I think this is what spending time with your forever person is supposed to be like. Exciting and new, yeah, but innocuous, like even though I can’t see what’s written in our story, I know it’s going to be good. I have this strange certainty that I’ve only ever had one other time.
Trying my hardest, I keep the two-hour date discussions centered around getting to know her as much as possible. I ask a dizzying amount of questions because I remember Delane recounting a terrible Tinder date once at work. What she said really fucking stuck with me.
“He never asked me a single question. I asked him every question under the sun and I never even got so much as a ‘what about you?’ afterward.” The next part is etched into my brain. “If you can’t make it through a couple of hours spread across a few dates without hogging the mic, you aren’t someone to share anything with, much less my heart.”
I swear Delane could write a book on dating if she ever gave her audiobooks a rest. She is slightly younger than me at twenty-two, and even though she’s currently single, she’s sharp and tough, and if she says to shut up on the first few dates, then I know I should.
I learn her parents moved to Oakcreek after they retired. I learn that she has an art degree from UC Berkeley, where she lived in the dorms for two years and an off-campus apartment the other two. She tells me that she tells restaurants she’s allergic to tomatoes, but really, she just wants to make sure the runny juice doesn’t get on everything. When I ask about her favorite movies and music, we talk for another thirty minutes about how foolish it is that I haven’t seen the movieGhost, and she promises me that after I see it, I’ll be much more into pottery. We discuss everything from how we take our coffee to the worst feelings in the world—which we both agree is when something is caught in your teeth that you can’t get out. Conversation is seamless and not at all uncomfortable.
After I pay the bill, we head back to my car, where I thankfully get to open her door for her.
With her hair tucked behind her ears, she smiles shyly at me. “I honestly don’t know how to react because D—no onehas ever opened my car door for me.”
She was going to say Dustin. Fucking Dustin.
“No offense, Beck, but Dustin sounds like he was a completely unworthy asshole.”
I make my way to my seat, and we clip our seat belts in silence because clearly, I have overstepped. She crosses her legs toward the passenger door, her body language speaking volumes.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that about Dustin. I don’t have the right.” I will earn the goddamn right to bash that motherfucker by being here, showing her I care, and being present–that much I do know. But did I just ruin the best date ever with a few words? Fuck.
I drape my hand on her leg, having to reach a bit further and work a bit harder as she’s clearly angled away from me.
“I’m really glad you hadn’t taken Jett to your parents’ until I got there.” We roll to a stop light where we are the only car at the intersection. Still, the light remains red. “Not getting to see him…” I accelerate as the light turns green, letting my foot down heavily against the pedal. “I would have missed him.”
The silence is broken and not at all in the way I wanted it to be.
“You shouldn’t say that.” Curt and clipped, her tone tells me everything, and yet, I really fucking know nothing. She’s pissed–is this because I burned down Dickish Dustin?
“Beck, help me out here. You’re angry with me. I want to know why so I can better understand you.” And not do it again, obviously.
She scoffs under her breath. “You shouldn’t act like Jett matters to you when this,” she motions between us, “is just something to fill your time or take your mind off of your depression.” She folds her arms across her chest, but not before removing my hand from her leg.
Fuck.
“Beck, that’s not true.” There’s a freefall starting in my chest, ending in my gut, leaving my core aching from her harsh words. Idocare about Jett. Iwould havemissed seeing him.
She’s silent. I don’t want to be angry. But it’s edging in, and I can’t help it.
Controlling my tone, I carefully reply. “I know we haven’t known each other for years or anything but you have to know, I wouldn’t say a fucking word about missing Jett if I didn’t mean it, Beck.”
Her tone is defensive and incredulous, and how the fuck did this go from the best date ever to her treating me like I’m using her or some shit? I fucking care about herandher son. “No, Beau, I don’thaveto know anything because I’ve only known you for four weeks!”
I try a different tactic, and instead of defending myself, I say, “We’ve seen each other almost every single day for those four weeks.”
She’s silent again, and I should probably just stay silent, too.
But I don’t.
“I wouldn’t act like I cared aboutanyoneif I didn’t. Especially not a baby, Beck. I don’t know what kind of monster asshole you think I am, but you’re wrong.”
We pull up outside her mom’s house. I don’t know why I drove there. I don’t have a car seat. But something tells me the idea of us walking to her parents’ place from hers doesn’t have the special heart-fluttering energy as it did a few hours ago.
She doesn’t wait for me to open her door, and I’m finally at a loss for words. Why is she pushing me away so hard?
I’m internally cursing Dumbfuck Dustin for hurting her so bad that she’s shutting me out when she stops us right before the last step on the porch.
Resting her hand on my wrist, I meet her blue eyes in the twilight. The porch offers a burst of light from one corner, but she stands in front of it, so once again, Beck is illuminated like a fucking angel.