“Now,” she said and then paused. “I have kind of a crazy idea for a date that I’ve been meaning to try out but haven’t had the chance to yet. Because you were in Mexico before.”
“Right, my bad,” I said, sitting up in bed, certain she’d be able to hear my smile through the signal. “So, what’s your idea?”
Now I’m the only person on the island who’s awake, except for maybe some of the fishermen heading out to open water or some of my kitchen mates heading back home from the bar.
After a whole lifetime of being told four a.m. is dangerous, especially on foot, it is freeing to feel such peace. Safe among the trees and the moonlight, I don’t keep my cell phone in one hand, ready to call for help, the way I always did in Mexico when leaving a party, conditioned to fear the city even though I was in neighborhoods where things rarely happened.
Fireflies have been accompanying me the entire walk, and when they take Felix’s form, I’m happy that the situation leads us to talking about dating. We never really had the chance to before.
“Just be yourself,” he says, another platitude that offers no real advice unless it’s completely earnest.
“Did anyone think you were smooth,” I ask, “or could they see through your bullshit?”
“Hey, man, I did okay.”
I want to ask him about girls he loved, but the past tense kills me, so I just let him rattle on with his advice-column wisdom until I knock on Emma’s door. The fireflies he’s made up of flitter away. A few seconds later she answers wearing brightly colored elephant pajama shorts and a loose-fitting Sharon Van Etten tank top.
“Hi,” I say because I don’t want to say what I’m actually thinking, that this is weird and lovely and I’m a puddle of nerves and she looks fantastic and how the hell has life led me here. “You look great.”
“No, damn it!” she says. “This is a reverse date. You’d say that at the beginning, and that’s not now. Now’s the end.”
“Right. Sorry.” I put my hand on the door frame and then look down at myself wondering if I’m even sane enough to be on a date right now. “Should I be in pajamas?”
Emma laughs, grabs my hand. “Okay, so maybe this isn’t as smooth as I was envisioning. But this next part might help.”
“What’s the next part?”
“Well, assuming the date went well, which I am...”
“I like that assumption.”
“Then, we kiss good-night.” Emma says, biting her lip.
I take a moment to process this information. I might need a whole new brain to wrap around that statement. “We start the date with a kiss?”
“No, we’re ending it with a kiss.” She steps closer, puts her free hand around my waist so that I can feel how much warmer it is inside her house than in the cool air I’ve been walking around in. “Instead of worrying about the kiss all date, we’ll get it out of the way now, so that we’re not nervous. Like in that movie.”
“What movie?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says, pressing even closer, giving my hand a squeeze. “You ready? We’re going to say good-night now.” Over her shoulder, through a window, I can see the beginning of a sunrise softly erase away the night.
“Good night, Carlos. Thanks for a great date.”
“Good night, Emma.”
Our first kiss unfolds the way first kisses usually do: with equal measures of clumsiness and slobber and awe. It is phenomenal and not in sync and the slight part of me that is worried about the latter is completely overshadowed by the joy of the former. I feel transported, but, instead of to some other place, I’m transported more fully to the exact place where I am. To the taste of her lips, the feel of her body against mine, the quiet of the world around us. Emma pulls away from me, her cheeks and lips flushed red. More of that whole smiling-at-each-other-like-idiots thing. “Shit,” she says. “I’m still nervous.”
“Me too,” I laugh, but her hands are in mine and I can feel myself start to relax already. “What’s next?”
“Well, now we go to sleep.”
I laugh, though only because I don’t know what muscles to use for a more appropriate reaction (i.e., making my head explode).
Emma leads us to the living room. “The way I see it, after our date we both want the night to keep going, and so I invite you over to watch a movie and some cuddles, but we end up falling asleep.” She stands in front of the couch, powers on the TV but nothing else, so that the screen is showing a no signal message. Then she turns around, suddenly hesitant, wringing her hands, biting her lip. “Is this too weird? Was this a bad idea?”
Emboldened, thinking this is far from a bad idea, I close the slight gap between us and we kiss again.
*
It turns out that, while attempting to sleep near each other early in a first date provides a glorious amount of touching and comfort and arousal, it does not make for a conducive sleeping environment. Emma and I end up doing more giggling than anything, our hands clasped together beneath a thin plaid blanket.
“Carlos, are you asleep?”
“Of course I’m asleep,” I respond, eyes tightly shut.
“Okay, good. Because if we don’t fall asleep, then we can’t do the other parts of the date.” I fake a snore, nuzzle a little closer, don’t even envision what these other parts of the date might be. Emma throws an arm across my chest, matches the snore, and within moments we’re laughing again.
Who knows how long this goes on for, jokes interrupted by rare moments of quiet, where I think maybe one of us is about to really fall asleep, and I’m surprised by how benign my thoughts are in the silence. Then Emma turns on the video game console to find a movie on Netflix. Before hitting Play, Emma runs out to the kitchen to make us some popcorn and grab some drinks. On the couch, I run a hand through my hair in disbelief.
Emma comes back, settles herself against my chest with the oversized bowl on her lap. She picks up the remote control, cranes her head back so her lips are grazing my jawbone. Through the sheer curtains, I can see the sun poke its red head over the ocean.
Throughout the movie, we alternate between raucous laughter (“Why is he wearing snakes on his wrists? That makes no sense!”) and a silence more comfortable than I could have ever imagined. Outside people begin their days. Garage doors grind open, car engines turn on, children freed by summer squeal as they run outside to play.
When the credits roll, I ask Emma, “Can I kiss you again?”
And she responds wordlessly.
*