The Red Thread (10 page)

Sure. You’re stalking me, aren’t you?

Maybe a little bit.

I laugh at the memory of how not too long ago I was kind of stalking him at the bookshop. I let out a yawn. I guess everything these past couple of days just took a lot out of me.

Good night, Adam. I need to sleep.

Sweet dreams. I can’t wait for Friday : )

A part of me can’t either.

FRIDAY ARRIVES,
and I can’t put into words how nervous I am. People overuse the expression that they have butterflies in their stomach. No, I don’t have butterflies twittering about in my stomach. I have huge condors flapping their huge fucking wings around in my stomach. If I throw up, would that be considered bad date etiquette? Probably, I assume. Who created the etiquette of a date? It’s stupid! Who’s to say that throwing up is bad? Maybe it’s a good thing. It could be a sign you like the guy.

Or, I’m just an idiot.

I look at my black leather watch, which I always wear on my left wrist—never my right—to see that it is nearly 6:00 p.m. Laurie looks up from behind the counter.

“You keep looking at your watch. Are you late for something?” she asks in a hushed voice.

I think she forgets sometimes this isn’t a library. She always talks so low in The Book Revue.

“No. It’s nothing,” I state.

Is it nothing? Or is it something? Which do I want it to be? Why must I be so confused by something that should be so simple? What am I going to ask myself next… the meaning of life? Geez. Even I’m getting on my own nerves.

Then 6:00 p.m. rolls around and I’m walking home, with my black peacoat closed and my messenger bag slung over my shoulder. What if I say something wrong tonight? What if I insult him? Accidentally, of course. I wouldn’t insult him on purpose, unless he deserved it. I feel my breathing quicken in pace with the beating of my heart. Is this normal?

Get ahold of yourself. Breathe, Jess, breathe.

I try to take my own advice, and I take a deep breath. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. I try to calm my mind by listing some of my favorite words. Exquisite. Swell is a new favorite of mine. Effervescent. Bewitching. Lithe. Epiphany is another good one. My breathing is calm, and my mind is like a tranquil ocean. I try to ignore the fact that an ocean can become turbulent in an instant with one storm, even though a part of my brain tries to remind me.

I arrive at my house and quickly run to my room. I only have two hours to get ready. I shower and brush my teeth, and now comes the hardest part: what the hell do I wear? I already know Adam will be wearing some impeccable outfit, so I know I won’t live up to him, but halfway decent will be fine by me.

I end up wearing a nice blue button-up, which I hear brings out my eyes, along with a pair of my tightest faded, light blue skinny jeans. My battered low-top Chucks come on next, and for once in my life I wish I had a nicer pair of shoes. I even wear these sneakers in the coldest winters and through the highest snow. These shoes have seen many blizzards in their days. I could duct tape them, but that might make a worse impression. I think I should rewrite the book on date etiquette.

1. Throwing up is a sign of attraction.

2. Beaten-up and duct-taped shoes are great attire for a date.

I’m already on a roll. My new rules will change the world of dating and take it by storm. It’ll be like when people were first introduced to color films and television. At least that is what I imagine in my head. Images of lonely nerds, like me, with their thick glasses and taped-up shoes come to my mind. A nice ideal.

I clean my glasses on my shirt before grabbing a royal blue cardigan. When I enter the bathroom, I look into the mirror. Well, this isn’t too bad. I run a hand through my messy mop of dark brown, almost-black hair, and I just let it spill all over the place, each section standing in a different direction, a lot falling into my sapphire-blue eyes. I brush my teeth again, just to play safe, and when I check my watch I see that I still have an hour left.

I guess I didn’t have to rush after all. I exit the bathroom, and almost walk right into Clara. She’s so quiet that sometimes I actually forget she’s home for the weekend.

“You’re looking quite dapper tonight. Where are you going?” she asks with a coy little smirk. I know she is hankering to know where I’m going tonight.

“Nowhere in particular.”

“Is this nowhere with a certain guy?”

I stop in my tracks, keeping my eyes on the ground. I can’t look up into her eyes because then I won’t be able to stop the guilt for not telling her.

“Maybe,” I answer with a shrug. Part of the reason I don’t want to talk about it is so it doesn’t become a big ordeal.

“What’s his name?” I can hear the exuberant cheerfulness in her voice as she asks. I already know what she is thinking:
My brother has a boyfriend. He must be happy.
And that is a no. I’m neither in a relationship nor am I happy. Both would be nice ideals to reach, but so would living on my own private island where no one can bother me.

“Adam,” I respond, satisfying her inquiry.

“I like that name.” Gosh, sometimes she is just like Mom.

I nod and give her a small smile.

“Where are you two going?”

“Geez, is this an interview?” I spit out, with a little more anger than I meant to. I just really don’t want to talk about this.

She looks away, and I know that I stung her with my words.

“Sorry, Clara. I didn’t mean to get mad. I’m just… getting overwhelmed.” I tell her the truth. I should probably start doing that instead of saying everything is fine. At least sometimes.

“It’s okay. I hope you have fun. I have one last question.” I try to hold back my groan. “Is he a gentleman?”

“A perfect gentleman,” I respond, and the smile reappears on her face.

“Good. Have fun. I want to hear about it when you get home.”

She embraces me and kisses my cheek, and then I get her back with one of my infamous awkward hugs.

After she leaves my side, I try to keep busy walking around the house. I fix some of my books, noticing some are out of alphabetical order. I like to have my books organized by each author’s last name, and then within the authors, I organize the novels by title. I may or may not be a bit OCD.

After I brush my teeth a fourth time that night, I hear the doorbell reverberate throughout the house. I grab my jacket and my bag, and I see my sister waiting downstairs in the kitchen.

Love you
, she mouths to me.

“You too,” I respond.

As I open the door, I find Adam standing outside, his hair nicely styled like it usually is, and he wears a bright green bow tie, which matches the green-and-white plaid button-up he wears. It’s tucked into a pair of tight black skinny jeans, and he wears a black peacoat over everything, which sits open. Yeah, he put me to shame, as I look down at my own outfit of choice. Even his black leather shoes are nicely polished.

“I g-g-got this for, for y-you,” he anxiously states, holding a single lily flower in his hand.

I can’t stop the smile from blooming as I take the flower.

“Thank you.”

I look back to see my dad’s confused face and my mom’s beaming smile looking on.

“H-h-hello, I am A-Adam.” He tries to act confident, but I see the deep red blush covering his cheeks as he stutters.

“Nice to meet you, Adam,” my mom greets him, thankfully ignoring the stutter.

“You look familiar.” Very nice, Dad.

“We m-met a-a-a-at the th-therapist’s office….”

“Right. Have fun, kiddo.”

“I’ll be home later.”

As I close the door, I hear my father shout “Not too late.” Well, that was only sufficiently awkward.

“They s-s-s-s-s-seem nice.”

I guess it was only awkward for me, then. What else is new? My whole life is one
long
awkward moment.

“They’re cool,” I state, trying to pretend that I’m being cool and confident, even though I’m closer to being a nervous wreck. “So where are we going tonight?” I ask.

We walk up to a small white car, and he opens the passenger door, like the perfect gentleman he is. He gets into the driver’s side and turns the car on.

“Ah, i-it’s a s-s-s-s-s-surprise,” he finally responds. I’m noticing he has a lot issues with the letter
s
, well more so than any other letter.

“A surprise?”

“Yep.” Why does he sound so chipper?

“Okay… that’s cool.”

It’ll probably be great… yet why is there a gnawing feeling inside my stomach. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. It’ll be fine.

“Ar-are you ok-k-k-kay?” He looks over at me concerned.

I open my eyes to see that he has pulled the car over to the side of the road, and I nod and I smile. “Yes, I am. Let’s go. Onwards.”

He continues driving after giving me a reassuring smile, and I can’t help but watch him as he drives. I bring the lily, which sits in my lap, to my nose, and I breathe in the aroma. The scent is enthralling. He has good taste in flowers. I never knew I was a fan of flowers until now. We come to a stop in front of a small, quaint restaurant, and he tells me to wait in the car. He quickly runs around and opens my door and helps me out. I leave the flower on the passenger seat.

He opens the door for me once again. And people say chivalry is dead. It’s a homely small restaurant, called Angelo’s, which has pretty good Italian food. Adam hardly knows me, and he already knows my favorite kind of food. He’s good. I come here every year on my birthday with my family.

A hostess leads us to a small table in the back, and Adam and I take our seats. I take in the small wooden tables and the beautiful paintings of Italy that hang around the restaurant. The walls are painted yellow and have murals of vines and of sunsets and villas. I know this is probably just the fantastical idea of Italy, but I still love this place and all the images it provides me with of relaxing in a small Italian villa with a cup of tea at my side.

“So have you come here before?” I ask him.

“N-n-no, I haven’t. H-h-have you?”

“Every year on my birthday. It’s my favorite restaurant. I haven’t been here in a quite a few months, though.”

Almost nine months, now that I think of it. It was right before my mental breakdown, and right on my nineteenth birthday. A couple of days after that was my breakdown, and then everything just went to hell.

“S-s-so I, I did g-good?” He has a small smile, begging to know the answer. He brings another smile out of me, and once again I wonder how he makes me feel like this. He makes me feel somewhat… good. No guy has ever made me feel good like he does. He makes me feel like… I matter.

“Yes, you did
very
good.”

He pounds his fist in the air, and I can’t control the laugh that erupts from my body. It is loud and vivacious, a word that hasn’t been used to describe me ever. A couple of people turn around to see where the sound of the loud chortle originated. Well, everyone, it came from my skinny, short, pale body.

I look away embarrassed and stare down at the table.

“Y-you’re a-a-a-adorable.”

I look up, shocked. He smiles at me, and as the waitress comes, I don’t listen to her name. I think she says it is Jane? Or Janet? I don’t care. I just want to be left in my own little world with Adam, and I want everyone and everything else to drop away.

We order our food, and we get right back to sitting in silence.

“So, Adam, why are you in therapy? You seem rather sane.”

“Dr. Wheeler is, is h-helping m-me with m-m-my s-s-s-s-s-s-stutter.”

“Have you always had it?”

“Sadly y-yes. Through, throughout school, including c-c-college, e-e-e-everyone has made f-f-f-f-fun of my s-s-s-s-s-stutter, and I-I am, am just s-s-sick of it.”

I look up to see the sadness in his eyes. Why would anyone make fun of someone so sweet? There aren’t a lot of truly good people left in the world, and here I am on a date with one. I almost want to go and punch all those people who hurt him in this way.

“I’m sorry, Adam. I really am. People suck.”

“Y-yes. But I s-s-survived.”

So he is already much stronger than me. What is my problem? I’m sad. I’m just always damn sad. So many people are hurting out there, and then there is me, who doesn’t really have a problem. I wish I knew what was wrong with me, other than being mentally insane.

“So you graduated from college?” I ask him.

“Y-yes. I-I studied e-e-e-education.”

“Oh, my friend Alex is studying to be a teacher. He wants to teach elementary school because he loves children. He even babysits all the time for money.”

“I-I want to t-t-teach ch-children too,” he begins. “I’m applying to g-g-g-grad schools n-now. That, that is why I w-w-want to help my s-s-s-s-s-stutter, s-s-s-s-so I can be a b-b-better teacher.”

I nod in understanding.

“Why ar-aren’t you in s-s-school anymore?”

I shrug. I should answer, but I really don’t want to. Do I really want him to know about the kind of person I am underneath? I don’t want to scare him away before it even begins… if it begins. Do I want it to begin?

“I dropped out,” I finally state.

“W-why?”

“Because eight months ago I had a mental breakdown and tried to kill myself. I proceeded to spend the next seven months locked away in a mental asylum. I’m heavily medicated on antidepressants, and Dr. Wheeler is my doctor helping me. That’s the truth.”

I bring my hands to my mouth, and I look away. Why did I state all of that? I didn’t mean for any of that to come out. It seemed to just roll right out of my mouth, falling off my tongue. I’m pretty sure that’s a big no-no for a first date: telling them you were in a mental asylum. I’m remembering now why I never dated often. I suck at it. I can’t look at him, afraid to meet Adam’s eyes. What must he think of me? But I feel the soft touch of his hands on mine, and I look up to see his warm blue eyes, and they just look so inviting.

“I’m s-s-s-s-s-so s-s-sorry, Jess. Wh-wh-what happened? I’m s-s-s-s-sorry if, if that is, um too m-m-much information….”