “I asked Sadie out and she accepted. So this is a date.”
“Wow, that was fast.” Angie’s eyes widened. “Last I heard, you were dating Lydia.”
“Um, yeah. I was. But now I’m not.” Great. He sounded like a jerk. “I’m out with Sadie. Today.”
“That’s wonderful.” Angie waved as Charlie tugged her toward the next display of fish. “Well, we’ll see you at church.”
When the family turned away, Sadie aimed another kick at his ankle.
“Come on, Sadie! Are you trying to cripple me?”
“What are you doing, telling them that we’re dating?”
“This is a date.”
“This is a between-you-and-me date. You don’t have to announce it to the whole church.”
“I didn’t announce it—”
Sadie stomped away, forcing Erik to double-time it to keep up with her. “Angie’s going to put us on the prayer chain!”
“What? The prayer chain is for prayer requests.”
Sadie bowed her head, hands clasped together, her voice a muted whisper. “We need to pray for Sadie and Erik. Yes, they’re dating! I saw them at the Denver Aquarium! It was so cute! We need for God’s will to be done in their relationship. We need to pray that they stay pure and not give in to temptation . . .”
“Now you’re being absurd.”
“You have obviously never volunteered for the prayer chain.”
“Yeah, and if that’s what really happens, I don’t plan to either.” Erik risked taking her hand and pulling her toward the exit, keeping space between them in case she decided to kick him again. “Are you hungry? I thought we could have lunch at the Cheesecake Factory.”
“Bribing me with cheesecake isn’t going to make me forgive you.”
“It’s worked in the past, Sadie JuJube. Cheesecake is my go-to plan when I need you to like me again.”
“Humph.” Sadie allowed him to lead her toward the exit. “It’s a good thing I like cheesecake. And you’re wrong again.”
“I’ll figure out your middle name one day.”
“So you think, my friend. Seventeen years and counting.”
“I’m no quitter. You should know that about me by now.”
Sadie ran her hand down the front of her chef’s coat, pressing a palm against the queasiness in her stomach. She never had flying-out-of-formation butterflies when she stood before an “audience” in the Hartnetts’ kitchen—or the Coopers’. Yes, this morning’s audience was live—but they were also invisible. She’d just pretend they were as imaginary as the ones who were presented with her weekly meals.
Even though the local morning show was on a commercial break, she refused to mess with her bright red bandana. No need to risk getting it misaligned—or pulling it off altogether. Relax. The set was almost like home: truncated counter, a range and sink, her already-prepared pistachio encrusted pork loin sitting off to one side, all the ingredients separated out into clear glass bowls surrounding a prepped, uncooked pork loin.
“Mel said the two of you went to culinary school together?” Derrick Franklin, the male counterpart of the morning team, continued a steady stream of questions during the commercial break.
“Yes. At the Broadmoor.”
“Are you working at a restaurant now?”
“No, I’m a private chef for several families in the metro area.”
“Interesting.” He faced the TV camera as the lights came up. “Time for our segment. Cynthia does the intro and then we’re on. Just relax and pretend we’re talking in your kitchen.”
As she stared into the bright glow of the lights, Sadie tried to swallow, the smile on her face causing her lips to tremble. Why hadn’t she asked for a bottle of water?
We’re just talking in the kitchen. Pretending to cook. It couldn’t be simpler. In less than five minutes, you’re out of here.
Sadie stood in the Coopers’ kitchen, the cup of coffee gone cold in her hand. She’d stored the groceries in the fridge. Changed into her chef’s coat. Set out her menu and her knives. And here she stood, already half an hour behind schedule.
Imaginary lights, camera, action!
Today she couldn’t even
conjure up a smile for an imaginary audience.
Of course, being an utter failure on live TV—knowing real people had witnessed her on-air mortification—well, that was enough to make her want to abandon cooking all together.
The debacle had happened two days ago, and thinking about it still caused her to groan out loud. She’d flustered—if not completely frustrated—Derrick Franklin. Once the segment was over, he’d walked off the set with nothing more than a curt, “Thank you for your time.” And she was almost certain the cameraman had covered up a laugh with a lousy imitation cough.
When the station manager asked her to bring in a fun recipe, she’d selected a favorite, one she’d prepared dozens of times. She’d chatted with the host during the commercial break. Sure, she’d felt a little nervous, but didn’t everyone?
And the minute they went live . . . she couldn’t remember how to boil water. Franklin had to almost drag every word out of her, filling in the awful silences with statements like “And before we came on the air, didn’t you mention something about trimming the fat off the pork loin?” Franklin’s eyes pleaded with Sadie to relax. Be normal. Be anything other than a freaked-out chef.
She’d hacked on the piece of meat while mumbling about needing to remember to remove the “silver skin” too. But did she explain that was a tendon membrane? No. And if the camera zoomed in while she prepared the stone-ground mustard, honey, and red wine sauce, then everyone in the Denver area saw her hands shaking like she needed a stiff drink.
The ring of her cell phone shattered the memory. Erik. He’d called her twice a day since her death-by-morning-show disaster. She retrieved the ingredients for chicken cacciatore from the fridge, piling them on the counter. “I’m fine, Erik.”
“Are you convincing me—or yourself?”
“Very funny.”
“Sadie, you weren’t that bad.”
“You’ve never lied to me before. Don’t start now.”
“You’re making this worse than it was.”
“I was there, Erik.” Sadie turned on the water and began rinsing the fresh vegetables in the sink. “I didn’t even remember my own recipe for pistachio encrusted pork loin.”
“Always a favorite of mine.”
“I couldn’t say pistachio. Pistachio.”
“You did now.”
“I sounded as unintelligible as Tom, the Muppets’ Swedish Chef.”
“You did not—wait a minute. The Swedish Chef’s name was Tom?”
“I saw it on YouTube once—it was some sort of ad lib by Danny Kaye during a skit.” Sadie slumped against the counter. “It doesn’t matter. I flopped.”
“Stop beating up my best friend, will you? You looked adorable.”
“No one who is scared to death looks adorable.”
“I did not call to argue with you.”
“Fine.” Sadie pressed her damp forefinger and middle finger to her left eye. Headache coming on. “You don’t usually call me during work hours anyway.”
“True—you don’t answer your phone.”
“I’m off-schedule.” And not likely to catch up if she kept chatting with Erik. “What do you need?”
“I wanted to see if you’d go out with me again.”
Another date? Was Erik just trying to make her feel better?
“Why?”
“The proper response is yes or no—and I sincerely hope you say yes, Sadie Jasmine.”
“A Disney princess name?”
“Jasmine happens to be a flower, too, you know.”
“Whichever—you’re still wrong.”
“Fine. I’ll keep guessing.”
“You always do.”
“Back to my question: Will you go out with me again? Please?”
She silenced the why demanding to be asked again. The first date had been fun. Just for a moment a dangerous emotion had flared, but she’d extinguished that quickly enough. And she did need to keep herself busy.
“Sure. I’ll go out with you again. What are we doing?”
“That’s a surprise. Just be comfortable—and ready for a good time.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes. Call Mel. She’s worried about you.”
Sadie slumped against the edge of the sink. “Mel called you?”
“Only ten times. Call her.”
“I will. I’m just so embarrassed—and I let her down.”
“Mel’s your friend—she’s on your side, Sadie. She told me she wishes she’d gone with you so she could’ve helped.”
Something between a whimper and giggle escaped Sadie’s lips. “Oh, that would have entertained the TV audience.”
“Well, at least you laughed.”
“Barely.”
“It’s a start. Now get to work. I know how you hate to be off-schedule. See you Saturday.”
How odd that Erik was asking her out when their friendship started all because she had asked him to the Sadie Hawkins Dance.
She could do this.
The middle-school hallways were filled with the sounds of students talking as they opened their lockers and slammed them shut. The overhead clock in the hallway ticked down the last five minutes before homeroom started. Guys and girls yelled hellos, laughter clogged the air, and occasionally someone yelled “Hi, Sadie” and broke her concentration.
The rules for the Sadie Hawkins Day Dance were clear: A girl could ask a guy to the dance on November 13. And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t talked to Erik Davis. They were lab partners in science. Sometimes he even called her when he missed school and needed to find out about the day’s assignment.
So why was she sweating through her Just Do It Nike T-shirt?
Sadie positioned herself next to Erik’s locker. He often arrived in a rush, racing the homeroom bell, shoving his backpack into the locker, slamming the door shut with a metallic clang.
All she needed was one minute. Less, even.
And there he was, blond hair disheveled, his gray T-shirt wrinkled.
She chewed on her bottom lip. “Hey, Erik.”
“Sadie.” He manipulated the lock and swung open his locker. Shifted his backpack from his shoulder and shoved it inside. Grabbed a few books.
She gulped a breath, forced a grin. “So . . . I was wondering if you wanted to go to the Sadie Hawkins Dance with me next Friday. It’d be fun.”
Now came the yes, and they could go their separate ways and she could breathe again.
“Um . . . the Sadie Hawkins Dance?”
Did Erik’s voice crack? Poor guy.
“Yeah, you know. They’ve been announcing it over the intercom every morning.”
“Yeah. That.” Erik jumped as the bell rang for homeroom. “I don’t think so, Sadie. Thanks anyway. Gotta go—we’re gonna be late.”
She watched him lope off down the hallway, never once looking back.
He said no.
No.
Her cheeks burned and her lungs ached when she tried to draw a breath. Instead of going to homeroom, she marched to the girls’ bathroom, avoiding her reflection in the mirror over the sinks. She locked herself in a stall, leaning back against the cold metal door.
It didn’t matter. It was a stupid dance. And Erik was a stupid boy.
Sadie squeezed her eyes shut, knuckling away the lone tear that managed to escape and trail down her face.
She’d go to the dance by herself. Lots of girls did.
And nobody knew she’d asked Erik Davis—and that he’d said no. She could only hope he wouldn’t tell his buddies and laugh at her.
Well, if he did, she’d make sure he flunked science—even if it meant she had to flunk it too.
As she began setting up to cook, the clatter of pots and pans jarred her back to the present. She could laugh at that memory now, knowing how she and Erik both ended up at the dance by themselves. How they’d hung back by the refreshments, watching their classmates dance. And how they’d talked. About their teachers. And how Erik liked to play baseball. And Sadie liked
to bake. And then they started inventing crazy secret lives for the chaperones. By the end of the evening, the entire middle-school faculty was a front for a secret agency that battled crime.
And she and Erik weren’t just lab partners anymore . . . they had become friends.
You’re supposed to let me lead.” Erik repositioned Sadie so she stood facing him again. His big toe was probably swelling from the way she’d tromped on it.
“I’ll let you lead once you know what you’re doing.” Sadie watched her feet, trying to keep up with the rhythm of some song about Joshua and the battle of Jericho. Who knew you could swing dance to a song retelling a Bible story?
“We’re both beginners. Stop leading and follow me.”
Other couples moved across the wooden floor in the small room on the upper floor of the Mercury Café in Denver, swinging and swirling around them. They laughed and smiled whether they were getting the dance moves right or not.
Strings of tiny white lights covered the ceiling. Halfway through the free hour-long lesson, she and Erik still looked as if they were involved in some sort of stand-up arm wrestling contest. Why couldn’t they catch on to the instructors’ directions?
“Breathe, Sadie. Of course, if you pass out on me, it’d be easier to take charge.”
“Ha-ha. You’re hysterical.”
“And you’re still not relaxed.”
Sadie risked looking at Erik. “I am relaxed.”
“This”—Erik contorted his face into something between a frown and a grimace—“does not communicate relaxed.”
“I’m concentrating.” She closed her eyes. Listened to the music for a moment to recapture the beat. Opened her eyes as Erik tried to maneuver her through another swing-dance step.
“Don’t concentrate so hard. Have fun.”
Sadie clenched her teeth. “How can I have fun when I don’t know what I’m doing?”
Erik swung her in yet another awkward circle, pulling her up against him. “Sadie, most of the people here don’t know what they’re doing.”
She nodded to a young couple who executed a perfect underarm twirl. “They do.”
“They’re cheaters. Very good, experienced cheaters who could teach the class—but still cheaters.” He swayed back and forth, his hand warm against her back. “You know why I wanted to do this tonight?”
