Michele

My upcoming date with Iain was on the forefront of my mind the entire day after our conversation on the phone, and well into the night. I was a combined bundle of nerves, excitement and anxiety. Agreeing to going out in public with him felt equal parts stupid and wonderful all at once. The paranoid part of me, the part that screamed at me to stay inside and not rock the boat - that part wasn’t strong enough to keep me away from him. Something drew me to him, and I couldn’t say why.

It wasn’t too late to cancel. But every time I’d almost talked myself into doing so, an almost physical force stopped me from reaching for my phone and calling him. I had begun to think that maybe running into him again wasn’t just some happy coincidence. Maybe there was something, after all, drawing us together, something that couldn’t be explained.

Or maybe I was just attracted to him and wanted to contrive any excuse I could to pursue it.

The morning of our outing finally came and I woke too early, but I was too restless to fall back asleep. The day was bright and the forecast promised cold weather, and the sky was so clear and blue that it hurt to look at for too long. I dressed warmly and then made myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

Mornings like this, back home, I would have pulled out my phone and scrolled endlessly through Facebook or Twitter while waiting for my coffee to cool down, reading the endless updates on my feeds. But I didn’t have social media anymore. When I moved here, I had gotten rid of everything in an effort to rid myself of my past life; I’d powered down my iPhone on Brandon’s phone plan and shoved it in my underwear drawer then bought myself a cheap prepaid phone with no data plan, registered in my fake name.

It had been an adjustment at first. The time that’d been freed up from staring at screens seemed to stretch on forever. Now, I barely felt it at all, that pull to constantly grab for my phone to check it. I enjoyed the silence of my own thoughts most of the time, except on bad days when my paranoia manifested into something tangible inside of me. On those days, I wished I had something to distract me, but never did I miss my iPhone.

The mug warmed my chilled hands and I heard the sounds of footsteps creaking behind me. Turning, I saw Evan emerge from his and Shannon’s bedroom and head to the kitchen.

“Morning,” he said, when he noticed me. His sand-colored hair was sticking straight up in the back, and I suppressed a laugh.

“Good morning.” I took a sip of coffee and smiled. “How did you sleep?”

“Eh, I would have slept better if I wasn’t fighting this cold,” he replied, sounding unbearably stuffy and grabbing a mug from the cupboard. He poured himself a cup, then took a sip. “Coffee heals all, though.”

“Yeah, it sure does.”

“Shannon said that you got to see Central Park last week,” he said, coming around the island and leaning against it.

“Uh, yeah, I did. Finally.”

“There’s a lot of nice parks in the city. There’s a lot to do here.”

“Yeah, I… I noticed. It’s just, you know, hard sometimes. To make the time.”

Evan nodded as if he understood what I was saying, but I saw a certain look in his eye that told me he didn’t at all. He took another sip, the sound accentuated in the still room.

“Next week they’re doing an open house at an art gallery in Carroll Gardens featuring a mixed-media artist that I think you and Shannon would really like. And there’s free wine and hors d’oeuvres for the showing.”

“Is this artist one of yours?”

“Yup. Chantrea Meng. I’m hoping to move at least three of her pieces that night, and I’ve already got several interested buyers. I’d love it if you came.”

“Wow, it sounds like you know what you’re doing,” I said, smiling. I felt flattered he’d offer me a spot at one of his open houses, which I’d come to understand were uppity events, classy and elegant. I wondered if I’d fit in at a place like that, but figured that if Evan was inviting me, then he obviously thought I would. “I’ll ask for that night off. When is it?”

“Next Friday. Shannon will be glad to hear you want to come.”

As if on cue, the bedroom door creaked open again and Shannon came out, hair a tangly, curly mess, oversized pink pajama bottoms hanging loosely on her hips.

“Did I hear my name?” she asked sleepily.

“Yup,” Evan said, winking at me and wrapping back around the island to pull a mug out for her, pouring and doctoring a cup of coffee to Shannon’s liking. “Michele is going to the open house next week.”

Shannon smiled and took the offered mug graciously. “Thanks, babe. And that’s awesome! We’ll have so much fun pretending to be filthy rich, drinking all the wine and eating all the cheese.”

I nodded, smiling, perking up at the picture her words painted in my head. “Sounds like a good time.”

“I mean, not all the wine and cheese, right?” Evan asked, feigning distress.

“Um, sure, honey.”

Shannon caught my eye, and we both burst into laughter.

xxx

It was 8:50 when I arrived at the corner, and Iain was already there, hands in his pockets. His cheeks were pink from the cold, and he was dressed in a warm-looking pea coat and jeans, his eyes bluer than I remembered them being. I smiled, the sight of him sending butterflies straight through me. Suddenly, I felt shy.

“Hey you,” he said, stepping forward, intent in his eyes. I thought he might touch me, but he seemed to think better of it and didn’t.

“Hi,” I said. I stepped closer to him, only dimly aware of the passing cars and people surrounding us. I only saw him.

“Are you ready for our magical adventure in Manhattan?” he asked, his tone playful. I tried to ignore my speeding heart.

“Yes.”

He smiled, and his face completely transformed into something lighter. I wanted to step closer to him, to feel his warmth. But I didn’t.

“Good.” He held his hand out, hovering there in the space between us. I thought that this was the moment of truth, as if that hand was asking me, symbolically, if I was sure I wanted to do this.

Throat dry, I reached out and interlaced my own hand in his. His fingers were cold and rough, but I fixated on his hand as if it were an anchor keeping me grounded. We walked to the subway.

I was holding someone’s hand that wasn’t Brandon’s for the first time in over six years.

Something about that thought made me feel stronger. Like I had, somehow, taken some of the power back that Brandon had ruthlessly kept all these years.

And so, for now, I could allow myself to hold Iain’s hand.