by Jo Noelle
Oh, I didn’t realize. Of course she is.
“And I want to be around friends.” She puts her arm around my shoulder and tips her head to touch mine. “Big change for me, you know.”
I nod, not knowing what to say next. Kind of a big change for me too. It’s not like I could ask her not to date because it could weird me out to see her with someone who’s not my dad—so could she just stay lonely? Nope. I’m going to have to be okay with it.
“How about you? Are you seeing anyone?”
“Yes, sort of.” We go out, but I’m not sure we have a relationship. But his kisses—mmm.
Mom nudges my shoulder when I haven’t gone on. “And?”
I get a nervous feeling in my stomach. If I tell his name, it sounds like we’re dating. Which we’re not—we just go on dates. Mom will ask me about him every time we talk. She’ll imagine clandestine meetings, romantic dinners, and hushed conversations about our future together. Soon she’ll be asking when we’re getting married. Do I want to go there? “His name is Liam.”
“How did you meet?” she asks impatiently, her hand tapping my leg.
Can I count drooling over him at the real estate office when we didn’t meet, or when he was a not-so-random stranger holding the door for me at my interview? No. But then, the bee incident and again drooling over him in the hallway, going to the library, don’t count either. Seriously, it’s like the universe kept putting us almost together. Not going there with Mom today. “We both work at the school.”
“Do I have to keep asking questions or are you just going to tell me?” She pulls a pillow onto her lap and settles deeper into the corner of the couch.
I do want to know Liam better. I want to see “I don’t know what to say. It’s not like we’ve decided anything.” There, that’s a nice neutral answer. End of discussion. My brain is firm, but my heart wants to spill more. I tamp it down. “We go out sometimes.”
“Don’t give me that, I can see it in your face. You’ve decided.”
All my resolve vanishes. “Yeah, I wish it were more. Sometimes I wonder if this is it. You know, it, like he’s the one. But my life is kind of a mess right now. Maybe I should get that right first,” I say, looking away from her. Mom always knows when I’m lying. Like now. Getting my life right feels like a lie. It’s a disaster.
“Always go with your heart. If it says to plan a life with Liam, do it. If your father and I had consulted our balance sheet before we married or had you, it’s likely neither would have happened. Life works out if you make decisions from your heart.”
We sit together, silently. My heart tells me Liam is the one I could spend my whole life with, but could he feel the same way about me? Tears fill the rims of my eyes. Probably not.
“Are you ready for your present?” Mom asks, thankfully changing the subject.
She retrieves a box wrapped in gold foil paper and tied around with white satin ribbon. She always wraps my presents to give a hint of what’s inside. This time I have no clue. “Something for a special occasion?”
I reach into the box and pull out beautiful, strappy high heels.
“How did you get these? These are from his fall collection!” I run my finger up the pyramid-tiled heel and across the Jimmy Choo label, then clutch the shoes to my chest. In a second, I kick my shoes away and pull off my socks. Some people think wearing high heels feels uncomfortable, but to me, it’s liberating. This is who I am, and when I put these on, everyone sees the real me.
I wear them the rest of the evening. My pink nails peek out the toes of my new shoes, resting on the ottoman between me and the TV screen. Not so long ago, Mom would never have spent hundreds of dollars on shoes. Her life changed in so many ways. When Dad died, she lost her best friend, but she always says Dad is still taking care of us. There was a large insurance settlement. He was certainly an agent who believed in the product he sold, and his belief continues to protect and assure Mom’s independence. Thanks, Dad. Thanks for taking care of us. Thanks for taking care of Mom.
“These were delivered for you this morning.” Mrs. Johnson leans in to smell a rose as she lifts the little envelope from the holder and hands it to me.
There is a large vase of flowers—yellow freesia, lime-green button mums, bright pink mini roses, purple caspia, and lemon leaf. This is not a grocery store bouquet—there isn’t a brown edge on any of it. It’s the kind of bouquet that says he thinks I’m unique, vibrant, intoxicating.
“They sealed the envelope, so I can’t tell you who they’re from.” She looks hopeful, like I’m going to open it here and announce to her (and vicariously everyone who comes into the office, whom she will tell immediately) that Liam and I are seeing each other.
I pick up the flowers. “It’s my birthday today, and my mom always remembers it in thoughtful ways,” I say as I turn out the door. Walking down the hall to my class, I feel a little twinge of guilt, but justify that it’s not really a lie. She does remember in unique ways—just not in this way. Maybe Mom was right after all—I should go for it. Maybe Liam’s my one. Happiness sparkles with each step I take, watching the flowers bob and shiver.
For these, I clean off my desk (pile everything on the counter behind the desk) and set them in the middle, alone, like a trophy. Then I sit in my chair and open the card, hoping his message clears up the relationship dilemma I’m wondering about. The scent of freesia and roses blooms in the air. “Sophie, Hope your birthday is as beautiful as you are. See you Saturday. Kevin.” Who’s Kevin? I double-check the envelope. Sophie Kanakaredes…right, they’re for me. I set the card on the desk and move the flowers to the sink to fill the vase.
Liam steps in. “Happy birthday. Is five thirty still okay tonight?”
My heartbeat flutters and my blood pressure spikes. Why do I feel like I’ve just been caught cheating? I try not to glance at the card on the table, and I wonder if I could set the vase on top of the card without Liam noticing.
“Yes. That’s great.” Move slowly. Don’t draw his attention to what you’re doing. Try not to look that way.
Just before I set the vase down, Liam snaps the card out of the way then tucks it in with the flowers. I think he looked. He probably looked. I would have looked. If he asks, I don’t know what I’ll say. It sounds like I’m trying to hide something if I say I don’t know who they’re from when the name is right on the card. I set the flowers on my desk, my bizarrely clean desk. Clearly they’re on display. What would I say? I thought they were from you. That sounds snarky, equivalent to “Why didn’t you send me flowers?” Instead I got flowers from an anonymous…inspiration dawns on me. Kevin is my new real estate partner. Oh, how sweet. How did he know it was my birthday?
I don’t think I told Liam I’m doing real estate again, or have a partner, or that the partner is a very good-looking single man who obviously makes thoughtful gestures—could be a little tricky. If the card had said something innocuous like “Have a great day” or “Happy B-day,” it would have been easier to explain, but the compliment attached to the birthday wish sounds more personal than a recent business contact. When my attention returns to the conversation, or non-conversation, in this case, I realize Liam isn’t saying anything either. We’re both just staring at the flowers, then he says, “Well, see you then.”
At the end of the day, Mrs. Milton comes in to have a birthday party for me with my students. She passes out little tubs of ice cream with little wooden spoons. She asks the students to draw a picture for me and write me a note. Liam surprises me by bringing Ruby over for the party. He wishes me a happy birthday again, but he can’t stay. He has to get back to some unspecified duties. While he’s making excuses, his eyes dart toward the flowers a couple of times.
The students talk happily and work on the pictures. Often a student gets up to show Ruby what they have made. Mrs. Milton staples the pages together to make a book for me. It’s amazing how much my students have learned in just a few months. I reread through a few of my favorites and am remi
nded that it’s the thought that counts. My children put love on their papers as their gifts to me.
“Happy Birthday teecher. Can I come to your prtee?” It has a picture of her carrying a present.
The second one is mostly a picture of me standing by a student with arrows pointing to our heads labeled “me” and “you”. We are smiling and standing on grass with little pink and purple flowers popping out of the ground. The sky is filled with a smiling sun with long rays spraying out from its sides and there are two rainbows, one on each side of the sun, connecting it to the clouds.
And my personal favorite, “You ar a god techr.” I’m sure she meant, “You are a good teacher.”
As I’m getting ready for my date, I search my closet for something I can wear with my new shoes, finding a cream-and-gold purse for a perfect complement to my black lace dress with a gold lamé sheath underneath.
Liam rings the doorbell right at five thirty. “You look great,” he says, kissing my cheek.
You didn’t even look. “Thanks. Is it still a secret, or can you tell me the plan for tonight?”
“I’d like to surprise you.” His smile is charming, but his eyes are reserved.
We walk into to a bungalow-style restaurant. There are only six small tables, each nestled into its own secluded setting. Ours is tucked in an alcove with walls on two sides and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a river on the third side. I’m seated so when I look at Liam I’m also looking upstream, where large boulders are stirring white water in the shallow current. He obviously planned a leisurely dinner for us—this restaurant only serves a seven-course meal.
The first course has a cold appetizer of a sweet potato blini with dill crème fraiche topped with beautiful black caviar. I doubt we’re as hungry as we appear as we both eat without speaking to each other. We have a personal server and another person dedicated to clear our plates and silver away after each course. At least they speak a few words now and again. “Are you ready for your next course?” “May I take this?” “For you, sir.”
During the soup course Liam asks, “How is your meal?”
“It’s delicious. Little tastes of so many things I love to eat,” I say robotically. “Are you enjoying it?” Lame.
“Yes. How was your school party?”
“Mrs. Milton had the students each create a page then put them together to make me a book. I’ll have to show it to you. And thanks for bringing Ruby over. My students really liked her, and she was happy to be there.” Okay, ice broken. We can talk now.
But the next course comes and Liam and I just keep staring at the food. We’re more than an hour into a meal that’s likely to take another hour—this kind of date probably seemed like a good idea when we were still talking to each other. And we would be talking, if we didn’t feel so awkward about the flowers. It isn’t like we’re having a bad date—it’s just so guarded. It’s like we just met and I’m having my birthday date with a stranger. This is Liam before we started dating, before the soccer game and our first kiss.
Peach sorbet should offer a sweet contrast to the salad course, but to me it’s nearly tasteless as my mind replays the flower scene.
“You had dinner with your mother on Sunday, right?”
“I did—it was so good to be home. She surprised me with a present. I thought the car was enough, but she gave me these great shoes.” I push my foot out from under the linen cloth at the front of the table as Liam takes another dip into his sorbet. I thought he would at least feign interest by looking.
“I’m glad I went. When she brought down the car, her friend, Bill, was with her. I wondered if they were dating but she said they aren’t. She said she’s often lonely. I guess I hadn’t realized that being single would be hard for her. I mean, lots of people are single—we’re single—and it’s just the way it is. She sounded so sad and really couldn’t talk about it for long. She said she still feels married.”
“Sometimes it’s hard for us.”
“What?”
“Sometimes being single is hard for us too.”
He’s right—this feels hard. I tried to tell myself that I didn’t want to get Mom’s expectations up by talking about Liam with her, but it was me. Maybe I manufactured the feelings of closeness and possibility, and now, I’m feeling disappointment for both. Since we don’t have a lot to say, we finish our courses sooner than the rest of the guests tonight. We complete the fifth course and move on to the next while many diners are still finishing their salad.
I try to think of the worse first date I’ve ever had, since they are usually the worst possible dates. Nope. None come close to the pain of this one. Even a bad first date has an out. You aren’t emotionally connected. Time may crawl by or your date may make your skin crawl, but there’s no big risk involved. This feels of loss. Each minute that ticks by stacks like a barrier between us.
Liam nervously turns his watch around on his wrist, and I scoot the crab stuffing out of the spiraled pork roulade and around the plate before eating it. A palate cleanser of lemon-mint ice is followed by our last course, dessert. Crème brûlée with strawberry slices and whipped cream, which is also eaten in silence. No “mmm”s, or “Oh, this is so good.” We don’t touch each other in any way, or look into each other’s eyes, or share a spoon.
We leave the restaurant at nine, and I’m back on my doorstep thirty minutes later.
“Thank you for a very nice birthday.” Nice is the right word here—agreeable, friendly, yup, just peachy. And thanks to the surprise floral delivery, it isn’t in any way romantic. I feel guilty. Which I’m not. Doesn’t matter—I feel guilty. He feels, well, I don’t know—maybe distant or shut down.
“You’re welcome. It’s not over. I have a gift for you.” He hands me a purple velvet bag with a gold drawstring.
It’s probably jewelry. I can feel the fluid weight of it in my hand. “Before I open this, I have to ask…” I feel my stomach tremble a bit, but I resume. “Are we going to continue seeing each other?” That sounds so formal. “I can understand how you didn’t want to break a date with a girl on her birthday, but this has been kind of painful. I don’t know where I stand. I guess we’ve never said where we stood before, but that was okay because it felt like we were moving forward. Tonight felt like we were moving backward. Oh, my gosh, I hope you felt uncomfortable too—not because I would enjoy that, but because if you didn’t, then it was just me. That could be it—it’s just me. Did I do this? Was it hard because I made it hard?”
“Sophie, I…Just a minute, please let me think.” Liam’s pauses are very long. “Sophie, it’s not you.”
That means it’s me.
“I don’t know what to think. I thought I would figure it out during dinner, but I didn’t. Maybe I should still ask you what I planned to ask.”
I’m puzzled and my fingernails are beginning to dig into my palms. My legs are trembling. From cold? From anxiety?
“Would you be able…I mean would you like…um, my parents and sister and her family are coming here for Thanksgiving this year. I’d like them to meet you. I wondered if you would come over for dessert that night. Maybe I shouldn’t be asking, now. You know, the flowers. I’ve been thinking about it all evening. The flowers were kind of a surprise, not them, but that there’s someone who gives you flowers. I wanted to introduce you as my girlfriend, but maybe just friend, if that’s better for you right now. Sophie, if I’ve been reading this wron. . .”
My mouth is on his before he can finish the sentence. The tension of this date bursts in sudden relief. This is obviously another surprise for him as I lean into him and he falls against the door, cinching my arms around his shoulders. Blood is racing behind my lips, and my breath is shallow and quick as my hands rise to press his face to mine. I suspect his instinct to hold me kicks in before he understands my enthusiasm.
“Yes, I want to meet your family as your girlfriend.”
He kisses my lips, then across my cheekbone down to the hollow below my ear, endi
ng in a long, tight embrace, his face settled in my neck. Slowly he releases me, but only slightly, and whispers in my ear without moving to look in my eyes, “Sophie, who’s Kevin? I’m sorry to ask, but I’ve been thinking about it all day—I just can’t stop.” His hand rubs a small circle on my back. “Is he important to you?” Then he releases me and studies my face. There’s still uncertainty in his expression, but November Liam is back.
“No. I only met him a few days ago.” I tell Liam about the fortunate real estate deal, then the partnership offer. “I don’t know how he knew it was my birthday. I actually thought the flowers were from you before opening the card. I was thinking about how it might be a little tricky to keep our relationship a secret. We have a relationship, right?” He nods, so I continue. “To keep it a secret, why you would send me flowers. Then when I saw his name on the card, it didn’t really register who he was. When it did, I was embarrassed. It was thoughtful of Kevin, but it was kind of a shock too.”
Liam’s face and jaw have loosened. “You’re seeing him on Saturday?”
Right. That was on the card too. “Our partnership meetings are on Saturday mornings.”
Liam reaches for my hand, still holding the velvet bag. “May I come in while you open this?”
We step inside, and I realize how cold it is outside.
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” Liam nods and follows me to the kitchen. We throw our coats on the couch as we pass by. “Raspberry or mint?”
“Mint.”
I place the mugs of water in the microwave as I hunt down the mix, spoons, and marshmallows, then we sit on the barstools and take a few sips. I wrap my hands around the mug. Sooo warrrrm!
“You’re stalling.” He smiles, nudging the bag closer to me. I pull open the top and drop a beautiful necklace into my palm. It has a simple, long platinum chain with a stylized flower of marquis shaped topaz cast as petals.
“I think the jeweler meant to suggest a sunflower with this design, but as soon as I saw it, I thought of dandelions.” His hand cups mine.
