TEXTING QUICKLY BECAME MY FAVORITE activity. Texting Adam even more so.
I got in the habit of carrying my cell phone in my back pocket instead of leaving it in my messenger bag like I used to when I was at work. Trish normally kept her cell phone with her at all times, and I found it funny that she treated it like an extra appendage, but I finally understood why.
In the two weeks since we had exchanged numbers, Adam and I had texted each other daily. Multiple times a day. We had literally exchanged hundreds of messages. Sometimes just to say hello, sometimes those hellos turned into lengthy conversations. We would talk about the most mundane subjects from the weather to our favorite books and television shows, or we would talk about what was going on with his nephew. I rarely initiated them, fearing that maybe I was in the wrong for reaching out to him. Or that I was overstepping some invisible line. Or that I was interrupting something he would much rather be doing than talking to me. He had to have more important things to do.
I would pull out my phone and glance at the screen, willing a message to be there.
Occasionally it even worked.
He shared with me his fears for his nephew’s recovery, and the stress the whole situation was putting on him and his brother. They had come to blows once, about a week after Lucas went home. Adam had been so angry that he had jumped in his truck and gone to the park near where we had exchanged phone numbers, intending on going for a brisk run. Instead, he said he sat on a park bench and texted me.
I will admit, there was a small part of me that was happy, almost giddy, that he had come to me, even if it was only a text when they had fought. I will also admit that the new…whatever it was that was developing between us, terrified me. Never in my life had someone taken the time to talk to me, even if it was only by text. The feeling of honor and terror warred within my head constantly.
I did everything I could to keep our messages away from my own personal family issues. I feared that once he found out, once he knew the whole story, that he would no longer want to talk to me. Why would he? In my head, I knew it was only temporary. Something would happen and he would leave. Everyone always did. But I had come to enjoy those little texts, perhaps more than I should. They were my only link to a world that I had never allowed myself to enjoy. And, even if that sense of enjoyment were temporary, I would take it while I could.
Adam told me that Lucas’s head had healed enough for him to begin treatments the following Monday. All three of them were nervous, and it made me wish there was something I could do. Adam felt powerless, he told me as much, and I could completely empathize. I had felt the same when I was a kid. It was awful feeling as if you were at someone else’s, or in that case someTHING else’s, mercy.
“So, what’s going on?” Trish said, breaking me from my thoughts.
I was kneeling on the floor, straightening and restocking trade paperbacks. I glanced up at her, then back down to the stack of books next to me, and said, “Um, putting these away.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side. “Don’t be a smart ass.”
Dumbfounded, I said, “Trish, I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about. All I’m doing is putting these on the shelf. Am I supposed to be doing something else?”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “I don’t mean the books, I mean with you.”
I was still at a loss. Trish and I had never had anything remotely resembling a heart-to-heart talk. I knew about her boyfriend. He came into the store on occasion, mostly on Friday Game Night. While she talked about him constantly, I had a tendency to only partially listen. But while I knew some details of her personal life, she knew absolutely nothing about mine. Other than where I lived.
“You’ve been…different the last couple of weeks.” She continued. “Actually, since the weird thing happened with that guy.”
My heart began hammering in my chest. “What weird thing?”
“That guy. The one that stared at you through the window.”
I knew who she was talking about, but I tried to play dumb. I hadn’t realized she had seen Adam that day. “Trish, there are literally hundreds of guys that come in here. I have no idea who you’re talking about.”
“The built one. Tats, blond, beard. Ring any bells?”
Yeah, it did. She was describing Adam, almost to a T. But I couldn’t tell her that. I mean, what was I supposed to say, “We’ve been texting. I enjoy it. He seems really nice. I really like him.” Even to me, the whole thing sounded odd, and I was an active participant. I had no idea what to call what we were doing other than to say we were friends. But I didn’t even know if that was true. I still didn’t know if he was gay. I hadn’t found the courage yet to ask him. I assumed he was, but voicing that assumption could easily get me punched. And I’d had enough fights in my life to last, well, a lifetime.
When I didn’t answer, she leaned in closer, almost conspiratorially. “Something’s going on. I know it.”
Finally finding my voice, I said, “You’re high.”
She snorted. “Nope. Something’s going on, and I think I know what it is.” Then she leaned in even closer and whispered into my ear, “Good for you.”
The store’s phone rang, pulling her attention from me. She turned to get it, stopped, turned back to me, and said, “We’re not done.” Then stormed off to the front counter.
Oh yes, we are. If I can’t define it for myself, how can I for someone else?
I turned back to the stack of books I was working with, and pulled a few from it to put on the shelf.
“David, phone!” Trish yelled through the store.
Phone? For me? But I don’t get calls. Especially not at work. But maybe it was Adam.
Without much more thought, I jumped up, dusted off my knees, and raced to the front counter. Trish handed me the phone. Leaning against the glass counter, I pressed the receiver to my ear, and said, “Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello?” I said.
I heard rustling in the background, but no one spoke.
“Hello?” I tried again.
Still no response.
Then the click of the dial tone.
I pulled the receiver away from my ear and glared at it, like the inanimate piece of plastic and wires would give me answers. Placing it back in the cradle, I turned to Trish and said, “They say who it was?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Maybe it was your mystery guy.” Then she gave me a knowing smirk. The problem with that was that she had no idea what she was smirking about. And, if it was Adam, why hadn’t he called my cell or texted like he usually did?
“Again, Trish, I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Fine, don’t tell me. But whatever’s going on, whoever that was, keep at it. You’ve been…well…happy, smiling, for the last couple of weeks. Deny it all you want, but I think I know what’s going on.”
Frustrated with the circular conversation, I said, “If you do, please tell me. Because I have no clue.”
She huffed, threw a hand into the air, and stomped away.
Confused by the conversation and the mystery call, I returned to the stack of books I’d been putting away.
There’s one significant downside to brainless work, and that is that it allows your mind to wander.
Had the call been from Adam? No, he would have texted me, he never called.
Did I miss a text from him, and he called me instead? I pulled my phone from my back pocket and checked the screen. No, no missed texts.
Everyone else I knew was here at the store. No one else would have needed to call me.
Unless…
My breath caught in my throat. I held a hand out to grip the bookshelf. My head spun.
Him.
He found me.
He knows where I am.
These thoughts spun around and around until I finally had to sit. I closed my eyes and willed my brain to go black.
It wasn’t possible. There would have been no way he could know where I worked. I hadn’t seen him in fifteen years. He knew nothing about me, at least not anymore.
But the thought still nagged at me. My first reaction was to text Adam.
When had that become a thing?
I thought better of it. I would have to explain, and how would I do that without telling him everything? I couldn’t dump that on him, not with everything he was going through. It would be unfair of me to dump my issues into his lap. I also knew what the outcome would be when I finally did tell him. The selfish part of me, the part that had been enjoying whatever was going on between the two of us, wanted to keep him around for as long as possible.
My natural instinct was self-preservation. I had learned a long time ago to handle things on my own, not to depend on anyone because at some point, they would let you down. However, that line of thought contradicted my desire to keep him around.
I was probably blowing things out of proportion. There’s no way he could find me. Trish had to have heard the caller wrong. Or the caller had asked for David, but when I answered, realized he had the wrong David and the wrong number entirely. That sounded reasonable, right? There was no reason to tell Adam because there truly was nothing to tell him. At least, this was what I told myself as justification for not texting him.
The nagging at the back of my skull wouldn’t go away, and stayed with me for the rest of the day.
That night, my phone buzzed from its resting spot on the couch and Adam’s name flashed on the screen. We’d texted multiple times throughout the day, but I hadn’t told him about the weird call at work
-Yo.
I picked up my phone, and with a grin, sent back -Hi with a smiley emoji.
-Whatchya doin’?
-Nothing. Light reading. You?
-Going stir crazy.
-Sorry.
-Not your fault. I need to get out of here for a little bit. Ry wants alone time with Lucas.
I could understand. Lucas was going to be in the hospital for an extended period of time while undergoing his treatments. I was sure Ryan would miss his son, and I was also sure that Adam wanted to give him the space to enjoy their time together.
-Not surprising. I responded.
I was, however, surprised by his response. -Dinner?
Dinner? Was he making dinner? Was he going to dinner? Was he asking me what to have for dinner?
Because I was the master in interpersonal relations, I answered, -Huh?
-Come to dinner with me?
I’m sure I stared at my screen for a few years. At least, that’s the way it felt. I bit my lower lip, debated on my response. I wanted to go to dinner with him. I really did. But I was nervous. What would we talk about. Texting was so…easy. No pressure. You could respond when you wanted to. You didn’t have to worry about body language and facial expressions making the wrong impressions.
I may have taken too long deliberating because another message came through. -Please? My treat.
I could almost hear the plea ringing in my ears.
Before I could change my mind, I typed out, -OK.
Instantly, I got three smiley face emojis. -Pick you up in an hour?
My fingers moved without thought. -OK.
Crap. He didn’t know where I lived. I had never told him. I looked around my studio and a wave of embarrassment passed over me. I couldn’t have him pick me up here. I couldn’t show him my home. It was small, sparse, and screamed loser.
Giving myself a moment to think, I typed out, -Remember the comic shop?
-Yeah.
-Meet me there.
-OK.
Nerves settled in. My stomach wanted to leap out through my throat. I had never been on a date before. Was it actually a date? No, probably not. Just two friends having dinner. Were we though? Friends? I didn’t know. I didn’t know what proper decorum was for situations like that. I was flying blind without a map or knowing where the destination was.
I had an hour. Well, less really. My intent was to meet him downstairs in the parking lot. Not have him meet me at the studio.
I jumped into the shower and scrubbed every inch of my body. Once finished, I brushed my teeth and threw on deodorant.
Standing naked in front of my closet, I pulled out shirt after shirt, and held them up to my torso in the bathroom mirror. Nothing seemed to work. Why was I trying so hard? It wasn’t a date.
Finally deciding on a baby-blue long-sleeved button-down, because I thought it brought out the color of my eyes, I put on a T-shirt and slid into the button-down.
No, this wasn’t a date.
I pulled on my best pair of jeans and tucked in my shirt.
Still not a date.
Once dressed, I rewetted my hair for styling, adding a little bit of gel, and combed it until it was this side of just right. Then I brushed my teeth, again.
Definitely not a date.
I grabbed my phone, wallet, and keys, shoving them into my pockets and stopped in the middle of my studio.
My messenger bag. Did I need it? I never went anywhere without it. I usually put everything that was currently in my pockets into that bag. But taking it to dinner seemed odd. Would Adam think it weird if I brought the bag? It was only dinner, after all. I shouldn’t need it.
Leaving the bag on the couch, I turned off all the lights and left, locking the door and checking its security. Twice.
I was in the parking lot twenty minutes before Adam was supposed to be there.