Chapter Eight
Olivia
I didn't want to say that Monday morning came too soon, but waking up after a restless sleep, knowing that I would be dealing with Emma all day again, was enough to make me sigh. Of course, I had done some planning over the weekend, and I thought I had enough activities to keep her and Harlan entertained, when he joined us after school. If she would behave herself, and if I could pull Harlan away from his screen.
If I were well-rested, I'd probably have been feeling pretty good. But the previous night, I'd been plagued with thoughts about Georgia and our run-in at the general store. I could tell that she was interested in Eric; she hadn't made any secret of that. I could still hardly believe that she'd basically put his hand on her breast, right in the middle of the store. There had to be some sort of history there, but whatever it was, I didn't know it. And it wasn't like I could ask Mom about them; she'd only tease me about being interested in Eric.
I was coming to realize that I was, in fact, interested in him, but I knew that there was no way I could ever have him. It would be so inappropriate for me to even consider asking him out. He was my mother's doctor. Anyway, I needed to focus my energies on convincing Mom to start chemo. I couldn't afford to be distracted by some guy, no matter how handsome and caring he was.
It bothered me to think of him with Georgia, though. From the way they'd been acting, I had a feeling they must have dated in the past. And it made sense. Eric was probably the only eligible bachelor in town, and there was no denying that Georgia was gorgeous.
Even if Eric weren't Mom's doctor, the more I thought about it, the more I doubted he would be interested in me. Our dinner date was lovely, but afterward, I'd cried all over him. If that hadn't been enough to permanently friend-zone me, I didn't know what was. And he hadn't even kissed me goodnight. Instead, we'd hugged, and that hug, unlike the one at Mom's house, had been super awkward, like he felt obligated to deliver it rather than actually wanting to deliver it.
I'd probably looked awful after all that crying. But that was even assuming that he'd thought I looked good in the first place. He probably wasn't even interested in me.
Especially not with someone like Georgia throwing herself at him.
Harlan's dad called just before 9 to let me know that Harlan was feeling sick and wouldn't be coming into daycare that day. Well, that was one fewer kid that I had to worry about entertaining for the day. And it meant that I was all alone in the house when Eric arrived with Emma.
Emma immediately skipped over to the box of coloring supplies, looking the happiest that I'd ever seen her. Eric looked happy too, and he was carrying two coffees from the diner. “Good morning,” he greeted me.
“Good morning,” I said, wondering what had the pair of them in such good spirits. But I wasn't about to question it.
“Do you like theater?” Eric asked, handing me one of the coffees.
I frowned at him. “Is there a theater in Tamlin?”
“Oh no,” Eric said, shaking his head. He grinned. “One of my patients gave me two tickets to a play that they're putting on in Westbrook on Wednesday night. He practically begged me to go.” He paused, his grin widening. “I figure if I have to go, I might as well torture someone else with it as well. So I really hope your answer is that, no, you don't like theater.”
I burst out laughing. “It can't be that bad,” I said.
“Only time will tell, I guess,” Eric said, shaking his head. “You interested? I could pick you up around 5, and we could get an early dinner before the show.”
Hope bloomed in my chest. There was no mention of illnesses this time, and it sounded like an actual date, rather than something that friends would do. I couldn't keep the smile off my face. “I guess I could go with you,” I said. “Just for the sake of your sanity. You shouldn't have to endure torture on your own.”
“Phew,” Eric said. “I didn't know what I was going to do if you said no.”
“You'll have to pay for dinner, too,” I teased.
“Done,” Eric said. He glanced at his watch. “Well, I have to get to work, but I'll see you on Wednesday.” Then, he frowned. “I mean, I'll see you sooner than Wednesday since I'll have to pick up Emma this afternoon, and then I'll drop her off and pick her up again tomorrow.”
I laughed at how flustered he was. Maybe I wasn't the only one who was starting to develop feelings for the other. “I understand,” I told him. “See you this afternoon, and looking forward to the show on Wednesday.”
On Wednesday, I pulled out practically everything that I owned, trying to figure out what I wanted to wear for the date. Of course, I still didn't know if he thought this was a date or not. He'd made no indication when he was asking me. For all I knew, he just felt bad wasting one of the tickets since they'd been a gift from his patient. But I was going to make it clear that I considered this to be a date, whatever he thought about it.
I finally settled on a black, lacy cocktail dress that I had never had an occasion to wear before. With its A-line waist skirt, it emphasized my curves without being too over-the-top, and it would match with whatever he was wearing. I wore a simple pair of flats with it, not wanting to look overdressed by pairing the outfit with heels, and I brushed out my hair but left it falling in soft waves over my shoulders.
When I answered the door to Eric's knock, I could tell that I had played things right. From the expression on his face to the sharp intake of breath, I could tell that I'd made an impression. I grinned inwardly, but outwardly, I tried to act nonchalant.
“Hey,” I said, leaning in to kiss his cheek and then following him down to the car. I knew it was going to be about half an hour to get over to Westbrook, but if this went the same as our previous evening together, we'd have no problem coming up with things to talk about.
“So just so I know how much you're going to hate tonight, what's the worst play that you've ever been to?” Eric asked as he started driving.
I giggled and shook my head. “For all you know, tonight's performance is going to be incredible,” I told him.
“It could be,” Eric conceded. “But you don't know Henry Welden, and he's the lead in this play.”
I thought back. “Probably the worst play that I've ever been to was this rendition of 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' that I went to when I was about 13,” I mused. “A family friend was performing in it, but he just had some bit part, nothing special. He was over the moon about it, though, and dragged us all along. I spent the whole play not sure what was happening. It didn't help that the actors didn't have microphones, and you couldn't hear half of what was being said.”
Eric groaned. “Tonight could be just that bad,” he said.
“What about you?” I asked. “What's the worst play that you've ever been to?”
Eric paused for a moment. “Well, I went to this really bad Shakespeare performance on the lake last summer,” he said slowly, but from the way he said it, I could tell that there was more to the story than that. Maybe he'd taken a date to that show as well?
“What aren't you telling me?” I probed, deciding that this was an innocent enough thing to be blunt about.
I was surprised to see Eric's sheepish expression. “The worst play I've ever been to, worse even than the Shakespeare, was probably one where I wasn't a spectator,” he admitted.
“Go on,” I said gleefully.
Eric sighed. “Back in high school, I played the lead in Arthur Miller's 'Death of a Salesman,'” he admitted. “I was never really a theater person, but my guidance counselor was harping on about how I needed more activities on my resumé if I wanted to get a position in one of the top colleges in the state, and a friend dared me to try out. I didn't think anything would come from a silly try-out, so I agreed. But they ended up casting me. And what's more, they ended up giving me a big role.”
I laughed. “So what happened?” I asked.
Eric grimaced. “I was so nervous that I forgot half my lines,” he told me, but he sounded amused by the story. “The director ended up yell-whispering the entire play.”
I giggled. “You poor thing,” I said.
“It's funny, in retrospect, but at the time, I was mortified,” Eric said. “Getting up to do my dissertation, years later, I was still having flashbacks about it. Actually, I didn't sleep well for a month leading up to that presentation, because every time I closed my eyes, I had another nightmare that I got up in front of all my peers and opened my mouth, but not a single word came out. And then there was someone stage-whispering all my research, as though I hadn't had any part in the project.”
I shook my head. “You poor thing,” I echoed.
Eric smiled over at me. “What about you, do you have any acting background?”
I shrugged. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be an actress, and I took some acting classes. But I never really got the hang of it. I tried out for a few things in high school, and I got a couple of bit parts,” I told him. “Mostly, I just worked in the costume closet.”
“That sounds fun,” Eric said.
“It was,” I agreed, smiling at the memory.
We pulled up in front of a restaurant, and Eric idled for a minute. “I hope Greek is okay,” he said, looking nervously over at me. “Sorry, I should have asked first, but I had a recommendation for this place.”
“Greek sounds great,” I said, feeling suddenly compelled to reach over and grab his hand, squeezing it for a moment before releasing it.
It was worth it, to see the slow smile that spread across Eric's face as he shut off the engine and got out of the car.
I got out as well and followed him inside. “Actually, theater is where I met my first boyfriend,” I mused after we'd ordered our meals. I took a sip of my drink.
“Oh really?” Eric asked, arching an eyebrow at me, and I suddenly had a panicky moment where I wondered if it was too soon to be talking about past boyfriends with him. This was only our first date, if it was truly a date. But then again, at our age, we both knew that the other person had dated. Hell, he had even been married and had a kid. What did it matter if I talked about some silly high school crush that I'd had?
So I continued: “Robbie Harrison,” I said. “He played the lead in our school's production of 'Jesus Christ Superstar,' and I thought he was so cool and so handsome. I finally scored a date with him, and things went from there, but when it finally came down to it, and he kissed me, I was disappointed that he didn't have the beard.”
Eric blinked at me. “What?” he asked.
I blushed. “Well, every time I fantasized about kissing him, I imagined it with the beard there. But when he finally did kiss me in real life, he didn't have the beard, and it just didn't feel right. It felt weird. I had to break up with him.”
Eric burst out laughing. “I just hope Jesus knew how lucky he was to get to kiss you,” he said.
It was my turn to blink and stare at him. Had he really just said what I thought he had said? If Eric thought some guy was lucky enough to kiss me, did that mean that he wanted to kiss me? Or was he just saying that to be polite?
But I could tell, from how embarrassed Eric looked by the words that had slipped past his lips, that he hadn't just said that to be polite.
Suddenly, it seemed as though the whole mood of the evening shifted, with this new awareness that Eric was interested in me in that way. We weren't just friends; he at least thought I was sexy enough to kiss.
Right then and there, I decided that no matter how horrible the play was that night, it was going to be worth it. By the end of the night, I was going to kiss Eric, the handsome doctor, whether he was my mother's physician or not. I wanted to make the most of the night.
I only hoped that he felt the same, but from the way he suddenly reached over and squeezed my hand, I had the feeling that he did.