“I’d choose your words more carefully than that,” I advise. Without thinking I reach out and trace etched arrows on the metal plate attached to his worn, leather bracelet. “This means something to you.”
“How do you know?”
“Lucky guess,” I admit. “It looks like you wear it a lot.”
“A friend gave it to me when I was feeling lost.” Jude pauses and stares down at it.
“Does it show you the way?” I ask in a soft voice.
“No, it reminds me that I choose my own direction.”
“Why are there two arrows then?” The simple shapes cross one another, pointing in opposite directions.
“Because there’s always a choice in which path you choose.”
I understand the importance of this sentiment, even if I don’t exactly agree. Some of us don’t have the luxury of choices. I keep the thought to myself.
By the time the food is delivered, I’m easing into the situation. Mostly due to finding Jude’s Wikipedia page and a list of every song that he’s composed. There’s a lot of them and I know them all by heart. At least, I think I do. It should embarrass me that I’m spending a date quoting a man’s words back to him, instead it relaxes me. Knowing those songs came from him finally gives us common ground I’m willing to tread on.
“Oh!” I squeak forgetting I have a mouthful of egg roll. I swallow it quickly. “You wrote Rainy Day Girl?”
“You really do know all of my songs.” He plops a fresh crab rangoon on my plate. I don’t bother protesting the fried offering. If we have a whole table of food I might as well dig in.
“I’m pretty sure I do.” I crack it open and break off the excessive crunchy bits.
“That’s the best part,” he objects as he scoops them off my plate and into his mouth.
His mouth. I recall the kiss and I wonder what else he can do with those lips. I realize I’m staring too late.
“Do you sing?” I ask the first thing that pops into my head.
“I have to, but it’s not pretty,” he warns me.
“I bet that’s not true.”
“There’s a reason someone else gets paid to make the records, Sunshine.”
“About that nickname,” I interject. “I can’t decide if you’re making fun of me.”
“I was the first time I said it, but I’m not anymore,” he admits.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. All week I look forward to seeing you. I’ve missed you like the sun these last two rainy weeks, because you’ve become my light. I tried to give you some space, but when you missed two weeks in a row, I couldn’t stay away.” His confession hangs in the air, bating me to admit that I was avoiding him. Then he gives me an out. “You were probably sick.”
“I wasn’t. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent time with a man.” I might as well own my feelings, too. I don’t mention that it’s been a really long time.
“Max’s father?” he guesses.
I hesitate, not wanting to air that laundry on a first date.
Jude senses my apprehension and changes the subject. He probably doesn’t want to hear about my past on a first date either. “So have you looked into cochlear implants for Max?”
“That’s complicated,” I say slowly. There’s no way he wants to hear the four years of research I’ve done on the topic, so I fall back on my instant closer. “Insurance says it’s unnecessary and there’s no way I have the money.”
“Do you wish he could hear?” His interest—his earnestness—radiates from him and for the first time in a long time, I know he’s just asking. Jude wants to listen not lecture. That’s not a luxury I’ve been given by most people.
“I guess.” I have to consider this. No one’s ever asked me that exactly. “I think we all want our children to be perfect. You know what I mean. Not perfect. Just healthy and we have an expectation of what that is. It took me a while to realize he is healthy, and he’s got a great school that’s working with him on sign language and reading lips. So I suppose I’d love to hear his voice or sing to him, but that’s just me being selfish.”
“I don’t think that’s selfish at all.” He reaches out and takes my hand, intertwining our fingers. “I suspect you’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met.”
I start to roll my eyes but he squeezes my hand.
“Don’t underestimate yourself.”
“It’s a force of habit,” I whisper.
“Then we’ll have to break that habit.” He makes it sound so simple. Why does the world feel easier around him? I want to believe he’s right and not selling me a beautiful lie, but experience has taught me otherwise.
“I don’t think its like not chewing your fingernails.”