4
The doorbell rang. I looked at the clock; it was a quarter past seven. Perfect timing, the first guests had arrived and the guest of honor was just starting on her makeup.
“Soph?” Tiff, using the mirror to reflectively look at me, tilted her head toward the door, pursed her lips and sweetly said, “Be a doll?”
“Sure,” wagging my finger at her reflection, “you just continue getting ready, I’ll get the door.”
Eager to have something to do, I quickly obliged.
When I got downstairs, Ethan and a few of his friends startled me when they passed me by the stairs. I forgot he had a key. “Hey Ethan, Tiff is still getting ready.”
“Yup, I figured.”
Instead of heading upstairs to check on Tiff, he headed toward our makeshift bar and the guys each grabbed a cold Heineken from the ice chest to wet their beaks.
Ethan was a brawny fellow, built much like a football player—I’m sure Tiff mentioned that he played in high school—but other than his frame there wasn’t much else to look at. He definitely got the better end of the stick when he landed Tiff as his girlfriend, although he sure didn’t act like it. Tiff could do better. Ethan and his friends all had the same rugged look and dumb, mindless expression. They had on wrinkled black slacks, white collared shirts, untucked, and black blazers. I left them to fend for themselves and went back upstairs to check on Tiff.
“Ethan and his friends are here.”
“Oh, yay. I’m glad he made it. Sigh…I just love that guy.” Tiff gushed, “He’s the best, isn’t he?”
Hoping it was a rhetorical question, I said nothing.
She was almost finished with her makeup, and I could already tell that my face would look plain beside hers.
The bell rang again. I figured, from my first examination, that Ethan would not do the honors; so I ran down to get it.
There he was, stopping me dead in my tracks, as I neared the bottom of the stairs; I would have run over him if I didn’t see the hand he extended. The handshake was quick but strong. I glanced up and my heart fluttered.
“Hi!” I let out, a little too elatedly. My face was flushed from the little exertion of running down the stairs, but hot from embarrassment.
“Hello.” He had a clear and soothing voice.
“I’m Sophie, Tiff’s roommate.”
“My name is Liam; I came with Rach and Justin.” He paused, then continued once he saw recognition on my face. “Tiffany told Rach that it was an open invitation and Justin asked if I would come along.”
“Oh yea. Sure. Of course.” I pointed to the kitchen. “Drinks are over there and the food is on the table.”
“Thanks.” He stepped aside as Rachel and Justin came in. I gave them each a hug, and the three of them headed for the kitchen.
More people arrived, flooding the room with stifling smells of doused cologne and perfume, gel and hairspray, belches and beer. I was going to head back upstairs when Tiffany came down. Sigh, she sure looked gorgeous.
Her dress hugged her in all the right areas and accentuated all her best parts. She glowed from head to toe. She glided down the stairs effortlessly, greeted her guests one by one, and then placed herself strategically in the center of the room so all eyes could be on her. All eyes that is, except for two.
Liam’s eyes were staring straight at me. I held his surprised glance for a few seconds before he turned to Justin to answer some question, which led to a lengthy, but from the looks of it, amusing conversation. It gave me a chance to really look at him.
Liam had a slight build; a few inches shorter than Justin, narrow face angled at the chin, streamlined nose, apple cheeks, full lips, soft eyes, distinguished eyebrows, and perfectly gelled, chestnut hair. His face was clean of any lines and looked soft and gentle. What intrigued me most was his posture. There he sat on the bar stool, rigid and straight, as if a metal rod were surgically implanted in his spine. He seemed uncomfortable but his slow, turning smile implied otherwise. He stood out from the other guys, mainly because he didn’t have a drink in his hand, but also because he was wearing a tie, tucked in shirt, and wasn’t ogling Tiff. He wasn’t original in his black pants and white shirt, but his outfit looked neatly pressed—collar starched, stark black tie perfectly placed, and black shoes shined. He seemed so put together a gay man would have been impressed. He sat near the food, so I decided to get a closer look while also examining the delicious finds at the table.
I immediately absorbed myself in the food selection. There was, of course, the usual chips and salsa, but there was also mac-and-cheese, croissant sandwiches, dumplings, cheese and crackers, cookies, brownies, and…
“Why don’t you try a cream puff?”
The soothing familiar voice startled me. I didn’t realize how immersed I was in the food. He pointed toward a plate lined with foil. There were about a dozen or so puff pastries dipped in…chocolate, I assumed.
“Cream puff?” I never particularly liked cream puffs.
“Yeah, it’s the first time I tried baking them. I wondered if you wouldn’t mind tasting them for me. One is filled with chocolate pudding and topped with dark chocolate ganache, while the other is filled with vanilla pudding and topped with white chocolate,” he chuckled, “I tried to stay with the theme of the event.”
Really? He bakes? I was completely fascinated, but what surprised me more was how good it tasted. I tried one of the dark chocolate cream puffs, since dark chocolate was my favorite, and I was in heaven.
“Wow! That’s so delicious!” I was speaking through mouthfuls of chocolate and I didn’t care, I was in love…with the cream puff.
He grinned like he already knew my critique would be five stars, but he was thrilled at my response just the same.
I grabbed a few more, just the dark chocolate ones, and ate them happily. After licking my lips and fingers I realized that he was still watching me, tickled now with amusement. I was in my own little happy place and I totally forgot I had an audience. Flustered, I reached for a napkin to regain my femininity and turned toward him. His light brown eyes, still looking amused rather than disgusted, put me at ease. I noticed that when the light hit him just right, gold flecks sparkled through the caramel of his eyes. He had soft, kind eyes, but there was also a hint of sadness in them. I wouldn’t be sure of the reason until later.
Effortlessly, we broke into conversation, discussing our hobbies and interests, family, friends, jobs, school—we talked without pause until the limo arrived to take us to our first destination. I learned that he loved baking, was best friends with Justin since they were five, had an interest in plants, and was in the process of being readmitted into UC San Diego. He seemed slightly embarrassed for taking a few years off from school. He also mentioned he was leaving the party early, so he could turn in and be able to help his dad install a new bathroom sink and toilet tomorrow morning—implying that he was handy, responsible, and family-oriented. From our brief conversation, I gathered the impression that he was an overall unique, well-mannered, kind, and incredibly smart man.
It surprised me just how easy it was to talk to him. He knew enough about anything and everything to have a comment or add to whatever subject we landed on. He impressed me.
The rest of the night dragged on. Liam waved goodbye as the buzzed, grinning, entourage piled into the limo. As I watched him drive away, my insides flip-flopped against a hollow lining. I found out later that he pitched in for the limo even though he knew he wouldn’t be riding it.
I sat through all the dancing, drinking, yelling, crowds, stink, and uncouth behavior. Somehow, we all made it back into the limo unscathed—where we discovered that Brian and Ava had their own “fun” on the large, buttery leather seats while the rest of us were in the club—and back to our apartment by two in the morning.
A few of the partygoers immediately passed out on the couch and living room floor; Brian and Ava wanted to drive themselves home so they could continue their little escapade—we should have
insisted they stay until the morning but nobody had the energy to argue; I went back to my room to replay the better part of the night in my sleep.
Meeting Liam was so unexpected, so pleasant, and so surreal. It seemed like my company genuinely captivated him. No Soph, you were probably just imagining it. He was probably just trying to be nice, and was probably bored since Justin was there with his girlfriend and he didn’t really know anyone else. But why me? I mused over that question until I drifted off to sleep.
5
A week passed and I nearly forgot about Liam; that is, until Tiff asked what I thought about him.
“Who? What?”
I was puzzled why she’d ask. She seemed so consumed in herself and her friends during the party I didn’t think she noticed me at all.
“Liam. You know Justin’s friend. The guy you were talking to at my party,” she frowned, “well, that is until he left early. At least he had the decency to pay for his share.”
“He pitched in? He didn’t need to do that.”
“Yah, I know. But I’m glad he did. Anyways, you’re avoiding my question.”
“Which is?”
“Soph,” exasperated now, “what do you think about Liam?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I could feel the heat rising in the back of my throat. Truthfully, I didn’t know what I thought, so I tried to downplay my answer. “We only talked briefly at the party. There were so many people…”
Tiff wasn’t following. “Yah, I know, wasn’t the party awesome!”
Tiff started on a tangent, talking about how perfect her outfit was and all the compliments she received and how she made Ethan jealous, etcetera.
Nonchalantly, I stirred her back to her question about Liam, “So…why are you asking me about Liam?”
She stopped, perplexed for a second, and then realized why she came to talk to me in the first place. “Oh, because he asked about you.”
Shock was clearly marked all over my face. “He asked about me?”
Tiff shrugged.
“What did he ask?”
“Just vague stuff like what you were like and if you had a nice time at the party…ya know, stuff like that. I told him you were on MySpace and that he could ask you these questions himself.” She narrowed her eyes at me and then added, “Good thing I didn’t give him your number. You’re clearly not interested.”
“Huh?” I was rapidly thinking about everything she just sprung at me. Not interested?
“I did think he was a little odd, he didn’t even seem to notice me.” She fumed, “He seemed to notice you though, but I guess he doesn’t do it for you, huh? What’s your type, anyways?”
Apparently, I masked my feelings like a champ. “Not sure…I don’t really have a type…nothing concrete anyways.” I never made a list like most girls did. I always thought it was pointless to write down every quality your perfect guy must possess. I felt it was limiting and somewhat degrading.
“Well, maybe you should think about it, and if he does contact you, maybe you should ask him out. You need to spread your wings a little and experiment.”
Tiff had always been rousing me on this subject. She was dreadfully surprised when she learned of my lack of experience with men and everything that comes with it. She’d been trying to set me up with her friends for months now. I guess I could have told her she was wrong and I was interested, but I didn’t really want her butting into my personal life. Especially when I didn’t know for a fact that he was interested. Maybe he had questions about UCSD…no, he already went there a year before I did. Maybe…hmm…
6
As I turned on my laptop and waited for the login screen to appear, I removed my textbooks from my backpack to start reading the last section we covered in lecture. The slow hum in the background made my eyes droop like Pavlov’s dog.
Once the computer was up and running, I opened my email. And there, in plain black and white, was a message forwarded by MySpace from Liam:
November 14, 2005 8:20 PM
Subject: Hello!
Body:
Hi Sophie,
I was searching for “cool people” just now, and whaddya know…I found you! (hehe).
Anyway, I just wanted to say hello, and let you know that the holiday season is BAKING season, so get ready for some treats! ;)
Take Care,
Liam
My heart stopped and I held my breath. If I would have looked in the mirror, my face would probably have a wide, goofy smile planted on it with a hint of shock and confusion. Liam found me and messaged me. Wow. He said I am cool? I was never thought of as “cool” before. I quickly browsed to his page; curiosity led the way, and I scanned through it a few times.
In the blog section there was a short, poetic story about being sad. I’m pretty sure he wrote it, because I could hear his voice through the words. It hit me like a ton of bricks; his lyrical words made sense to me. It seemed like we shared the same insecurities. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. His words were so poetically written and the poem spoke to me, like he already knew me, my deepest insecurities, my soul. I could read his words forever…
When I’m Sad…
I am sad. I don’t mean it in that transient way, like a child feels when he or she drops their ice cream cone; as the tide rolls in and out, ebb and flow—that would indicate the existence of a polar opposite—I am not sad in that sense. In fact, the current of my life is usually directed toward the Bright East, lilting in a swell of turquoise and gold, all enveloped by the first rays of the new rising sun. My life is happy; I am sad. Why, after all the gifts to be set at my feet, after all the smiles cast in my direction and tears shed for my well-being, all the time and effort and lessons learned and praise and encouragement would I feel so alone, so without an essential portion of my being? Why would I feel so hollow, so departed? What did I miss, what lesson went untaught; where did I find myself trailing behind the pack, straying a little off the beaten path to explore on a whim—an impulse of imaginative proportion—only to discover the giggles and shouts to have died in the distance, leaving me with only the remnants of a daydream slipping through my fingers in glowing trails and the fragmented ability to fear my loneliness?
Just a little boy, lost in the woods, finds himself enrapt with discovery and the beauty of newness, of neural impulses that could never be preconceived. What pleasure lies in discovery! Like a warm hug in a safe place, memories locked away in a secret box under the bed, these new sights bring a sense of mystery coupled with an awkward nostalgia—it is painful to think about these moments ever ending, while at the same time it is impossible to imagine never having experienced them.
As I wander further, I realize this is not my place…where is everybody? Panic sets in. I freeze. My heart, once so open, now slams shut so violently I begin to cry. I didn’t even notice wading into the darkness, first creeping up around my ankles, then knees, now all the way over my head. I am drowning. How unobservant I have been; how lacking in foresight, and unable to perceive my mistakes. It is much too late to turn back. The giggles have faded, and there is no light to see. Now I must wait for tomorrow morning, when the sun will return and kiss my hollow vessel once more, pointing me eastward in a swell of gilded azure, my grief will be encased in bronze, burnished to preciousness, and I will hide it in a special place—with all the warm hugs, in a cedar chest yearning to be filled.
Without thinking, I added a comment and hit Send:
Reading this I feel like I totally understand how you feel. Sometimes I feel like I should be grateful for all that I’ve been blessed with and all the love and support that surround me, but something is missing that makes me feel…incomplete? Well hopefully you find whatever it is that you are looking for.
Take care,
Sophie
For a moment I regretted it. What if he thinks I’m stalking him? The comment implied that I read the blog and in turn, his private thoughts. No, I want him to know that his words touched me.
; 7
Since meeting Liam, I started thinking about relationships, especially after not being able to have a restful sleep when my roommate was banging her boyfriend right above me (I really needed to invest in some state-of-the-art surround sound entertainment speakers).
What is required and expected of oneself when one is in a relationship? My mom once told me of a lady who didn’t get married until forty years old, just because she was afraid of dating and of what may come after. At the time, I didn’t really think anything of it but now, never having a boyfriend or having been on a date, I wondered if I was that lady. I was afraid that I would always be alone—incomplete—and wouldn’t find happiness until I was way past my prime. Will I have wrinkles and gray hair when I walk down the aisle? I shuddered at the thought.
What comes with having a boyfriend, anyway? Constantly thinking about them, worrying about them, loving them, unable to do anything without them…Would I get hurt? I guess not if I excelled at it…if I was better, perfect—lost some weight, became prettier somehow, increased my cooking skills, was entertaining and charming. The only thing I feared…oh…it would be dreadful if…I couldn’t satisfy him…sexually. My cheeks reddened at the thought, the redness intensified as groans and shrieks crescendoed above me.
Would I have sex before marriage? I contemplated this question for years—hearing about all my friends’, acquaintances’, roommates’ sex lives—and I firmly believed that I should wait. I waited this long. I will wait. This I was sure of. I was a romantic and sentimental at heart; hearing my mom’s story of how my dad was her first and only, I developed a want for that too, to be able to only give that part of myself to my husband and no one else. He would be the only person to know everything about me. This would be my gift to my future husband, and I intended on keeping it.
Sophie's Smile: A Novel Page 7
