Thirty Days: Part Two (A SwipeDate Novella)

by BT Urruela

  I decide on the latter, and dip down to retrieve her, tucking my hands beneath her body, and standing with a loud groan. Sami’s head falls weightlessly against my chest and her limbs dangle freely. Inching her through the door frame, I carry her carefully to the couch, setting her down, and working my hands out from beneath her. I chuckle at the thought of the weed doing its job as I pull her coat, hat, and shoes off and set them to the side. I retrieve the remaining pillow and blankets from outside, and gently slip a pillow underneath her head and drape a blanket over her. I make a pallet of my own just beside the couch, wanting to be near her in case she wakes.

  Before calling it a night, I lower my lips to her face, kiss her soft cheek, and then move the loose hair behind her ear. And with that, I snuggle up under my own blanket, cradling my pillow as I slowly drift to sleep with thoughts of her swirling about my head.

  I wake to the chirping of birds out the window, and the morning sun working its way through the crack in the drapes. Peeking open my eyes, I catch Sami folding up her blanket just beside me.

  “Morning,” I say with a little early morning rasp to my voice. Analyzing her, I see she has her shoes and coat on. “You trying to sneak out on me?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to wake you,” she says, smiling, and setting the folded blanket on the couch. “Not until I had to at least.”

  “If you had snuck out on me…”

  “No way.” She grins, motioning for me to get up. “But I do have to get on the road. Going to see the parents this weekend. Walk me out?”

  I sit up, wiping the sleep from my eyes, before I eventually work my way to my feet and arch my back in a big stretch.

  “Sad to see you go. I was hoping to catch some breakfast with you.”

  “Oh, I would so love to, I really would, but I slept in too late. I should’ve been on the road an hour ago,” she says before pointing to the couch. “Why didn’t you sleep next to me, by the way?”

  “Well, I didn’t want to be presumptuous,” I reply, and she rolls her eyes. “And I don’t know if you noticed or not, but that couch doesn’t have a whole hell of a lot of room.”

  “That just means you cuddle closer, silly,” she says playfully as she crosses the room to the front door.

  “I’ll keep that in mind for next time. Speaking of…” My voice trails as I meet her by the door, grabbing her hand in mine and pulling her closer. “When do I get to see you next?”

  She kisses me, her hand against my cheek, and then she pulls back, smiling. “I’ll be back Sunday. Pencil me in?”

  “Oh, I’m using permanent marker. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I can’t wait,” she says, kissing me again before she opens the door.

  “I can’t either. You drive safe and let me know when you get to Oneonta, okay?”

  “Of course.” She places her hand against my cheek again and her eyes study my face for a brief moment. “I’m really glad I met you, Gavin Mazzerelli,” she adds sweetly, her deep-set dimples flashing. “And on that stupid app, of all places.”

  “I’m very glad I met you, Ms. Barker. And as much as I wanted to kick my best friend’s ass when he made the thing for me, I kinda want to just hug him now.”

  She grins, bringing me in for one more quick peck on the lips before dropping her hand and heading out onto the front steps. She turns, blows me a kiss, and says, “I’ll talk to you soon, handsome.”

  “The sooner the better, gorgeous,” I reply before she turns and trots down the stairs.

  I don’t do much in the way of getting ready for my afternoon date, the first one that’s not a coffee meet-up in about a week. I have no desire to continue with these dates, and as respectful as I try to be with these women, it’s like they can smell it on me. It’s gotten harder than it was early on keeping up with daily dates and not wasting too much time messaging. Many of them like to text for days at a time and nobody’s got time for that. At this point, my eyes are on the prize and I’m just ready to get through this as quickly as possible. I want Sami. That’s not a question, so the succession of first date interviews feels even more irrelevant than when I started this damn challenge.

  Tiffany, 27, from Queens, was adamant about picking the date, so I had no real say. I did warn of an evening commitment just to keep me safe from any marathon first date plans. In the end, she decided on a hot yoga class. Whatever the fuck that means.

  I wore comfortable clothing and happen to be on time for this one, unlike the three or four dates before it.

  She stands outside the studio, a pink mat under her arm and a smile on her face.

  “Hi, Gavin. How are you?”

  “Cold,” I respond, shaking her hand. “How are you?”

  “Ready to do some hot yoga!” she exclaims, a quirky little look in her eye as she motions toward the door. “You ready to go in?”

  “Yeah, sure. As ready as I’ll ever be,” I respond, opening the door for her. “You will have to explain to me what exactly hot yoga is, though.”

  “It’s just like normal yoga, with the heat and humidity jacked up,” she says, passing through the door and I follow in after her, the premise of this activity working itself out in my head.

  “Wait, and yoga is like flexibility and meditation, right?”

  “You’ve never done yoga before?” she scoffs, looking back at me with a curled lip.

  “No, I’m a dude.”

  She points at the six or seven guys whom I’ve apparently just insulted, scattered around the open mat and engaged in conversation with the twenty or so women in the room.

  “Men do it too.”

  “Sorry, I was being a bit facetious, but no, I’ve never done it. Am I on the right track, though?” I ask, as she rolls out her mat and squats down onto it.

  She motions to stack of mats just behind us and says, “You can use one of those.”

  As I go to retrieve it, I think about this scenario for a moment. I’m a twenty-eight-year-old man with a wretched case of ADD and overactive sweat glands, and I’m about to meditate in a sauna. Something’s not right with this equation. I chuckle to myself as I grab the mat and bring it back over to her, laying it down beside her, and taking a seat.

  The clamoring in the room lightens and one of the women moves to the center of the room and rolls out a mat as everyone else takes up positions in a circle around her.

  “So, how long have you been—”

  “Shhh,” she puts a finger to her lips, “it’s starting.”

  I bite my tongue, holding back the urge to tell her how stupid she looks in that headband, and instead look to the instructor who begins her introduction.

  An hour and a fucking half I’ve been sweating my balls off, my mind running through every dilemma I’ve ever faced, every mistake I’ve ever made, and every problem I’ve yet to solve. While everyone else seems to be entranced in some group hypnosis, I’ve been busy reevaluating my entire existence and peeking around the room at every opportunity.

  As my nether region becomes a swampy quagmire, I pray to the yoga gods that I be set free from this balmy prison. As if some divine yogi was listening, the instructor tells us to open our eyes as we continue to focus on our breathing.

  Breathing? That’s what we were supposed to be working on? I was trying to cure cancer and develop cold fusion, all while wondering how I could’ve worded my date request better back in sixth grade so that Jamie Torres would’ve checked ‘yes’.

  There isn’t much conversation between us as we collect up our mats. I return mine to the back wall and meet her by the front door, when she says, “I chose this first date for a reason, you know.”

  “Oh really? Why is that? I’m not gonna lie, it seems like a strange first date choice.”

  “Strange?” she asks, passing through the door and looking back at me with an arched eyebrow.

  “I mean, usually first dates are for talking to each other. Asking questions. Answering them. Getting to know each other. That kind of thing.” I let t
he door close behind me, and stuff my hands into my pockets.

  “No, words only go so far. And, more often than not, they’re lies. I read people through their aura.”

  “Their aura, eh?” I ask, suppressing an eyeroll.

  “Yes, aura. And you, Gavin, you have a dirty aura.”

  My brows raise and lips purse.

  “How sweet of you,” I say blandly, beginning to shuffle forward to move this date along.

  “I’m not trying to insult you. You don’t need to take it like that. Dirty auras can be cleansed. I don’t know about yours, nor do I have the time to find out, but I suggest you do more yoga. It really does help.”

  “So wait, let me get this straight. You’re making some blanket claim against me, having not gotten to know a thing about me.”

  She points back toward the studio as we reach the street. “I just spent an hour and a half getting to know you. Through your aura.”

  I look at her, dumbfounded, and fighting hard not to just tell her to fuck off.

  “That has to be the most ridiculous statement I’ve ever heard.”

  “You’re just proving my point, you know?”

  I dig my phone out of my pocket, pull up my texts to see that Sami has messaged. I scroll past it, opening up my last message to Tiffany here, and type out a quick text message. Pressing send, I look back up at her, waving my phone back and forth before throwing up a peace sign.

  Turning on my heel, I head down the sidewalk to hail a cab just as I hear her cellphone chime from behind me.

  I wait a few seconds, a smile building on my face, when I hear her yell out, “No, you fuck off!”

  Running late for trivia, after a longer than anticipated challenge date, I walk briskly down the sidewalk under the last bit of sunlight breaching the horizon. The date was an interesting one with a librarian from the New York Public Library, which was a nice change of pace after the bullshit yesterday, but it was hard to think about anything other than Sami.

  After staying up until the wee hours of the morning texting back and forth, and then talking to her a bit on the phone after she woke this morning, I haven’t heard back in hours. My message says right at the bottom that it was read, which is both my favorite and least favorite text feature, but she hasn’t said a word. I’ve tried convincing myself that she’s busy with family, or perhaps catching up on sleep after last night’s text marathon, but I can’t help but think that something’s wrong. Perhaps she ran into an ex. Or someone new. Maybe she’s realized my aura’s dirty. Who the fuck knows?

  I reach Peg Leg’s, pushing the front door open and slipping inside. As usual, Julius greets me with his beaming smile and spreads his arms for a hug, which lets me know he’s had a few. I’ve known the man forever, he was good friends with my grandpa, so I know how to read him. Drunk Julius means a good night for both me and my pocketbook.

  “Gavin, my boy,” he says, taking me into his arms and squeezing. “How ya been there, man? Didn’t think I was gonna see ya.”

  “Yeah, I meant to come sooner. Date ran late.”

  “Yeah,” he says, jutting a thumb behind him. “The fellas were telling me about this challenge of yours.” He chuckles loudly, grabbing at his gut.

  “It’s been interesting, to say the least.”

  He sets a hand to my shoulder, tilting his head and passing me a look of understanding.

  “Gavin, how long I known ya? Since you were about this high, coming to visit for the summer?” he asks, putting his hand down low to the floor. Standing back straight, and placing a hand back on my shoulder, he continues, “How the hell are you even alive still,” before laughing again.

  “I’m not even gonna lie to you, man. I’ve had to talk myself off the ledge a few times already,” I say with a chuckle. “I can’t even tell you, Julius. There are some weird ass fucking people out there.”

  “It’s this generation—your generation—amigo…”

  “You got that right.”

  “I blame the internet,” he replies, patting me on the back and starting toward the bar.

  “I blame the Kardashians.”

  He bursts out laughing again, stopping in his tracks, and shaking his head.

  “You fucking got that right, buddy. Go have fun with your guys. I’ll send another pitcher over for ya.”

  “Thanks, my friend. I’ll see you in a bit.” I pat him on the back, and cross the bar to our usual booth, wiggling my way through the clumps of standing bodies and occupied tables littering the place.

  “I’ll be fuckin’ damned,” Andy says with a grin. “Look who decided to show.”

  “’Ey, what up, man?” Javon asks, looking up from the menu.

  “Surviving,” I respond, greeting them all with the usual fist bumps and hand slaps as I settle in beside Andy. It’s better for my ego not to sit right next to Javon.

  “How goes the challenge?” Bobby chimes in, a little wriggle in his brow.

  “Busy, dude. That’s where I’m coming from. You know, I never thought about the logistical side to this shit. Had I, I would’ve set my winnings much higher.”

  “You need a secretary,” he responds with a wink, and I roll my eyes.

  “No shit. Or a fucking full-time staff.”

  “Bobby said you’re writing again?” Javon asks, leaning into the table past the three others between us.

  “Yeah, man. Crazy, but I am. It’s been going about a week now.”

  “That’s great,” he responds. “Good on you, man.”

  “Thanks. I’m just rolling with it while it lasts.”

  “Anything more with those two chicks you liked?”

  “Megan, I need to eventually text or call, or if I want to not be a millennial dick, see, so I can kind of tell her what’s up, but Sami… Man, I don’t know. She’s just something else.”

  He presses his lips together, pulling his head back in surprise.

  “No shit?”

  “No shit.”

  “You seen her taters yet?” Andy asks, arching an eyebrow and jutting his chin out a bit.

  “Her taters?” I ask, handling my beer and grinning.

  “Yeah, her taters. Her flapjacks. Her hacky sacks. Her fun bags.” He leans in, his elbow on the table and chin in his hand, and he wriggles his brows. “Have ya flicked her bean?”

  I stare at him blankly, a little curl of playful disgust in my lip.

  “Have ya double stuffed her oreo? Plowed her field? Plucked her chicken?” he continues.

  “Andy, shut the fuck up,” Bobby scolds, rolling his eyes, his hands flailing in frustration. “I’m trying to hear the fucking question.”

  Andy darts his eyes back to Bobby for a moment, batting his eyelashes as Bobby does his best to ignore him. He eventually turns to me again, leans back in, and continues. “Did she canoodle your noodle? Tickle your pickle? Smooch the gooch?”

  “Andy, fuck!”” Bobby yells, dropping his head into his hands.

  I take a deep breath, let it out slowly and smile.

  “No Andy, we haven’t fucked.”

  “Well, damn.”

  For my first time in the existence of Team Blue Waffle House, I’m the one who had to be warned about using my phone before our trivia answers were in. Not Javon. Not Andy. Me. I’m ashamed, but couldn’t help it. The longer I wait for Sami to text back, the more freaked out I become. I’m a natural overthinker, and though I did nothing wrong, I’m starting to worry maybe something happened to her. While it’s a little early on to be calling her after an unanswered text, I did google ‘car accidents, Oneonta’ at one point, and felt like a massive tool bag doing so.

  “You wanna grab another beer before calling it a night?” Bobby asks, just moments after Andy and Javon go their separate ways.

  “For sure, man. Why don’t we just go back into Peg Leg’s then?”

  “No, you know if we do that Julius will talk our ears off. He’s feeling pretty damn good right now.”

  “True. Well, fuck it, just come
back to the house. I’ve got beer.”

  “Works for me.”

  After the short walk home, I let him into my loft and motion toward the back door.

  “You wanna smoke a bit?”

  He hesitates a moment, and then shrugs. “Why the hell not?”

  I grab two beers from the fridge, popping their tops before meeting him out in the garden. We take seats on the rickety chairs and I hand off his bottle. Setting my beer on the table, I riffle a joint from the tin case and pop it between my lips and lighting it.

  “So what’s up, man? You look like you got something on your mind, and I can only imagine that’s why we’re having this extra beer,” I say, taking a few good puffs before passing it over to him and tilting my beer back.

  “Nah, nothing. There’s just not a lot of opportunity to talk during trivia, seriously anyway, and I’m just trying to see where your head’s at after seeing Joanne.”

  I roll my eyes and take the joint back from him.

  “I mean, it wasn’t ideal, but I’m not gonna go slitting my wrists or anything, Bobby boy. Don’t you worry about that.”

  He scoffs. “I’m not saying that, dude, but I know it’s not just nothing either.”

  I hesitate for a second, shrugging before I admit, “It’s got my mind in a nice little whirlwind, but outside of that, it really is nothing. What can I do, ya know?”

  “Personally, I think you just let it be. Don’t respond. Do you, and don’t worry about her BS.”

  “I know you’re right,” I say, nodding. “But easier said than done. That girl—she’s the only woman I’ve ever loved. I don’t have many options. Just seeing her brings back so many fucking emotions I’d rather not feel. And then so many emotions I’d love to feel again.”

  “That’s my point exactly. That’s why I think it’s best to keep your distance. Focus on Sami. She’s a badass chick.”

  I lift my eyebrows, doubt passing over my features.

  “Yeah, well, she hasn’t texted me back in about ten hours or so and she read my message, so who knows.”

  “Maybe, she’s busy. You said she’s with her family.”