Chapter Five
Liz
On Friday evening, I examined myself in front of the mirror on my closet door. I had on some black thigh highs and an olive-green dress, plus a pair of ballet flats. It was sexy, but comfortable and understated. Perfect for tonight’s date with Paul.
Instead of getting an Uber, I decided to drive myself. Paul had a condo in Corte Madera, and he’d told me there was plenty of parking.
One last look in the mirror. My hair fell in soft waves down my shoulders, and the green of the dress went really well with my fair skin. Tonight would be the big one, I was already convinced. Paul and I had flirted several times via text message, and this would be great for us.
The drive north on 101 was short, just ten minutes, because all the traffic was flowing south to San Francisco. I watched the brilliant greenery speed past me as I went, and I took a moment to breathe deeply and appreciate the beautiful area I lived in. Not everyone could afford to live in California, much less in the Bay Area. It was a beautiful place, with high housing demand. Amy’s little one-floor apartment made out of a converted Victorian cost her four-thousand dollars a month. Me, I got to live here rent-free, in a nice house in a gorgeous neighborhood. With a gorgeous neighbor.
No, I decided to mentally erase that last comment from my mind. Gorgeous neighborhood. Stop there.
I reached the freeway exit for Paul’s place, then followed the directions my phone gave me. Soon I’d pulled up in front of a set of condos. They were well-kept and looked pretty comfortable, and even better, Paul hadn’t been lying about there being plenty of free parking. I parked on the street and got out of my car, grabbing the fruit tartlet that I’d picked up at the store on my way home from work.
Paul answered the door as soon as I knocked, and the scents of sautéed garlic and vegetables greeted my nose.
“Oh my goodness, that smells amazing,” I said, leaning in and giving him a hug.
“Thanks,” he said. “What’s this?”
“Just some dessert I picked up.” I looked around his kitchen. It looked like a bomb had gone off. “I didn’t make it myself—Paul, did you cook dinner for us?”
He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah.”
“Wow, I’m impressed! Do you do a lot of cooking?”
“Oh, no,” he said with a laugh. “I actually practiced this all week.”
That was super touching—he was trying to impress me. Well, it was working. I was once again glad I’d taken such care with my appearance. Yes, tonight would definitely be the night for us.
I just wish I felt something more than…meh…about Paul. He was a great guy. I should be having great big lusty feelings for him. I looked around his living room. While it didn’t scream “bachelor pad,” it also wasn’t very tastefully decorated. A couple of posters hung in cheap frames on the wall. Cheap frames I could handle, but when one of the posters was a reproduction of Dogs Playing Poker, I couldn’t help but inwardly wince in distaste. The other painting was an abstract-looking thing that might have been mass-produced in 1985. I didn’t recognize it.
But the sofa looked comfortable, and the Ikea furniture was at least well-cared for. The biggest fixture in the living room was a television screen, so big it took up half of one wall.
“Well, here,” he said, leading me through the living room and toward the kitchen. “Come have a seat. Do you want white or red with dinner?”
“Red, please.”
He poured me a glass and one for himself. I took the glasses to the table while he dished food onto two plates and brought them over.
“That’s my spot,” he said, just as I was sitting down.
“Oh, sorry!” I said, jerking forward.
He laughed. “Just kidding, sit wherever.”
I gave a weak little laugh. “You got me.” I sat and looked at the plate. “This looks amazing; seriously, Paul, I’m impressed.”
“Thanks,” he said. “You do eat tofu, right?”
“Of course! I could hardly live in California and not eat tofu.”
We both laughed.
“What stereotypes did you have of Californians before you moved out here?” I asked him, then took a bite of my stir-fry. It was just as delicious as it looked and smelled peppery and garlicky.
“Oh, the usual. That they’re all tanned, live by the ocean. That they all know how to surf.”
I nodded. “I pictured them all as movie-obsessed. When I thought of California, I pretty much imagined it all looked like LA.”
“I think that’s pretty normal,” he said. “I mean, it’s what we see in the movies and everything, right?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” I took another bite of the stir-fry. “Oh, Paul, this is amazing. Wow. I love this.”
“I’m so glad,” he said with a smile. “Cheers, to perfecting dishes and sharing them with new friends.”
The way he said “friends” made it not sound like “friends” at all, but like something heavier and more meaningful. He seemed to want this relationship to progress just as much as I did. It was good news, but if we both wanted this to move forward, then why weren’t things heating up?
I smiled at him in what I hoped was a sexy way, but he frowned. “You have a little bit of…something,” he said, tapping his front teeth.
I fished out the sesame seed with my tongue. “Better?”
“Yep.” He blushed.
“Thanks, that would’ve been embarrassing, going the whole evening with something in my teeth.”
“My best friend in high school, he would never tell anyone when they had something in their teeth, or a booger on their nose, or anything,” Paul said with a laugh. “I vowed I would always be honest about that, even if it made things awkward. You don’t feel awkward, do you?”
“No,” I said. “Like I said, just happy it’s gone now.”
We were talking about having food stuck in our teeth, or boogers in our nose—this wasn’t going the way I’d imagined at all. Sure, it didn’t need to be all roses and candlelight, but boogers weren’t exactly setting the tone for the evening.
After we’d finished our stir-fry and enjoyed our wine, Paul said, “Do you want to share dessert while watching a movie?”
He smiled at me expectantly.
“Let me guess,” I said. “You have a movie in mind?”
He nodded. “You can probably guess which one it is. We were just talking about it the other day.”
“Ooh, Karate Kid?” I asked, doing a little jump of happiness.
“Uh, no…I don’t have that one. I could see if it’s on streaming somewhere, though…” He looked like I’d kicked him, his sad brown eyes pulling down at the corners more than usual.
“No, no,” I said. “Whatever you had in mind will be great, I’m sure.”
He frowned at the television, which sat across from us in the living room. “Are you sure, because you sounded pretty excited.”
“No, please. Tell me what you had in mind.”
“Well, I was thinking Spy Game, because even though you don’t usually like spy movies, that’s a really good one.” He cleared his throat. “But if you want to watch something else, that’s totally okay. Or you could try that one and if you hate it, we could switch to something else.”
This just kept getting more awkward, instead of fun in any way.
“Let’s try Spy Game. I was serious when I said I wanted to give it a shot.”
He nodded and looked slightly mollified. “I’ll put some of the pie you brought on plates, okay? Go make yourself comfortable—I’ll be right in.”
I was afraid to correct him that the dessert was a tartlet, not a pie, so I just kept quiet and walked over to the couch. It was a nice leather, very soft, and I settled in against one of the arms. Then I looked around in alarm. If I sat over here, would it signal to him that I wanted to keep my distance? But then if I went to the middle, was I coming on too strong? Crap, nobody had prepped me for this, and I hadn’t anticipated it being an issue.
Finally, I settled midway between the middle and one side. That way if he wanted to close the distance, he could, or he could sit on the other side and be far away from me.
I waited in anticipation, hoping he’d finish up with the dessert soon and bring it over. Eventually, he came into the living room, holding up two plates. He set one in front of me on the coffee table, the other one next to it.
Then, he sat down. It was the Goldilocks of placements—not too close, not too far. He turned on the television and DVD player, and the movie started to play. I was mostly focused on my delicious dessert, which was tangy and sweet all at once, but I had to admit, the movie was pretty good.
“So, what do you think?” he asked.
“I’m having the time of my life.” I smiled up at him.
I finished my dessert and put my empty plate on the coffee table. His dessert was only half-eaten, but he put his plate next to mine and scooted just a touch closer to me on the couch. He stretched out his arm and put it around my shoulders.
This was the part where I should nestle into his side, enjoying his warmth and the sparks of connection between us. Then, I would look up at him and smile again, and he’d smile down at me, and then his face would get closer and closer. Our eyes would close, and our lips would touch.
But I couldn’t make myself nestle into his arms. I couldn’t make myself look up and smile. I couldn’t do anything. Because the truth was, I just wasn’t feeling it.
Every part of my body was rebelling at the thought of being with him intimately. Although my mind was sold on the idea—Solid Paul, a great guy who was kind and funny—my body was giving out a resounding nope.
I sat forward abruptly. “You know, I’ve gotta go,” I said. “I just realized.”
“W—wait, what?” he asked.
“Dinner was lovely, Paul. Truly lovely. I’m having a great time, but I just—I need to go.”
He leaned forward and turned off the movie. “Is it the show? We can watch anything else.”
“No, no, of course not. It’s not that. I just…” I trailed off.
“Okay, well, then I have to ask—is it me?”
Oh god, I didn’t want to be having this conversation. I didn’t even know how to explain what I was feeling, other than a weird awkwardness about being close to him.
“No, of course not that, either,” I said. “I just…I should make it an early night. I don’t know what I was thinking, coming out when I’m so tired. And, yeah. I should be heading out.”
He frowned. “Okay. I really hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”
I stood up and grabbed my purse. He stood up, too.
“No, you didn’t do anything wrong at all,” I said. “You’re a great guy.”
As I stepped out the front door, I noticed he didn’t ask me if we could get together again soon.
* * * * *
As soon as I got home, I texted Amy. Can you talk?
She called me seconds later. “You lucked out. I’m fighting a cold so I didn’t go out dancing tonight. What’s up?”
“I just got back from another date with Paul.”
“Ooh! How’d it go?” Before I could answer, she said, “Crap. I just checked the clock. It’s only eight-thirty. Okay, what happened?”
I started with arriving at his house and seeing the Dogs Playing Poker poster on the wall.
“Ouch,” she said. “Horrible taste, but that can’t be all of it. I mean, I saw the inside of Douchey Dan’s apartment once, and, well, his taste was pretty terrible, too.”
Douchey Dan. I almost missed having “easy” relationship troubles like I’d had with him. He cheated, I kicked him out. End of story.
Right now, things were messy, and I hated this kind of mess.
“Okay, so what else?” Amy asked.
I sighed deeply. “There’s no spark.”
She sneezed. “Spark?”
“Bless you. And a spark. You know. Like, when I’m close to him, I don’t feel like I need to be closer. When I touch him or he touches me, there’s absolutely no feeling at all in my body.”
“Oh.” Amy was quiet. “So, are you going to dump him?”
“I don’t know,” I wailed. “I mean, he’s like the nicest guy. Seriously. Other than the dogs playing poker on his living room wall, Paul’s solid. He’s intelligent. He’s really nice. He’s even got a great body although he’s a little too built for my tastes. So every part of my mind is invested in this because on paper we’re a great match.”
“But in the flesh…?” Amy trailed off.
“Not so much.” I looked around my bedroom, the large, king-sized bed felt even more massive at the moment. The grandfather clock down the hall in the living room ticked loudly, echoing in my empty home. I wanted so badly to be with a dependable guy, a guy just like Paul, who I could count on to answer my calls and texts, who wouldn’t disappear to opposite ends of the country without a moment’s notice.
She yawned and sniffled. “Well, I guess you’ll figure out what to do then,” she said. “Liz, what I like about you is that you usually do the right thing. And when you don’t, you fix it.”
While I thought about her words, she said, “Okay, my cold meds are kicking in, and I’m about to fall asleep. But follow your heart, and you’ll know what to do, okay?”
“Okay. Thanks, Ames. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”