Chapter Six

 

 

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Chapter Six

TPOV

I thought this dating thing was going pretty well.  In all honesty, and especially in the last few years or six, I hadn’t dated.  I wasn’t exactly a dating expert before then, either.  But after Michael died, I didn’t really want a relationship with anyone.  I suppose psychology would claim that I had a fear of losing someone again or some bullshit, but the truth was, I just never found anyone that I really gave a shit to try with.  And relationships were complicated enough with family, much less another person who didn’t have to put up with you because you weren’t connected by blood.  It all just seemed so convoluted and completely artificial.  Half the people I knew were either together by default, or together and miserable—and I didn’t want either.  I could be miserable on my own, thanks.  

It seemed Allison had less experience than I did.  But it was fun in a way, too, because everything was new to her.  Something really simple became something else entirely.  And I was enjoying the series of firsts that we had going here.  Watching her face while we watched the movie was really hilarious because she was so expressive, and I don’t think she realized she was necessarily.  Her confusion and incredulous look at the end was epic.  I wasn’t actually sure she liked the movie or not, or if it was completely annoying and disturbing because of the way it ended, and I really never got to ask.  I’d wager, though, that it wasn’t exactly her kind of movie, so I’d scratch other classic horror off the list until I got more of a confirmation on that.  

The conversation had taken this strange turn after the movie when I asked her what I thought was a really easy question about dinner.  She was the most noncommittal and evasive person I’d ever met.  Everything she said was either reserved, or completely unrevealing.  And I couldn’t figure out why.  There were things I could guess, but in reality, everything was a guess with her.  And I really knew very little about her, which was just an odd way to date, too.  It wasn’t like I wanted to spill my life either, but usually basic information was exchanged.  I just didn’t know how to get her to open up—she’d only let little bits out at a time, and I think a lot of it was things she let slip.  

The thing about dinner, though, that was deliberate—I could see her thinking about it and then decide to tell me.  So, this piece of information was about her not always knowing where the next meal was coming from, so that was why she wasn’t particular about where or what we ate.  Now, I knew she wasn’t telling me this because she was going for some kind of shock value.  She wasn’t trying to make me feel sorry for her, either.  She was trying to explain—which I greatly appreciated.  And on some level, I think she was telling me that we came from completely different places, and that the more she told me, the more that was probably going to become evident.  I didn’t have experience with poverty that much was true; I never had to worry about food being on the table.  I hoped she knew that didn’t make a difference to me either.  

So, I filed the piece of information, got out a little bit more, and then moved on because I knew that not doing so would push her away.  And in return, when she asked, I told her a little bit about my father, even though that was not a topic I enjoyed.  But she’d given me something, so I gave her something back.  I didn’t really disclose anything about my relationship with my father, so in a way, depending on the topic, we both did the same thing.  Maybe with this next date, trying to lay things out and seeing how she’d take it would work.  Maybe it’d blow up in be face, too, but that was something I’d have to risk.  She could always tell me no.  

The fact that she’d given me her phone number before she’d left our last date was encouraging.  She’d been wary and evasive when I’d asked at the beginning, but by the end I must have done something that earned her trust enough for her to give it to me.  I was sure that wasn’t a number that she gave out freely, and I was one of only a few that had it.  I resisted the urge to call her the minute she left to just say hi, or just to tell her that I had her phone number, because she might have revoked my privileges or something.  

I’d been making this mental list of things I knew about her.  If I was interested in something, I was a decent listener, and she’d probably be shocked to realize that I remembered most of what she told me, even if it was clouded in subtext.  

The first night I met her, I knew she’d been a smoker but quit, had my first experience with her Diet Coke ordering, found she was extremely wary and untrusting, had lived in Florida, New Orleans, Texas, and Vegas before New York, and jail was not something that was a new and exciting experience.  She’d been handy with home first aid, she didn’t get off with me and seemed to be confused by the entire concept, and told me that her dreams weren’t normally sweet.  From that alone I could deduce that she’d had quite the colorful background, and had seen a lot more than I would ever dream of in her very short years.  She knew how to take care of herself and other people, and she was careful and protected.  She didn’t play video games a lot as a kid, but had enough experience in some short period that she could kick my ass, and lo and behold, she was a stripper.  Date one in a nutshell.  

So, I could put the stripper and the bad men experiences together, but that didn’t solve or answer everything.  My monumental fuck-up revealed that she had no problem fucking me in an alley, so modesty and embarrassment, or others seeing us, were not issues.  She also told me that she had nothing to go back to, which I figured had to mean family.  She was adamant about not discussing her childhood, so perhaps there was something with the not going back, and the fucked up men experiences, but putting too much stock in that could be dangerous.  And I didn’t want to start suggesting things to myself that would wind up being false, because then I’d probably think myself into worse places than necessary.  

She had no favorite color, no favorite food, and no favorite anything it seemed.  So, fucked up childhood was in there somewhere.  Even after hanging with me for a while, she was still reluctant to give me her phone number, and apparently motels and the creepy dudes who ran them were normal.  Fucking Norman Bates was normal. As in, she wasn’t at all shocked by his behavior, or horrified by his acts—she was either used to them from environment, or really great at letting disturbing things float by without analysis. Or both.  

She teased, but reading between the lines meant that she’d been around some really fucked up people, and most of them were guys.  She wouldn’t have teased about it if there wasn’t some semblance of truth there.  The fact that she’d had times when she didn’t know where food was coming from, and the correlating fact that she hadn’t moved to New Orleans with her parents, suggested several possibilities—none of which I really wanted to entertain at the moment.  

So… barreling at her with theories or questions with too much detail would send her reeling, and probably result in my death by ice skate. So, my plan for this date, then, was two-fold: teach her to ice skate, and start small with suggesting a mission to find her favorites.  That would be safe, without too much divulging on her part.  I have no idea why I thought the two went well together, but I figured if I was helping her skate and shit, maybe she’d be a little more open.  Plus, it’d give us something else to do—something constructive.  Something that would maybe give her… I don’t know.  It just seemed like a good idea.  

There weren’t a lot of ice rinks open past March and into April, so Sky Rink was the plan for the afternoon.  Saturdays could be busy, so I hoped that the crowd that might be there wouldn’t scare her off.  

I knocked on her door a little early, even though I’d told her 12:30.  She was ready regardless, and didn’t seem surprised that I was early.  

“Hi,” I said as she moved out of the doorway to let me in.

“Hey.  How’re you?”

“I’m good.  You?”

“I’d be better if I knew what we were doing.”

I smiled.  “Do you have a hat?”

“A hat?”

“Yeah, and mittens.”

I got an eyebrow raise.  Just one.  

I raised both of mine in answer.  “Yes?  No?  I have extra if you don’t.”

“No, I have some.  This is New York, right?”

“Yes.  Those will be required for our activity.”

“Christ,” she said, her shoulders slouching as she left to get them.  She came back clutching the hat in one hand and mittens in the other.  

I smiled.  “You also might want to put on a sweatshirt.”

“What are we doing, Tyler?”  

There may have been a little bit of annoyance building.

“You don’t like surprises?”

“No, not really.”

Ok, then.  I shrugged.  “I thought we could go ice skating.  There are only a few places still open this late, so if we don’t do it soon, we’d have to wait until winter again.”  I couldn’t read her expression.  “We can do something else if you want.  I just thought it might be fun.”

She was quiet for a minute; I wasn’t sure what for.  Debating or deciding, or trying to come up with some way out—could have been any of those.  

“You wanna do something else?”  I offered.

She sighed, “No.  I’m just trying to figure out what Jordan will do with my stuff if I die.”

“I think that’s a little overdramatic.  I will not let you die on the ice.”

“Yeah, well.  I guess we’ll see.  Ugh, this is bad idea, Tyler.”

I smirked.  “They have helmets.  We can get you some knee and elbow pads on the way.”

She scoffed, “Fuck off, Tyler.”

“Might want me there on the ice.”

She flipped me off.

“So, you wanna do this, or you wanna suggest something else?”

She let out a frustrated noise and stomped off to her bedroom again.  “I really don’t fucking like you right now,” she called before she rounded the corner.  

“You’re not even the slightest bit excited?  I was excited.  You’re ruining my excitement.”

She didn’t answer me and I sighed while I waited for her to change.  I hadn’t really known how she’d react to the suggestion.  I mean, I had a whole plan, but I didn’t actually think too much about whether or not she’d enjoy the skating.  Not that it was the same, but Caroline was always excited when we went skating—she’d been ecstatic when I showed her how to skate.  

She came back out with a sweatshirt on and her hat and mittens stuffed in the pocket.  She grabbed her jacket and looked at me, so that must have been my cue to go.  I stopped at the door and turned, and she almost ran into me.  “We don’t have to skate, Allison.  We can do something else.”

“No, we can skate.  I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“I should have told you.”  I nodded to myself.  “I had thought about calling, but I didn’t know if you really wanted me to.”

I moved into the hall so she could lock the door.  She wasn’t facing me, so I couldn’t see her.

“I gave you my number, didn’t I?”

“Yeah,” I said cautiously, “but I said that was for emergencies.  I mean, I was just using any excuse to get it, but…” I stopped when she turned to smirk at me.  “I didn’t know if you really meant for me to have it for that, or ya know, to have it.”

She laughed at me. “You think way too fucking much.”

I nodded, sighing, “Yeah.  Probably.”  

We started down the stairs.  “I gave it to you,” she said simply, shooting me a look.

I smiled.  Yes, well.  She did, yes.  “Ok,” I said back.  “Next time, I’ll call.”

When we hit the street, she looked at me again.  “Are we walking?”

“No, we’ll take the subway.”

 ~ ~ ~

It was funny—she wasn’t a person I thought would be comfortable in crowds—but the subway didn’t bother her at all.  She seemed completely at ease there, like just another everyday rider.  Maybe that was part of it—no one really talked to you on the subway.  Everyone just minded their own business and ignored you, like you were invisible because they were, too.  It made me feel a little better about the rink, if there were a lot of people there.  Maybe it’d be the same kind of thing—she’d be focused on what we were doing and realize that no one else really cared about how you were skating or what you were doing.  She wasn’t that type or person—it wasn’t that I thought she gave a shit about what people thought, it was just the number of people, or that she was wary of so many things.  There’d be a lot of kids there, though, families.  So, time would tell.  

We’d never been on the subway together, and it was stupid and simple, but I liked it.  

She let me lead the way once we got to the Pier, and she took everything in.  She watched everything.  The place itself was pretty imposing.  It was cool, the exterior, and if you’d never been there before, I think it would have seemed pretty impressive.  The general skating rink wasn’t quite as impressive, but again, if you’d never been before… her eyes roved over everything, so I think she was at least engaged.  We went through the booth for admission and rental, got the skates and everything, and when I gestured for us to sit, she pulled my sleeve.  

“Fucking hell, ice skating is expensive!”

I shrugged, “There are places that are a lot cheaper, but most of them are closed now.  And if you skate outside, some of those are even free for admission.  Inside’s better for your first lesson, anyway.”

“Yeah, but Jesus—for only, like, three fucking hours?  That’s insane!”

“Well, if you could have passed for youth, it would have been almost three bucks cheaper,” I offered.  “And you turned down the helmet, so that was cheaper.”

She gave me a dirty look.  

I decided to ignore it.  “So, you just lace them up like shoes until you get to the top, then you cross them and hook them around the hooks there.”  I pointed on the skates.  “I lace mine pretty tight, but you still want to be able to move.”

I was finished with both of mine by the time she was done with one and I smiled while watching her.  “Can I?”

She shrugged and I untied the one she’d finished, tightening the laces from the bottom and re-hooking the top.  “Double knot,” I said absentmindedly before starting on her other skate.  When I finished and looked up at her, she was smirking.  “What?”

She shook her head.  “Nothing.”  She giggled, “You just tied my skates.”

I chuckled, “Yeah, well.  You’re a beginner.”  I held out my hand.  “Stand up.”

The amusement left at that.  She sighed and looked at my hand for a second before looking down at the skates.  “This is impossible.  There is no fucking way, Tyler.”

“You’ll be fine.  Walking in the skates is harder than skating.”

“Oh, bullshit,” she said under her breath while she took my hand and attempted to stand.  

She was so fucking funny.  Like, so careful.  Like it was the hardest thing she’d ever accomplished—just standing up.  We hadn’t even set foot on the ice yet.  I couldn’t help the grin.  

“If you don’t wipe the fucking grin off, I’m going to push you down on the ice.”

I laughed, “Well, as you’re having trouble just standing there, I’m not too afraid.”

And… she was standing.  

“Do they feel wiggly?”

Her head jerked up.  “Wiggly?  The fuck?”

I sighed.  “I mean, are your feet slipping, or do they feel tight enough.  If they’re not tight enough, you’re gonna fall on your ass the minute you get out there.”

“I’m gonna fall on my ass anyway, so what’s the difference?”

I scoffed, “I won’t let you fall.”

She looked up at me but didn’t say anything.  “Let’s just… go.”  She made a vague gesture and I backed up a few steps waiting for her to follow.  She did—gingerly.  

“At this rate, the ice will melt by the time we get there,” I teased.

“Fuck off.”

“I’m the teacher,” I reminded her.

She moved a little faster then, and it wasn’t actually bad.  It wasn’t hard to figure out how to walk in them.  You just had to make sure you didn’t tip over by the ankles.  Her look when we got to the actual rink was completely indescribable.  I really didn’t know if it was fear or excitement or puzzlement, or she could have been devising ways to kill me with the blade of the skate.  

She’d let go of my hand after we’d started walking and I stepped onto the ice, which didn’t make her any happier, and I held out my hand.  She looked at it like it was going to burn her.

“Tyler…”

“Yeah?”

“I really…”

“We don’t have to skate,” I reminded her.  

For some reason, that changed the expression on her face.  “You’d really just take the skates off and leave?”

“Yeah.”  I shrugged.  “You wanna go?”

She grabbed my hand.  “No.”

I wasn’t sure where the newfound determination came from, but she was amusingly focused after that.  Some little kid blew past us just as she got both feet on the ice and she watched him as he flew around the rink.  “Fucking showoff,” she said under her breath.

I glanced around the rink while she moved over to the wall, realizing she could hang onto that for dear life.  There were other people who were obviously just learning to skate, too, but she only looked at the ice, the wall, and me.  

When I’d taken Caroline, it’d taken her almost the entire fucking time we’d been there to let go of the wall, or let go of me.  And she was so awkward—more jogging across the ice than skating.  She’d always been more artsy than athletic.  Not that I was athletic, but I’d taken to skating a lot easier than she had.  I’d only ever taught Caroline, and I realized this was going to be fundamentally different, because one, Caroline had been pretty little and I could hold her up from behind or lift her by her arms; and two, Caroline was my sister, and boundaries were so much different than they were here.  Balance was key for skating, and making sure she could get the leverage she needed while keeping her upright without crossing any touching boundaries was gonna be interesting.

She hadn’t seemed to have any problems holding onto my hands yet, so I’d keep it there for now.  

“Ok,” I started and her head jerked toward me while the rest of her stayed hanging tensely onto the wall.  “Have you ever roller skated or rollerbladed?”

She made a noise.  “No.”

“Ok.”  I nodded.  “They say that ice skating and rollerblading are similar, but I’ve never really thought so, so that’s really pointless anyway, since you’ve never… Anyway, uhm, balance is a big thing, and keeping your feet moving in the same direction is helpful.”  I smiled.  “Do you have any coordination problems I should know about?”

I got another look and took that as a no, but she answered anyway.  “I can strip to music while dancing, right?  So, I must have some fucking coordination.”

I couldn’t help it, I laughed.  She was trying to make me mad and failed miserably.  “Well, you can work a pole, too, so you’re probably capable.  If you could do all of that on skates, then I’d be impressed.”  

She didn’t have anything to say to that and I was so pleased with myself.  Deflect and spin.  Heh.  So, I just kept going then.  “There’s really no way for me to explain this.  You just kind of… do it.”  She shot me a look.  “No, I mean, you push off with one foot and then the blade slides on the ice for you.  You just have to stay balanced and try to keep your feet straight, and then keep moving your feet so you keep moving on the ice.”

I paused and let her take that in—she was paying attention to me, just not applying that yet.

“You’ll have to move away from the wall to try, though,” I added gently.

She sighed and stuck her hand out, so I took it and pulled her gently.  Fun thing about skates, if you could stay up, someone else could move you.  Her entire face completely lit up, a smile breaking out, and we’d only moved about three feet.  

“Hey!” she said all proud.  

I didn’t have the heart to tell her she wasn’t really skating yet.  The novelty might wear off too soon.  “So… do you want me to, like, stay behind you, or on the side here, or… let go, or… what, exactly?”

She shrugged, her eyebrows rising.  She couldn’t look nearly as imposing that way with the winter hat on.  “You’re the teacher.”

“Well, I should admit that I only taught Caroline, and she was much… tinier.  I could still hold her in front of me.  I don’t think that’d work with you.  And I may be the teacher, but I can’t skate backwards.  I never acquired that skill.”

She gasped.  “I want a new teacher.  You didn’t tell me you weren’t qualified.  Who the hell taught you how to skate?”

“My father.”

“Oh.”

Yeah.  Oh.  I sighed and pulled her a little more.  She hadn’t actually moved herself yet, but she was staying up and her balance was good.  “He wasn’t always a dick.  There were times during my childhood where he seemed like an actual father.  He did shit with us.  My mom videotaped the whole thing.”

“Well, that’s good, then, right?  That he wasn’t always a dick?”

I nodded.  “Yes and no.  Sometimes, I think it would be easier if he’d been a dick all along.  It would make it easier not to care.”  I’d actually just said that, hadn’t I?  That I cared.  Hmm.  That was probably the main problem—that I did care.  That I couldn’t just write him off completely.  “Ok, you need to move your feet or you’re just getting a really nice ride here.”

Her lip went behind her teeth and she gingerly attempted to move one foot ahead.  Which would have been great… if she hadn’t left the other one behind.  She wound up kind of scissored, doing the splits in midair, and if I wouldn’t have had her hands, she would have been on the ice that way.  She looked up at me all pissed off.  

“These fucking cunt skates aren’t working!”

“Well, you have to move your other foot, too.  You can’t just move one.”  I managed to say that whole bit without laughing.  I was rather proud of myself.

She sighed angrily.  “This is fucking hard!”

“You just started!  You only moved once!”  I pulled her back up so she was standing.  At least she had that down—Caroline hadn’t even been able to stand.  “Just try it again.  Try it like you’re just walking on the ice, but don’t pick up your feet.  Like shuffling,” I suggested.

She had a bit of a rocky start, and there was no stability despite her balance, but the wobbling across the ice was pretty great for someone who’d just gotten on it.  And I loved the way her hand, all covered in the mitten, was gripping my hand, and would squeeze harder when she got all wobbly and unsteady.  For all intents and purposes, she was holding my hand, and that was a huge victory.  Small… but huge.  I’d just ignore the whole scared-to-fall-on-her-face part.  It still fucking counted.  

We’d made it around the rink a few times, sticking close to the wall, and she was definitely less wobbly and getting the hang of it.  “You’re a natural,” I said, smiling gently when we cleared another time around.  

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, totally.  You’re totally ice skating.”

Her face was so bright and happy.  “I totally fucking am, aren’t I?”

I smiled and nodded.  

Her brow pulled down.  “Should I try it by myself?”

I love how she asked.  Like it was part of the lesson or something, like she was asking me if she was ready.  I kind of hated to let go, honestly.  That meant I’d have no excuse to hold her hand.  “Yeah, definitely.”  

That lip went behind her teeth again and I hoped she wouldn’t fall with her mouth that way—that could be disaster waiting.  I only let go when she released my hand and stuck close by in case.  She was good with the straight parts of the rink.  The turns tripped her up a little bit, but she was already getting better at those.  She was concentrating so hard on the turn that she didn’t see the little girl who was careening in front of her.  She was obviously way worse at the learning curve than Allison.  

I had two options: be a complete asshole and push the poor, defenseless blonde girl to the ice, or pull Allison out of the way.  I picked the second one.  Of course, it totally threw her off balance and she was falling herself the next minute.  

It was too late to grab her and keep her up, so instead, I kept my word and dove for her.  She landed on me backward, her back slamming into my chest, and she was tiny, but even tiny people falling a short distance really fucking hurt.  I lay there a second and attempted to restart my lungs while she dug her elbow into my side and tried not to cut the shit out of my leg when we untangled our lower limbs.  

“You fucking cocksucker!  You totally made me fall!” she yelled.

“I broke your fucking fall!” I yelled back, laughing.  “You were gonna take out that little blonde girl.  You can’t say I made you fall if you fucking fell on me!”

She laughed and shoved her mittened hand to cover my face.  “Shut the fuck up.”  And then promptly fell back on top of me, digging that damn elbow in again.  

It was wrong to like that, right?  

She was solid and warm, and smiling despite the anger, and her face was slightly flushed but her hair was kind of sticking out around the hat, and only her eyes to her chin was visible with the hat on, and fucking hell, could we really not have sex?  Lying there, all on top of me, I was trying really hard to behave, but having her that close and all relaxed and happy, and not moving off of me, either, made that really difficult.  

There was a very distinct noise of disgust from above us, ruining my moment.  I craned by head up to look, and a totally bitchy lady—you could just tell—was frowning down at us.  

“Could you please attempt to control your language?!  There are children here!  And now you’re rolling around on the ice!  This is a family place!  I could have you removed from the facility!”

I tried not to laugh, failing miserably, and covered it covertly with a cough.  

Allison was less covert.  “You’re just jealous because we’re actually having fun and your fucking whiny brat is bleeding you dry with the lessons and all that other shit while your husband is being sucked off by his secretary.  Get a life, bitch, and stay out of ours.”

Allison rolled off of me and my hatred for the woman leapt by about a thousand percent, because we’d been all cuddly and close and pressed together, and her ass was pressing into my jeans, and yet, I found myself laughing and I couldn’t fucking stop.  And the grin was never leaving my face again when she extended her hand and I grabbed it without any hesitation and we skated away from the bitch.  

I was fucked after that for a while.  Because she’d skate ahead of me, all happy and proud and smug, and it just reminded me some more of her perfect ass grinding against me, and I finally had to divert my line of vision—and my thoughts—before I had to make a trip to the locker room.  

I’d never seen her this happy before.  Telling the woman off had been some sort of liberating moment, but she was really fucking happy on the ice, too.  She slowed at the turn and fell into pace with me.  “I wanna do that.”  She pointed.  “That shit’s fucking cool.”

I followed her pointing.  “Oh, Jesus Christ—she’s a fucking figure skater!  She’s doing like a goddamn triple axle or something!  Just be happy you moved!  Figure skating is not on the agenda for today!  It was just learning!”

She shrugged.  “What can I say, I don’t half-ass shit.”

“No, you certainly don’t.”  

I think skating was a total success.  

 ~ ~ ~

“So… I kinda have another activity,” I said as we turned in the skates.

“Oh, God.”  She looked up at me.  “I don’t know if I can handle two of your activities in one day, Tyler.”

I snickered.  Interesting.  She smacked my shoulder with the back of her hand.  “That’s not what I meant.”

I put up my hands.  “Hey, you said it.”

“What is this other activity?”

I walked a few more steps and then turned to her.  “It bugs me you don’t have any favorites.”

“What?”

“You don’t have any favorites.”

Her eyebrows pulled down.  “I have favorites.”

“Ok.  Tell me one.”

She thought a minute.  “Well, I can’t think of any right now.  But… I… have them.”

That was convincing.  “Color?”

“Well, not that one.”

“Food?”

She shot me a look.  “Cheap shot.”

“Movie?”

“Sure as shit ain’t Psycho.”

“Touché.  Music?”

“I like a lot of music.”

“I love music.  But we can talk about that later.”  I would not be distracted!  “I’ve made it my mission to set out and find your favorites.”

She folded her arms.  “Why?”

I shrugged.  “Because everyone should have favorites; know what they like.”

“I know what I like, Tyler.”

“I’m not trying to make it sound like you don’t.”  I sighed.  “Like… ok.  Let’s try this for an example.”  I gestured toward the lobby snack bar.  “They have hot dogs.”

“Yeah.  So?”

“What do you like on your hot dog?  If I were going to buy you a hot dog, what would you want on it?”

She shook her head.  “Whatever.  I’m not picky.”

“I want you to be picky.”

“But I don’t care.”

I chuckled.  “I want you to care.  I want to know if you really like ketchup and mustard, or if you want relish on it.  I want to know if you really think relish tastes like shit on a hot dog but eat it anyway.”

She studied me for a while before looking over at the snack bar and then back to me.  “What does it matter?”

Jesus fucking Christ.  “Because I want to know those things.  I want to know that you don’t really like the relish, or you only like mustard on a cheeseburger but not on a hot dog.”

More studying.

“Ok, let’s try this another way.  If I gave you a piece of information about me, like I don’t like tomatoes, but I like ketchup, what would you do with that information?”

“Well, I wouldn’t ever give you anything with tomatoes in it.”

“Right.”

“That’s weird you don’t like tomatoes but like ketchup.”

I laughed, “Thanks.”

“Do you like tomato soup?  Spaghetti?”

“Yes.”

“Pizza?”

“Of course.”

“What if it had tomatoes on it?”

“I’d pick them off.”

She laughed. “Really?”

“Yeah.”  I nodded.

“Huh.”

Yeah.  Huh.  “Do you get what I mean, though?”

She smirked.  “Not really.  Why do I really give a shit if you like tomatoes or not?”

I ran my hand over my face.  “It’s just about getting to know someone.”  I sighed.  “I dunno.  Never mind.”  

Ok.  That didn’t work at all.  And I was sorta disappointed about that.  It had been such an awesome plan when I’d thought of it.  I thought it might actually be fun for her in a way.  Apparently not the case.  I could tell she was thinking, but I didn’t really know what the fuck else to say at the moment.  

“You want a hot dog?”

She laughed, “Sure.”

“What do you want on it?”  I put up a hand.  “If you tell me that you don’t care, I may lose patience.”

Her mouth had been open and she closed it abruptly.  And then there was more studying.  “I don’t know,” she said.

I resisted the urge to throw a fist in the air.  I let out a breath.  “Ok.  Get a table.”  

I think I may have sort of danced my way over to the counter.  It felt like a small, very difficultly extracted victory.  “I need two hot dogs and then all the condiments you have on the side.  And two Diet Cokes.”

The boy behind the counter was twelve if he was lucky.  “You want… what on the side?”

“The con—the fucking ketchup and shit.  Whatever you have back there—ketchup, mustard, relish—the works.”

“Oh.  Ok.”  And off he went to forage for our condiments.  Fucking hell, the status of our youth was really a sad affair.  I paid without saying anything else to him, for his sake, not mine.  

I set the plain hot dog down and then lined up all the condiments and sat across from her.  

“Now, don’t eat it like normal,” I started and then stopped.  “I mean, don’t eat it like you don’t care what it tastes like.  Just see if you actually like the taste of the shit on it.”

She was looking at me like I was completely insane.  But she did it anyway.  And I said nothing while she tried each of them.  

“So?” I asked when she’d finished.

She folded her hands on the table and pointed to the relish.  “That’s gross.”

I chuckled.  

“Ketchup is good.  I think I only like mustard on cheeseburgers, and not just because you said that.  I put too many onions on and it turned into an onion hot dog, but otherwise those are ok.  The chili cheese was only good when I didn’t have the other shit on it.”  She paused and looked away for a second but then looked back at me.  “And I get it now.”

Score!  “Yeah?”

She nodded.  “I think so.”  She shrugged.  “I told you I didn’t know how to do this.”

I waved her off.  “You’re doing fine.”

“Thanks.”  She smiled just a tiny bit, looking down at the table.  Then her eyes flicked up to mine.  “Skating was fun.”

I smiled back.  “Yeah, it was.  I’m glad you liked it.  You’re a total natural.”

“I did totally kick ass learning, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

She nodded back, proud of herself.  

“So, what other favorite can we knock out today?” I asked.

She shrugged, letting out a breath.  “Aw, man, I dunno.”

“I think I’ve determined your favorite soda is Diet Coke.”

“Yeah, I don’t drink much else.  That was one I found and stuck with.”

“Do you have a favorite vegetable?”

“Do you have a food obsession?”

“No, those are just easier.”

“I don’t think I have a favorite vegetable, no.”

“Do you want one?”

“Does it require me to eat more?”

“It might.”

“Then, no.  I don’t want one right now.”

“Fair enough.”  I paused.  “Favorite cereal?”

“Dude.  Lay off the goddamn food.”

I grinned and thought a minute.  “Favorite sexual position?”

She flicked a ketchup packet at me.  Hey, had to try.

“Favorite time of day?”

“I usually work nights, but I like nights better.”

“I’m not a morning person either.  Is your favorite videogame Mario?”

“I guess, of the ones I’ve played, yeah.”

“Who’s your favorite character in Mario?”

She snorted.  “Jesus, I dunno.  I guess Mario.”

“I’ve never understood why he puts up with the Princess.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, she’s always kidnapped by some huge fucking turtle.  Wouldn’t you think she’d have learned her lesson after the first one?”

She burst out laughing.  “I guess I’ve never thought about it.”

“Well, fuck, I mean, if I were Mario, and my woman was always being carted off to a turtle’s castle, I’d start to think maybe something was up.  Maybe she and the turtle were shacking up in the castles.  Then he passed her off to all his kids—it’s actually not very family-friendly if you think about it.”

“You’re insane.”

“I am not.  I haven’t even gotten to the Luigi part.”

“He’s Mario’s brother!”

“What, and they can’t mess around?  And if I was questioning all that shit, and she was constantly like, ‘save me, Mario, save me!’ I’d dump her.  S’just too much fucking work.  And the ‘save me’ line was just too much after the first few castles—she was fucking Bowser, I’m sure of it.”

“That’s a very interesting take on Mario.”

I shrugged.

She laughed, “It’s also probably totally true.”

“See!”

She nodded.  “Yeah.  The castle jumping is suspicious.”

I thought a second and then just kind of blurted, “If I tell you something about myself, would you tell me something back?”

She blinked at me, deciding.  “Yeah.  Ok.”

“My parents are divorced and my mom’s a social worker.  I always thought that was hilarious given what my father does for a living.  She married this guy Les a few years ago—he’s a good guy.  He treats her better than my father did, and he’s good to Caroline.

“I hate peas if they’re cooked and not in anything else.  Like just plain, cooked peas, no.  Fresh peas are awesome.”

That was the most random information about myself that I’d ever given to anyone.  It’d started out with promise and quickly gone downhill.

“What’s your dad’s name?”

“Mr. Hawkins,” I emphasized the mister part, as that was what most people called him.  “But Charles, really.”

“And your mom?”

“Diane.”

And now it was her turn.

She chewed her thumbnail for a while and I waited patiently.  She put her hand back on the table and started picking at it instead.  “My mom died when I was four.  I don’t really remember her, but I have a picture of her.  I never knew my dad.  I think I lived with family for a while, but wound up in the foster system.

“I stole my first cigarette from my aunt when I was ten and coughed for ten minutes.  I didn’t pick up smoking again until I was a teenager.”  She said the last part like it was a question—like random bits of information were supposed to follow real admissions, like my rambling had produced.  I couldn’t have cared less, because random or not, it was all great.

“I’m sorry about your mom.”

She raised a brow at that—another thing she wasn’t used to.  “Thanks,” she said slowly, unsure how to respond, I think.  “It was a long time ago.”

“Can I ask how she died?”

“Car accident.  I was in the car, too, but I wasn’t hurt.”

“That’s seriously heavy shit for a four-year-old.”

She shrugged.  “I don’t remember it, so it was fine.”

Foster system made sense—there were a lot of assholes in the foster system.  Having a social worker for a mother, she told us horror stories on an almost daily basis.  I’d always thought it was mostly her showing us how bad things were for other people, other kids, and how much we had and took for granted.  Later, I realized it was therapeutic for her to get it out, to tell someone else.  We always knew the days she said nothing were the ones that something too terrible to share had happened.

What kind of family members would have just turned her over to the foster system?  She really had the worst luck when it came to shit like that it seemed.

I wanted to tell her that I understood how fucked up the foster system could be, but I didn’t want that to sound as condescending and dismissive as it did in my head, so I filed it away for later.  The last thing I wanted was to make her feel like I was reducing her experience to some second-hand knowledge of social services.  I couldn’t guess what had happened to her.

So instead, I asked something I wanted to know just because.  “When’s your birthday?”

“October.”

“What day?”

“Eighteenth.”

And… filed that away for future use, too.

“When’s yours?”

“June sixteenth.”

“Coming up soon, then,” she said absently. 

I basically ignored that—it wasn’t something I was looking forward to.  That was probably enough heavy for the moment.  “You wanna go to a movie with me tomorrow?”

“I work two to ten tomorrow, so I probably can’t.”

She seemed at least mildly disappointed at that, and discouragement wasn’t in my nature.  “You work Monday?”

She smiled.  “Yeah, but later.  We could see an earlier one.”

“What should we see?”

“I have no idea what’s out.”

HA!  That was better than whatever you want, or I don’t know, or I don’t care.  “Pick a genre.”

“A what?”

“A type.  Drama, action, comedy.”

“Oh.  Uhm… comedy.”

I pretended to think a minute, but the truth was I already had several choices on hand.  “How about a romantic comedy?”

I will admit another small victory here, too, because the wary look I usually got was more muted than normal.

She just made me wait, but her resolve was crumbling.  I grinned and she slowly did the same.  “Yeah, all right.”

I kept the grin firmly in place.  “I’m not sure why you take so long to decide.  We both know you’ll cave.”

“And why is that?” she asked, the edge back in her voice.

I shrugged.  “Because I’m charming, and you like my company.  And I haven’t given you a reason to say no since the night we do not speak of.”

She snorted.  “You sound pretty sure.”

“Am I lying?”

Her mouth twisted for a second and she said quietly, “No.”

 One (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) |   Two   |  Three  |  Four  |  Five  |  Six  |  Seven  |