by Amy Henwood
“I know.”
This was turning out to be harder than I expected; she was not even opening up to general small talk.
“And for shielding me in the parking lot too,” I said.
“Anytime.” Her eyes did not once leave the screen.
Alright, here goes nothing.
“I was thinking. Maybe you are right. Maybe—” I paused, inhaling deeply “—I want you to teach me how to interact with guys the Mia way.”
“Sure, okay.”
Seriously? Red flags were everywhere.
“Alright, Mia.” The boxing gloves came off. I positioned my body in front of her, obstructing her Tatum view. “What is your problem? You were all boy this, boy that. Go talk to the boy. I will coach you with boys. And now I cannot get more than a two-word sentence out of you. What the hell is going on in that head of yours?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“No. That is not fair. You razzed me, and now that something is clearly bothering you, you shut me out. That is not how this friendship thing works.”
“Fine, you want me to talk, I’ll talk. One of the people in that group tonight reminded me of someone. I thought maybe it was someone I knew.” She hesitated for a moment, taking a deep chest-heavy breath. “Someone I once loved; but I don’t know how it could be. I haven’t seen him in years. You know why I haven’t seen him in years?” She didn’t let me answer, cutting back in with barely a pause. “Because he’s dead. My only true love is dead, because of—” She snapped, but stopped short before finishing her final word.
Dead? Shit. That I did not expect. Dead because of what? Why had she never told me this before? My mind was still processing what she revealed. I dared not attempt to question any further and cross those choppy unsettled waves.
I grabbed a hold of her hand, trying the whole I-am-sorry-for-your-loss, it-will-be-okay thing, but she drew her hand away and shoved it behind her pillow.
If that was how she was going to be, then fine, but I would not let her win. Reluctantly, I stayed in her room and watched the remainder of the movie in silence.
My vision may have been fixated on the television, but my consciousness wandered more than an over-spoiled child on Christmas morning, unable to focus on the item directly in front of me. Never once had she mentioned anything about a boyfriend from the pre-her-and-I time. Sure, I assumed there had to be at least a couple based on her busy social lifestyle, but I had never asked and had never been voluntarily told. Analyzing deeper, she never had brought up her life pre-Darlington days, and when I had ever asked questions about her family, childhood, or teenage rebellious youth, she would divert, never answering the question at hand.
When I asked about her family during the first days of us meeting, she briefly told me that her mom hadn’t made any attempted contact with her or her dad since she left for groceries one day and never returned. This had thrown me off, with her toning the mood as if it was a traumatic life event and to never bring it up again. Since then, conversations containing life prior to us meeting had been so rare that it could have classified as fictitious.
Mia never returned home for holidays, long weekends, or spring or summer break. I had offered on multiple occasions for her to join me at my parent’s house for a weekend away, but she always courteously declined the invitation.
She, however, maintained a part-time job at a local bar. The base pay was not much, but she was good and quick at pouring drinks, and the drunk college and university students took good care of keeping her bank account heavy with tips. When those notorious holiday weekends arrived and other employees wanted time off, she happily pulled double shifts, making up for the short staffing, with the bonus of increased generous tippers.
My eyes felt like lead weights by the end of the movie, but I successfully made it through. Mia, on the other hand, crashed just shy of the halfway point.
I removed myself from her bed as quietly and motionless as possible, to prevent her from waking. I switched off the television and media player and covered her up with the blanket lying at the foot of the bed. Taking my pillows with me, I crawled into my bed and drifted into sleep as soon as my head rested on the pillow.
3
I slept until my alarm woke me, and although I was thankful that I was not as lethargic as the previous morning, I still punched the snooze button twice.
Mia was already up and in the kitchen with the coffee brewing. The bold Colombian scent seeped beneath my bedroom door. It was hard to predict what her mood would be like after last night's episode, and I was cautious on my approach—I had struck a chord with her, setting her off like a ticking time bomb.
“Good morning,” she cheerfully greeted me, clearly over her blow out.
“Morning,” I responded while rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“Did you make it through the entire movie last night?” she asked while pouring two large cups of coffee into our classy Ikea mugs.
“Barely,” I responded. “But I did manage to make it to the end.” I stretched my arms above my head and arched my back, holding in a yawn that made it more awkward than if I would have let it out to begin with.
“I must have been more tired than I thought. I crashed fairly quickly.” She didn’t show the slightest disturbance of the line item that sent her off the grid. “I am going to hit the books for a bit this morning before class,” she informed me. “Feel free to join, because I am on shift tonight at Fishbowl.” Fishbowl was the local bar she tended at.
We drank our coffees and each consumed a bowl of cereal—more of a bowl of sugar, but it tasted good, regardless of the high-calorie count.
I joined her in reviewing our microeconomics notes for our upcoming midterms. Our class schedule did not align flush, but we still had the same courses and tests. After some back and forth quizzing, we also attempted to close out our individual Principle of Marketing projects.
Our 11:20 a.m. class crept up faster than I would have liked. I packed my books for the afternoon in my bag, and Mia and I headed out the door to her car. It wasn’t every day that our classes started at the same time. It made it easy and convenient when they did, but for the days we had staggered starts or ends, she would either drive me and hang out before her class or stay late and wait for my final class of the day to conclude. I was forever grateful and in her debt, as she was not by any means obligated to do so. Since day one of us meeting, she had taken an odd interest in ensuring my needs were well met, like a big sister or best friend that I had known since I was two.
I had always been somewhat of an outsider. I had very few friends, and when I would finally find someone that might be a good friend, they pushed me away. I would then move on to another, but something about Mia was different. She latched onto me. Protected me.
English literature was first up, and we took our usual seats on the left side of the classroom. No individual desks dressed that classroom. Rectangular tables were accompanied by two chairs each. Mr. Mowatt, who preferred to be addressed as Chris, came into the classroom as the buzzer sounded.
My mind was clear and increasingly more focused than yesterday, and I had no problems absorbing the lesson. The single fifty-minute period ended, and Mia and I headed to our second and last class of the day.
We crossed through an adjacent hallway, and a group of people walked by us. Once again, as if staged like a movie, Mr. Brunette was in the midst of the pack. He noticed me right away, preventing me from avoiding him and ducking away.
He looked me straight in the eyes and flashed me another knee-shaking smile. His grin was soft, his eyebrows raised, and he moved his luscious lips, silently wording hi. Instantly my heart melted, and butterflies quickened in my gut. I wanted not to like him, but I couldn’t help but feel overly attracted to him. He was pulling me in, and I don’t think he even realized it.
Mia and I approached our last class of the day. Another fifty minutes of listening to our professor and then two days of sleeping in, relaxing, watching h
orrible weekend television shows and never leaving the comfort of my pyjamas. Who am I kidding? I had to pay for our rundown rental somehow; two shifts at Cinnamons Coffee was in my weekend destiny.
In the past, Mia had unsuccessfully tried convincing me to work at Fishbowl with her, but with my history of clumsiness, I would spend the entirety of my wages replacing broken glasses and spilled liquor. A quiet, slow-paced specialty coffee shop was more my forte than a fast-paced, crowd-dodging bar.
The buzzer sounded and another school week had come to a close. Each passing week was one closer to graduation, rounding out the years of unwilling dedication and hard work to please those parents of mine.
The sun had melted the snow residue on the asphalt, leaving a clear, crisp walking path surrounded by glossy snow, shining from the reflection like freshly applied lip gloss.
Mia’s Rio was nestled further back in the parking lot due to the late class start. I enjoyed the longer walk that day, as the warm rays beamed on my sun-deprived face. I tilted my head upright toward the cloud-free, brilliant blue sky, absorbing the heavens. I was not the only person taking in the change of weather from the previous days. A noticeable increase of students lingered around, not rushing to vehicles and cranking up the heat. Nothing says one lives in Canada more than parkas one day and sandals the next.
“Hey, I think that is the guy from yesterday.” Mia directed my attention down a few rows.
“I think it might be,” I replied.
“You need to go and talk to him.”
Was she serious? After what happened last night? “Are you kidding me? No way in hell!”
“Do you already forget last night, when you were begging me to coach you through picking up the opposite sex?” she said.
I wouldn’t call that begging. “I do, but if he reminds you of—” I stopped myself before finishing, not wanting a repeat charade from yesterday.
“It’s okay. His resemblance to my old boyfriend is uncanny and caught me off guard. I promise it’s fine.”
I glared at her, unsure if she was telling me the truth.
“Honestly,” she said, reassuring me. “By the way, I never apologized for how I reacted. Sorry.”
“I was more shocked than anything. You have never once mentioned him before. You never talk about your life prior to us meeting.”
“I don’t feel that my past should dictate my present,” she said.
I had hit a sore spot, again, and dropped the mention of any additional references before sending her off the rocker again.
“You honestly cannot expect me to march over there and strike up a conversation with him,” I said to her. “I have absolutely no confidence in conversing with guys, yet alone when he is surrounded by a group of what are quite possibly his closest friends.”
I turned my back to the group.
“First, you don’t just approach someone and begin babbling; that never turns out well. You start by introducing yourself, and if they gracefully return the gesture without hesitation, step one has been successful. Step two is to comment on the weather.”
“The weather?”
“For real, Scarlett?” She was obviously exasperated at my severe lack of small talk capabilities. I never was one for stellar conversation starters. “You have been a Canadian since conception. You should have been born with this one. All Canadian small talk begins with the weather.” She began rattling off weather-related topics. “Nice to see the sun today. Quite the snowstorm we had yesterday. Did you hear we are supposed to get rain for the next three days straight? In December! The weekend is look—”
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I said, cutting her off before reluctantly asking, “What is step three?”
“Go with it.”
“Go with it?”
“Yes. A weather reference opens the pathway for anything.”
“Sure, but I can’t do it.”
“Look, hun.” Whenever Mia referred to me as hun, she meant serious girl talk, and I had to be sure to listen up. “I know more about you than you might think. You haven’t indulged me with all the details of what has been going on in that head of yours since yesterday, but I know it has to he about him.”
“And how would you know that?” I asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? You have been dazed since you first saw him. I am female, too, and highly experienced in the romance department. Speaking from experience, he has been your sole thought. We have spent close to every waking moment together the past four years, making me an expert in sorting out your vibes. All of this has led me to a sure conclusion that you want him, and bad.”
I was unable to stop myself from turning blushed in the face.
Mia, the academic overachiever and workaholic, spent countless hours kissing all sorts of boys and still made time in her schedule to fully analyze my life.
“You probably do know better than me,” I blurted out, immediately regretting it.
“Thank you!” she said in an unknowingly loud voice. “You have finally figured out that I know you better than you know yourself.”
“I didn’t say that,” I butted in, but it didn’t make any difference.
“Now go put on your big girl panties and—” She stopped mid-sentence, distracted by something behind me.
“And what, Mia?”
“Turn around,” she quietly instructed me.
“Turn around?” I said, confused.
“Turn around—but slowly.” Her voice got fainter.
“What? Why?”
“Just do it,” she said between her teeth, eyebrows raised.
Without a response, I did as instructed. Shuffling my feet and swinging my body about one hundred and eighty degrees, I took caution and time, not knowing what I was to encounter after the completed rotation.
“Hi.” His voice was as delicate as a collection of grandmother's china: soft, gentle, yet bold all at once. The voice was the most attractive one my ears had ever heard. Stubble of facial hair surrounded his upper and lower lips, carrying down to his chin, making it difficult to turn my attention away from his majestic, hazel eyes. His built body was noticeable through his jacket, and I desperately wanted to feel the firm muscles shaping his alpine structure.
“Um, hi,” I said, rapidly turning my head back toward Mia, but she had already left me cold turkey, without making a peep.
Catching movement from the corner of my eye, I saw Mia walking toward her parked car. I realized that I would be diving into this alone. Not as much of a relationship coach as she claimed to be, leaving me high and dry in my largest, most desperate time of need.
“I haven’t noticed you on campus before.” His first words were about me. “I am trying to figure out how a woman as beautiful as you has gone unnoticed by me.”
Mr. Brunette had me lost for words, but thankfully he carried on.
“My name is Chase Price,” he said, introducing himself.
I was overwhelmed by my first official boy-meets-girl encounter. All good love stories begin with an epic first meeting, but there I stood, fighting my twisted tongue to form sounds. My mind raced, attempting to string some letters together to create words. An immeasurable amount of time—that was really only mere seconds—finally broke when I was able to bring my brain to my mouth.
The best I could come up with was: “I’m Scarlett.”
“Nice to meet you, Scarlett,” the luscious lips said.
“Enjoying the weather today?” I said without thinking first. What an idiot.
“It’s nice seeing the sun,” he said, and I could tell he was holding in a laugh.
I could feel heat on my face, changing my cheek into darker shades from embarrassment. I am going to strangle Mia.
“I have wanted to speak with you since I spotted you in economics yesterday, but unfortunately our encounters never worked out to a proper moment.” His voice was calming, his sentence structure formal and old fashioned.
My next set of words I was able to twine together were entirely irrele
vant to his last sentence. “Nice to meet you, Chase.”
For god’s sake, Scarlett, get your shit together. That line is five minutes too late. I wanted to drop dead that instant. How many times could I embarrass myself in front of the same person? The fact that he had not taken off running for the hills worried me more. I would likely turn into the laughing joke within his circle of friends.
“Now that I have finally been able to speak with you, would you accompany me to a party this evening?”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. I do apologize for the short notice, but I feel this would be the ideal opportunity to get to know each other while in a large group setting.” His formal tone continued, like he was not from this time.
“Yes,” I blurted out.
Chase entered my address into his phone and informed me that I would be picked up at eight-thirty that night. I watched as he turned away and went back to his group. One guy made a fist with his hand and pumped Chase on the bicep. Their murmurs carried across the rows, but I couldn’t make out the words.
Should I feel honoured that I had been asked out by the unmistakably most gorgeous boy I had ever seen? Or insulted that maybe it was some kind of bet? My internal emotions were undecided, but my brain reminded me that I had been asked out on a date.
I was staring in a daze at Chase and his friends, and I needed to move away, and quickly. I turned around on the balls of my feet and headed toward the car with an extra bounce in my step. I opened the passenger door to Mia’s Rio. She had it running and the heat blasting. She didn’t start driving but turned toward me instead, resting her elbows on the middle armrest.
“With a smile like that, I feel safe to assume you had a successful meeting with the hottie?” she inquired.
“The hottie?”
“Well, he is,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Yes, but he does have a proper name.”
“Which would be? Or have you forgotten already because you were blinded by his hotness?”
“Shut up,” I said playfully.
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I will try to behave now.”
