8. Intensity
"You survived," my mother declared with a laugh when I walked through the door.
"Um, hi," I replied, surprised to see her. "What was that supposed to mean?"
"Your first time ice skating with Sara," she explained. "How was it?"
"Cold," I responded, shedding my layers before joining her in the living room. "I wasn't expecting you to be home."
She picked up the wine glass that was on the end table as I sat down next to her on the couch. My stomach churned as I watched her take a sip.
“And how was the concert?”
“Uh, it was amazing,” I responded, trying to conceal my discomfort. "How was your date?"
“He’s so incredible, I could die,” my mother gushed, instantly transformed into a giddy sixteen year-old. “He took me to this sushi restaurant, and then we went dancing. He makes me feel like I'm the only girl in the room. And believe me, every girl in the room is looking at him. He's so..."
If she said dreamy, I was going to laugh.
"...intense."
This description got a raise of an eyebrow out of me.
I knew she was talking about the same guy who had walked in the house last night. I could feel my cheeks heating up just thinking about how nonchalant he was seeing me in a towel, like it was the most common thing in the world. And of course, I couldn't have been any more awkward. I hadn't told anyone about it, not even Sara. It was not a moment I wanted to relive.
"He sounds great," I replied, distracted again when she took another sip from the wine glass.
"I can't―" She stopped when she saw me staring at the glass. She set it down and adjusted herself uncomfortably. "I really am sorry about what happened a few weeks ago. I wish more than anything you hadn't seen me like that."
I nodded, unable to tell her how helpless it made me feel to watch her drown her pain in vodka.
"I'm okay though, I promise," she reassured me with a hint of a smile. "I don't drink like I used to, really. I know my limit.
"I was hurting that night,” she continued. “And I needed to take the edge off. I wasn't ready―"
"For me," I finished for her, knowing the only reason she'd searched for the pictures was because I reminded her of my father, and remembering him crushed her.
"No," she correctly quickly. "That's not it. I've made myself forget him, so I won't hurt so much. It's why you had to..." She couldn't finish the sentence, but I knew she was talking about why she'd left me with George and Carol. "But I'm better. I just had a bad night, that's all. So you don't have to worry if you see me having a drink or two. I have it under control, I swear."
"Okay." I wasn't exactly convinced, but in the month that I'd lived here, I'd really only seen the one lapsing moment. I guess I understood what triggered it, but I hoped more than anything that it didn't happen again.
"So, I told Jonathan about you," she said, smiling brightly. "I wasn't sure how he was going to react, knowing I have a teenage daughter. But, he wants to meet you!"
She said it like it was the most exciting news ever.
"Really?" I was tempted to tell her I'd already met him―however briefly. "Why?"
My mother drew her brows together, appearing offended that I didn't understand.
"Because he wants to date me," she explained emphatically. "So, he wants to make sure you're okay with us―you know, when he starts coming over."
"Oh," I responded with big eyes, finally understanding. "Great." I feigned excitement, but the thought of seeing this guy again made my stomach flip.
"What's wrong?" she demanded, her smile faltering.
"Nothing." I forced the words through a frozen smile, "That's really great."
"You're such a horrible liar," she accused. "But I understand why you'd be nervous. Don't worry, he's so great. You'll love him."
"So, when am I meeting him?"
"Monday night," she exclaimed jubilantly, her eyes sparkling.
"Great," I returned again as excitedly as I could fake. It seemed to be the only word my brain could form. "Great," I grumbled in dread under my breath when she left to top off her wine glass. "Can't wait."
~~~~~
Text me as soon as you get home. I want to hear all about him! Sara sent as I pulled into the parking lot.
I called my mother to make sure she was at the restaurant before I went inside. She picked up on the third ring.
"Hi, Emily," she answered. "Are you there?"
"There?" I questioned in alarm. "You mean you're not here yet?"
"Um, no," she faltered. "I'm still at work."
"What?" I shot back, panic beginning to take over. "So what am I supposed to do?"
"Start without me," she suggested. "It will give you some time to talk without me there, you know, to get to know each other.”
I didn't respond. I sat in the car with my mouth open, shaking my head.
"Please," she begged. "You can do this."
"Uh huh," I uttered, staring at the large glass windows, wondering which one of the people in there was waiting for me. "Does he know you're late?"
"I just talked to him. I won't be too much longer, I promise. Just take a deep breath; you can get through this."
The fact that she understood my anxiety wasn't at all comforting. It only gave me another reason to panic.
"Please," she begged more emphatically.
I filled my lungs with air and blew out quickly. "Okay."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed joyously.
"Hurry."
"As fast as I can," she promised.
I walked into the steakhouse, trying to remember what this guy, Jonathan, looked like. I had been too stunned and embarrassed the other night to really get a good look at him. All I knew was that he had intense brown eyes.
"Can I help you?" the hostess offered as I looked past her into the dining room.
"Umm, I'm meeting someone."
"Emma." A man stood at a table in the middle of the room.
"Found him," I told the hostess, who shot me a curious look. I glanced back a couple of times as I approached the table, finding her still following after me with a stunned expression on her face.
"Hi," Jonathan welcomed, pulling out a chair for me.
"Hi," I responded, draping my coat on the back of the chair before taking a seat.
That's when I looked at him―I mean really looked at him―and nearly slid off my chair as I pulled it forward. He was not the guy I remembered from the bottom of the stairs.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come in," he said, sitting across from me.
Jonathan definitely looked young. But it was difficult to pin an age on him, except to say he was in his twenties. He was bigger than I remembered as well, but then again, he'd had a jacket on when I last saw him.
He had an All-American quarterback look. His dark wavy hair was neatly unkempt on top, with the sides trimmed tight. But it was his eyes that kept me from speaking. Intense was absolutely the word for them. I had a hard time meeting his eyes. It felt like he could peer right into me, and it kept me a bit on edge.
"Emma?"
"Huh?" I looked up. I had been fidgeting with my napkin to avoid making eye contact. My cheeks became hot when I realized he and the server were waiting for me to respond to whatever she'd asked. "Sorry. What was that?"
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Um, water's fine."
The tall blonde paused before leaving, looking me over with judgment. Then she turned toward Jonathan and smiled brightly. "I'll be back with your drink."
I raised my eyebrows at her odd behavior and watched her walk away.
Jonathan laughed. "What's wrong?"
I quickly turned back toward him, my entire face heating up again when I realized he'd read the look on my face.
"Wow, I thought Rachel had all of the hues of red down," he said, sounding amused. "But you have a few shades I've never seen before." He chuckled before adding, "Did she do something wrong?"
"No," I answered quickly, my napkin falling off my lap as I adjusted myself in the chair. I bent down to pick it up. While I was out of his eyesight, I closed my eyes and willed myself to pull it together.
"Everything okay?" he asked in amusement when I sat back up in the chair.
"Just my napkin," I explained feebly.
Jonathan's phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket, still grinning at my social ineptitude.
"Looks like she's running later than she thought. She wants us to order, and she'll be here for dessert."
"Great," I muttered, my enthusiasm amiss.
"Would you rather not do this?" Jonathan questioned, his bemused expression suddenly lost.
"Sorry," I grimaced. "That sounded really bad. I'm just... nervous."
"Because of me?" He sounded legitimately surprised.
I shrugged, reluctantly looking over at him. His brows creased apologetically. I wanted to slink under the table.
"I'm not very good at this," I confessed in a rush. "I guess you could say I'm not the most social person, so even if you looked like that guy," I nodded toward the overweight, balding man at the next table, "I would still be a fumbling idiot."
His cheeks creased around his broad white smile as he examined me curiously. I closed my eyes and cringed, realizing I'd just inadvertently told him he was hot. This was going great.
"You're just like her," he mused, studying me. "I mean, you don't look like her at all, and she talks a lot more when she's nervous, but you're just like her. She spilled coffee on me the first time we met."
"And probably apologized a hundred times while trying to clean you off," I grinned, thankful he skipped right over my comment.
"I don't think I've heard someone talk so fast before," he laughed. "At first, I thought she was speaking a different language."
I laughed, easily picturing it. "So you met in a coffee shop?"
"No," he corrected. "We met at work. I work for an architectural firm who collaborates on projects with her engineering firm. We met about six months ago, but we didn't go out until just recently. She refused to go out with me for the longest time.”
"Really?" The shock in my tone was heavier than I intended.
"The age thing," he explained with a shrug. "She kept saying I was too young."
"Right," I nodded, remembering her dilemma when she first spoke of him.
"But it's not a big deal, right?'
"Nope." I shook my head. "Age shouldn't matter."
He looked right into me and grinned. I could feel my cheeks changing color again, and I wanted to dump the water over my head to cool them off. I felt like an idiot. I still couldn't hold his eye for more than a second when he spoke to me. I'd never had anyone focus on me so intently before, but I wasn't sure he intended to do it. My mother had said he made her feel like she was the only one in the room when he looked at her―and I guess I didn't want to feel that way.
"Have you decided what you'd like to have this evening?" the server asked, setting Jonathan's drink down. She glanced at both of us, but her bright smile reemerged when Jonathan looked up at her.
While he was deciding, I glanced around the room and realized she wasn't the only one who couldn't stop staring. I was slightly amused by the women adjusting their chair positions ever so slightly to get a better look.
"And you?" she asked, barely making eye contact with me. Every other glance flipped back to Jonathan to see if he was looking at her, but he was obliviously watching me, waiting for me to decide.
"I'll have the rib eye, medium-rare," I ordered, closing my menu and handing it to her.
"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, reading me so easily.
"You attract a lot of attention, huh?" I stated honestly.
Jonathan grinned abashedly.
"Sorry," I floundered. "That was internal dialogue that should have stayed inside of my head."
"You're funny." He chuckled.
"Unfortunately," I groaned.
"They recognize me from the ads," he admitted averting his gaze. He was visibly uncomfortable as he took a sip from his glass.
"Ads?"
"I did a shoot for jeans when I was in college, to earn some money for school."
"Oh," I reacted. "You think the reason just about every girl in this restaurant is staring at you is because they saw you in a magazine ad, like what, five or six years ago?"
Jonathan looked up at me with an embarrassed grin.
"Wow, I did it again, didn't I? I can't seem to keep from saying the most―"
"Honest," he interrupted. "You're being honest. It's pretty funny, really."
"I'm an idiot," I admitted, sinking in my chair. "How's that for honesty?"
Jonathan laughed again. I was definitely giving him plenty to laugh at.
"Okay," he said, trying to sound serious. "We're supposed to be getting to know each other. Tell me something about you."
I stared at him blankly, like he'd just asked me to recite the capitals of every country in the world.
"Okay," he soothed. "Play any sports?"
My shoulders eased up and I nodded. “Yeah, I’m playing basketball right now.”
“Are you any good?”
I released a breathy laugh. “I’m decent.”
“You’re better than decent,” he challenged.
“Why would you say that?” I questioned, my cheeks peaking in color.
“You laughed, so you’re not comfortable talking about yourself, meaning you’re probably really good.”
I shrugged, my cheeks igniting as I adjusted my position in the chair. His ability to read me like a book was a bit disarming.
“Okay, let’s put it this way. What would the papers say about you?”
“Umm… I guess they’d say that I’m the co-captain and point guard of the first place team in our division. That I average twenty points a game and was All-American last season.”
“That’s impressive,” he admired with a slow nod. I shrugged sheepishly.
“What about you? Did you play any sports?” I was pretty certain I already knew the answer.
The server arrived, placing our plates in front of us.
"Is there anything else I can get for you?" she asked Jonathan.
"Emma, do you need anything?" He purposely diverted her attention to me.
"No, I'm fine," I answered, trying to keep from smiling. She walked away with her shoulders slumped.
"What were we talking about?"
"What sports you played," I reminded him.
“I played football.”
I nodded, pretty much predicting it based on his thick neck and broad muscular build.
"Don't nod like that," he shot back, "like you knew I was going to say that."
"Well, come on," I rebutted, "look at you." He rolled his eyes. "Fine.” I continued, “What would the papers say about you?”
“The papers wouldn’t mention me at all; I spent most of my time on the bench.”
I laughed. “Really?”
"You don't have to laugh," he feigned offense. "I was second string receiver. I just wasn't as good as the starter." He paused before blurting, "Okay, fine, I sucked. I couldn't hold on to the ball to save my life."
I laughed again.
“But I swam. Still do when I can.”
“Would the papers mention that?”
“I guess they would,” he admitted modestly. “I swam on the team at Penn State. It helped pay for my tuition.”
“So you were really good, huh?” I noted, impressed.
He shrugged with one shoulder.
"Wait, I thought modeling helped with your tuition?" I grinned.
"Yeah, that was a onetime thing, and it really didn't pay that much."
I nodded, taunting him with a smirk on my face.
"Shouldn't have told you that, huh?"
"Sorry," I laughed. "I just think it's funny that you're immune―"
"Hi," my mother greeted excitedly before I could finish. Jonathan stood up to greet her with a hug and kiss―which made me suddenly interested in the food on my plate. I was still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she was dating, and I wasn't quite ready to handle seeing it. I knew I needed to get over it... fast. Especially when she sat down with us and kept a hold of his hand throughout dessert, dominating the conversation in her nervous rush.
I watched as Jonathan hung on to her every word, every so often calming her enough so she actually sounded coherent.
It was evident that she was enthralled with him and he really cared for her. By the time we were ready to leave, I was... okay. She was happy. And that was all that mattered.
I pulled out my phone to check the time. "Um, I have to go," I said, interrupting my mother's story about the time she accidentally uploaded a YouTube video of singing cats for a presentation. "Thank you for dinner."
"What do you mean?" she questioned, sounding slightly disappointed.
"Evan's supposed to be meeting me at the house in twenty minutes."
"Do you want to come back to the house?" she asked Jonathan, completely taking me by surprise.
"Sure," Jonathan responded, signing the check.
Hellooo?! What's he like? was waiting on my phone when I entered the car.
He's nice, was all I texted back to Sara before driving home.
Evan was waiting for me when I pulled into the driveway.
"Sorry," I grimaced, as I hurried up the walkway.
"I just got here," Evan assured me.
I unlocked the door as my mother and Jonathan pulled in behind me.
"How was it?" Evan asked before they entered the house.
"Okay," I responded with a shrug. Evan eyed me curiously, knowing how nervous I had been about the dinner. "He's nice," I opted, providing him with my canned response.
"Evan," my mother greeted happily. "How are you?"
"Great. Thanks," Evan replied, hanging up his jacket. He paused for a moment with the hanger in his hand when Jonathan walked in. Then he took my jacket from me and hung it as well.
“Jonathan, this is Evan,” my mother introduced. Jonathan held out his hand with a broad smile.
“Nice to meet you.” Evan shook his hand in return.
“You too,” Jonathan responded. There was a strange silence while we all just stood there in the foyer looking at each other.
“We’re going upstairs to study,” I finally announced, taking Evan by the hand.
“That's him, huh?" Evan said, closing the door behind us.
"Yup," I said, sitting down on the bed. "That's him."
"Not who I was expecting," he stated.
"Who were you expecting?" I countered, surprised by the contemplative look in his eyes.
"I don't know," he said dismissively, sitting next to me on the bed. He leaned down and was about to kiss me when we were interrupted by a knock at my door.
“Hi,” Sara burst in. Then she narrowed her eyes at our frozen posture and rolled them with an impatient breath. “Did I interrupt something?”
“No,” I replied quickly, struck by her annoyed tone. I slid up the bed to sit against the wall, distancing myself from Evan. “What are you doing here?”
“I had to see the guy. Your text was pathetic,” she accused. “Holy hotness. He is beautiful. I mean truly beu-ti-ful. Like the kind of beautiful they build statues to worship.”
Evan looked at her in amusement. I shook my head with a roll of my eyes.
“How old is he, like twenty?”
“No,” I replied like she was insane. “He’s twenty-eight.”
“Well, nicely done, Rachel,” Sara stated enviously. "And just think, you'll get to see him like every day."
I widened my eyes, silently begging her to shut her mouth. Evan’s troubled looked returned. Obviously, he did not share Sara's enthusiasm.