by LN Cronk
“We don’t have to go out, Marco,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s not really that big of a deal.”
“But I want to go out with you,” I insisted. “You just caught me off guard.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m sure.”
“And no matter what happens we’ll still be friends?”
“Absolutely.”
“Okay,” she finally agreed.
It was Thursday.
“Tomorrow night?” I suggested.
“Okay,” she said again.
“Great,” I replied. “It’s a date.”
I got home the next evening about half of an hour before Josette did. Once she came through the door, she dropped her purse onto the couch, went into the bathroom for a minute, and then reemerged, putting her purse back over her shoulder and asking me if I was ready to go.
“You’re ready already?” I asked.
“Uh-huh.”
“You’re, uh, you’re not going to change or anything?”
“Change?”
“Yeah.”
“Into what?”
“I dunno,” I shrugged. “I just thought you might want to put on something different or do something different with your hair or . . . something.”
“What’s wrong with the way I look right now?”
“Nothing,” I admitted, “but you’re wearing the same thing you wore to work and I just thought that you might want to, uh, I don’t know . . . do something special.”
“Special?”
“You know,” I explained. “Freshen up your makeup or something.”
“I’m not wearing any makeup.”
“Well, I thought maybe you’d want to put some on or something.”
She raised that eyebrow at me again.
“You want me to put on makeup?”
“I mean . . . only if you want to.”
She stared at me for a moment and then dropped her purse back onto the couch, turning on her heel and returning to the bathroom.
She wasn’t gone long, but when she came back out she had the brightest, reddest lipstick I’d ever seen in my entire life smeared all over her lips.
And I mean smeared. All over. She’d gone out of her way to not keep it on her lips.
“Happy now?” she asked, picking her purse up again.
I pressed my own lips together and nodded silently, and then we left the house without another word.
We were about halfway to the restaurant before I finally dared to take my eyes off the road to glance at Josette. She had crossed her arms as soon as we got into the car, and they were still crossed.
“You aren’t really going to go into the restaurant like that, are you?” I finally asked.
“So now you want me to take it off?” she asked, glaring at me. “I thought you wanted me to do something special.”
“Josette . . .”
“Don’t ‘Josette’ me,” she snapped, taking a tissue out of her purse and wiping her mouth. “I don’t know how come you can go out on a date looking the exact same way you did all day, but I have to do something special.”
“You don’t,” I insisted. “I was just surprised, that’s all. I just thought you’d want to do something different.”
“You didn’t do anything different,” she pointed out.
“What am I supposed to do?” I protested. “I’m a guy! What are guys supposed to do that’s special?”
She crossed her arms again and looked out the window.
“Look, Josette,” I said. “I’m sorry, okay?”
“Whatever,” she muttered.
“This is why we shouldn’t be going out,” I muttered right back.
“What?”
“I said,” I answered, my voice getting louder, “‘This is why we shouldn’t be going out.’”
She looked at me.
“You’re all mad at me now,” I explained, shaking my head. “I knew this was a bad idea.”
She sighed and I saw her body relax a bit.
“I’m not mad at you,” she said as we pulled into the parking lot.
“Yes, you are,” I argued, “and if you stay mad at me then I’m not going to have anyone to watch TV with or eat with . . .”
“Or anyone to do your dishes . . .”
I glanced at her again and she cocked that eyebrow at me.
“Look,” I said, pulling into a spot. “I said I was sorry. Can we . . . can we just start over or something?”
I put the car in park and looked at her again. She nodded at me.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said.
I breathed a little sigh of relief. When we headed into the restaurant, I still had hope that the two of us were at least going to be able to salvage our friendship.
Josette was apparently hoping the same thing I was because she was overly polite from that point on. It was nice not to argue with her anymore, but our usual friendly banter was gone, replaced by forced conversations and strained silences. When Josette suggested that we see a movie after dinner, I jumped at the opportunity to not have to talk to her for two hours.
The movie was quite possibly the worst I’d ever seen in my life. It was actually painful to watch, managing somehow to be both juvenile and raunchy at the same time, and adding a whole new level of awkwardness to our date. We left the movie in silence, remaining quiet for most of the ride home, only speaking to each other long enough to agree how horrible it had been. We arrived home, and after that, things got really awkward.
“Well,” Josette said once I’d unlocked the door and the two of us were standing in the living room. “Thank you for dinner.”
“Thank you,” I said. “I had a nice time.”
I saw a small smile cross her lips.
“You’re still a terrible liar,” she said, and I gave her a little smile of my own. Then we looked at each other and I wondered what we were supposed to do next.
Hug? Kiss? Shake hands?
Josette made the decision.
“Well goodnight,” she said, reaching out and giving me three little pats on the arm. “I’m going to turn in. I’m really tired.”
I decided that she was a pretty bad liar herself.
I went into my bedroom, letting her have the bathroom first, and I checked my messages. I returned one of them, and – after I heard her bedroom door close – I went into the bathroom and brushed my teeth. Once I was ready for bed, I tried to read for a few minutes, but before long I gave up and stared at the ceiling . . . just like I had the night before.
And I started thinking . . . just like I had the night before.
And after a bit of that, I scrambled out of bed and knocked on Josette’s door . . . just like I had the night before.
“Come in.”
I opened the door and found her sitting up in bed again, apparently having better luck reading than I’d had. She lowered her book and looked at me expectantly.
“I want to try again,” I told her.
“What?”
“I think we should go out again. Tomorrow night.”
Her face darkened.
“We don’t need to do that, Marco,” she said, shaking her head. “Everything’s fine right now. I think we’d better quit while we’re ahead.”
“No,” I said adamantly, shaking my head too. “I can do better. I want to try again.”
“You don’t have to ‘do better’,” she argued. “You didn’t do anything wrong. We gave it a shot and it didn’t work out and–”
“I want to try again,” I interrupted.
She looked at me for a moment and then asked very quietly, “Why?”
“I just do,” I insisted. “Please? Give me one more chance. Go out with me again tomorrow night . . . please?”
She looked at me very carefully and finally nodded.
“Great,” I said. “I’ll pick you up at six.”
That made her laugh.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll see you at six.”
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~ ~ ~
THE NEXT MORNING I waited until I knew Josette was in the kitchen before I left my bedroom, dragging a small suitcase behind me. I had a smaller, overnight bag that I could have used instead, but a suitcase seemed more dramatic.
“I’ll see you tonight at six,” I said, standing before the front door.
“Where are you going?” she asked, turning away from the coffeepot and looking at me in surprise.
“I’m going to a hotel,” I announced.
“A hotel?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I said. “If we’re going on a date I should pick you up and drop you off. I want it to be special.”
“So you’re staying at a hotel,” she repeated slowly.
“Yes.”
“To make it special.”
“Yes.”
“Marco,” she said, tipping her head at me disapprovingly. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
She looked at me for a moment.
“Well what am I supposed to do?” she asked.
“Do whatever you want,” I shrugged. “Enjoy your day and don’t worry about anything. I’ve got everything taken care of.”
She stared at me for another moment.
“Any other questions?” I asked when she didn’t say anything further.
“I guess not,” she replied uncertainly.
“Good,” I smiled, nodding as I went out the front door. Then I reminded her, “I’ll pick you up at six.”
By the time I returned that evening, my brand-new blazer was already damp from all the times I’d wiped it with my sweaty palms and I was really glad that I had gone with something dark.
I rang my doorbell and waited anxiously for Josette to answer.
Once she opened the door, I held my hands out to my side and looked at her expectantly. She gasped when she saw me, bringing both hands up to cover her gaping mouth. She continued staring at me, wide-eyed, while I slowly turned around, hands still out to my side, making a complete circle. Once I’d gone all the way around, I stood motionless in front of her, waiting nervously for her to say something.
But she didn’t say anything . . . she didn’t even move. She just continued to stand there with her eyes wide and her hands clamped over her mouth.
“Well?” I finally dared to ask. “How do I look?”
I had never before in my life asked anybody that question.
She pulled her hands down slowly from her mouth.
“You shaved your moustache off,” she whispered, putting her hands over her heart.
I nodded and swallowed hard.
She continued to stare at me, her mouth still hanging open, her hands still against her chest.
“I was trying to do something special,” I managed after a bit. “What do you think?”
“You look so young,” she said in a whisper. “I can’t believe what a baby face you have.”
“No,” I disagreed seriously, shaking my head. “My baby face didn’t look anything like this.”
That evening there was no uncomfortable silence . . . no strained conversation . . . no awkward movie. There was just talking and laughing and smiling and stopping for ice cream on the way home.
When we got back to the house I opened Josette’s car door for her and gave her my arm to hold as we walked up the sidewalk to the porch. My palms had stopped being sweaty a long time ago. Once we reached the top of the stairs, Josette asked me if I was going to come in, but I shook my head.
“No,” I said, “but I’d like to sit out here with you for a while.”
She looked at me for a quick moment and then agreed.
“Okay,” she said. “Let me just go in and get a cardigan.”
“Do you want my jacket?” I offered, reaching to take it off.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ll be right back.
I nodded and she disappeared into the house. I waited for her on the top step of the porch since neither one of my chairs sat too good since that day I’d thrown them.
Josette came out a minute later and sat down next to me, holding a blanket instead of a cardigan.
“Would you like to share?” she asked, holding it up. She opened it behind my back and I nodded.
I reached to help her put the blanket around us both and then, after just a brief moment of hesitation, I put my arm around her. She leaned toward me as I did, resting her head against my shoulder, and we sat like that together, not talking, for several long minutes.
Eventually I broke the silence, quietly asking her, “What are you thinking right now?”
There was a slight pause.
“That I like being here like this with you,” she answered. Then she asked softly, “What are you thinking?”
I paused too, but only for a second.
“That I really want this to work.”
She pulled away from me so that I could see her face, and her lips came together in a little smile. She looked at me with such warmth in her eyes that – for a moment – I actually thought she was going to kiss me.
She didn’t though. Instead, she gave her head a slight shake and whispered, “I can’t believe you shaved your moustache off.”
I looked back at her. It was getting hard to see in the fading light, but I knew that she had been able to see plenty earlier. I also knew that she’d tell me the truth.
“Can you see it?” I asked.
She reached up, gently touching my scar, lightly tracing a finger where my moustache had been only hours earlier. I closed my eyes at her touch.
“Yes,” I heard her whisper, and I swallowed hard.
“It’s part of who you are,” she went on, still running her fingernail across my lip. “I love it.”
I opened my eyes and looked down at her as she brought her hand to the side of my face and then to my neck, where she let it rest.
Now I was sure she was going to kiss me, so I closed my eyes again . . .
But she didn’t kiss me . . .
Not exactly . . .
She kissed my scar.
Goosebumps covered my entire body at the feel of her lips on my skin and I drew in a sharp, jagged breath over the pounding of my heart. When she pulled away, I opened my eyes again and found her looking at me intently.
“Now what are you thinking?” she asked in a quiet voice.
I looked back at her for a moment before I was able to find my own voice.
“That I really, really want this to work,” I said.
Another little smile formed on her lips. I reached to the corner of her mouth, and when my hand touched her face, she closed her eyes.
I traced my thumb across her lips and then I stroked my hand along her cheek. With her eyes still closed, she slowly reached her hand up and covered mine.
She held my hand against her face for a moment. Then she turned her face so that once again her lips were touching my hand.
Then she kissed it too.
After she kissed my hand, Josette pressed it against her cheek again and I marveled at the sight of it against her skin.
It was the first time in my life that I had ever liked the way my hand looked.
She opened her eyes and stared at me intently once more. I looked back at her now, my heart beating so hard that I could barely breathe. This time, when she closed her eyes again, I leaned toward her and brought my lips to hers, covering her mouth with mine.
It was a kiss unlike any I’d ever had.
Josette didn’t just let me kiss her, she kissed me back.
Her lips were warm and soft and as they parted beneath mine she pressed her body against me, wrapping an arm around my waist and pulling me even closer. I was sure that I could feel her heart, pounding as wildly as mine, until finally – desperate for air – we pulled slightly apart from one another. I couldn’t do anything after that except rest my forehead against hers, trying to catch my breath.
We both sat there like that,
gasping for air, until I finally managed to say, “Wow.”
“Yeah,” she agreed with a little laugh. “Wow.”
And then we kissed again.
~ ~ ~
THE NEXT MORNING I got to Sunday School later than I meant to. I scanned the room and didn’t see Josette yet, but I quickly spotted two seats on the opposite side of the circle and I headed that way. I put my Bible down in one chair to save it for Josette, but before I could sit in the other one, someone said good morning to me and started making small talk. By the time they were finished, the empty chair had been taken by someone else, who now also greeted me and also wanted to make small talk. Unsure of how to find another place to sit without being rude, I picked up my Bible and sat down, trying to converse politely while at the same time keeping an eye on the door.
When Josette came in I looked straight at her so that I could mouth “Sorry” to her for not having saved her a chair, but she wouldn’t make eye contact. Instead, she sat down across the circle from me and greeted the person sitting next to her. I kept staring at her, but she wouldn’t look back. Finally I realized that she was purposefully not looking my way.
My heart sank.
Was she already sorry that we’d gone out? Embarrassed at the thought of people finding out we had?
It was amazing how quickly all those feelings of insecurity that had plagued me while I’d been dating Bizzy came flooding back to me now.
I actually felt sick to my stomach.
Why? Why does this always happen?
But then another thought came to me just as quickly. What if Josette was the one who was worried about how I felt?
I continued thinking about this possibility and, after a moment, I pulled out my phone and sent Josette a text: You look beautiful.
I watched as she reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. After she read it, she looked up at me for the first time since she’d entered the room and gave me a smile – and every ounce of insecurity that I had immediately washed away.
She turned back to her phone and answered, Thank you, and then she looked back up, still smiling.
