* * *
Bryson and I grow closer than ever over the next few days. Through constantly talking, texting, and hanging out at school--which earns him some light teasing from his basketball buddies every time they see us together, and me an occasional evil glare from Summer--it seems like we've gotten to know everything there is to know about each other.
He's told me all about his plans to attend LSU next year after he graduates and eventually achieve a Master's Degree in architecture. He also opened up to me quite a bit about the difficult years he and his mom endured after his dad left, and about how things got easier as time went on. And I feel like I've known his two 135-pound Rottweiler's, Humphrey and Bogart, for years now, after hearing so many funny stories about them from the time they were puppies. He also told me about how he sometimes regrets letting his mom name them after the famous Humphrey Bogart from her favorite movie, Casablanca. He's shared his fears and concerns with me about the future regarding him and his mom and how, even after everything, a part of him would still like to know his dad someday.
I also now know so many little interesting facts about him, like how he secretly gets extremely nervous before every basketball game, despite the number of games he's played over the years; and how he wears a Band-Aid around his big toe on his left foot for luck on game nights; and also that he absolutely can't work out unless Metallica, AC/DC, or Motorhead is blaring through his headphones. These are the little things I feel privileged to know. These little pieces of shared, secret information which strongly suggest where this friendship might be headed.
And of course, even though my life story is not nearly as compelling as his, I've told him all about myself, too. Which really just consisted of me going into greater detail about my family and how we all get along and relate to one another.
I've also stressed to him over several conversations just how close Becca and I are. I was determined to make it crystal clear to him from the start that she's the most important person in my life, and that won't change. So far, he's shown no uneasiness whatsoever as a result of that information which is a good thing, because him fully accepting Becca is the only way he and I can have any kind of relationship. I've also filled him in on all of my secret little quirks as well, like how easily I get nervous, how shy I am, how clumsy I am, and how much I really like to eat.
So like I said before, it truly does seem like we've gotten to know almost everything about each other in a fairly short amount of time.
Oh, yeah, except of course for one teeny-tiny, minor detail about myself?
Except for the fact that I could teach him more about architecture than any professor or amount of years at LSU could. Except for the fact that I know more about his awesome '69 Camaro, and any other classic hot-rod and all their moving parts, than he could ever dream of knowing. Except for the fact that I've written seventeen books since I was six years old, and I can speak twelve different languages fluently. Except for the fact that I could turn education as we know it upside down by introducing to the world a vast number of new, simple solutions to many of our mathematical equations and theories.
Yeah, all minor details. I mean, how could I possibly keep this information from him? First and foremost, it would be completely wrong of me to continue to hide this if we were in a relationship. Secondly, I would probably end up slipping up at some point anyway, like I've already done on the bus.
I've had many conversations with Becca about this, and she agrees it wouldn't be right to keep him in the dark.
So once again, this curse has disrupted my life in a major way. I'll either have to fill Bryson in if the relationship progresses, and put the secret at greater risk--especially in the event of a bad breakup--or just end things with him altogether. The decision has been weighing heavily on my mind, and at the moment, I honestly have no idea what I'm going to do.
So yeah, the past few days have been great, but also scary. As Bryson takes a seat next to me with his hot lunch tray, once again dressed all fancy for game day, I suddenly feel an overwhelming urge to just blurt out my secret and be done with it.
But luckily, before I'm able to act on that impulse decision, he puts his brownie down next to my salad, then looks right at me and says, "There's an annual car show tomorrow night at the Mall of Louisiana. Umm?" he hesitates as he looks away nervously and situates his food on his tray, then quickly looks back and continues. "My uncle and I went last year, but he's out of town for the weekend, so I was wondering if you wanted to come check it out with me."
My stomach shoots up to my throat, as if I've just taken the first big plunge on the world's tallest roller coaster. He's asking me out.
I surely didn't expect that. I'm an idiot for not expecting that. It's the next logical step, but unfortunately I'm the dumbest person alive when it comes to this stuff.
Even though I thought I did a great job controlling my emotions and keeping calm, he still saw through me right away. And after only a couple of seconds--which was hardly enough time for me to respond anyway--he turns to look at Becca and Holly across the table.
"In fact, we should all go. Do y'all wanna go?" he asks.
They both quickly nod and grin. "Yeah, that would be cool," they agree, glancing at each other and then at me.
"Yeah, it'll be fun," Bryson says, looking back at me. "And there's also a big Ferris wheel there, and even some games and food and all that. It's kind of like a mini-fair, too."
Even though I would have agreed to go alone with him, I am more comfortable with Becca and Holly coming along. After all, this is my first date and he knows that, which is probably why he's trying to make the situation as comfortable as possible for me.
"That would be awesome. I'd love to go," I say, eyes wide and excited, trying to make up for my hesitation.
He smiles big, clearly happy with my response. I know he would prefer it to be just the two of us, but the fact that he immediately did what he thought I would prefer says a lot. I think it's going to be a great first date with a great guy.
15
First Date
The next day, I'm sitting at the bar and gazing out the kitchen window. I'm so deep in thought the bright sunshine and the trees blowing in the wind next to my neighbor's house completely fade from my view. In fact, the only thing I continue to notice at all is the sound of my dad weed-eating outside.
I've been so nervous all day long about tonight. Like, sick-to-my-stomach nervous. So nervous my delicious looking cheese and cracker snack sitting in front of me has gone completely untouched for the entire ten minutes I've been sitting here.
The sound of the weed-eater gradually starts to get louder, and then suddenly I notice my dad from the neck up, slowly grazing past the window, bringing my focus back to Earth.
I take a sip from my tall glass of lemon-lime Gatorade and then look over at the microwave. The time on it reads 3:48 p.m. And once again, now even more nervous than before, my thoughts begin to drift to tonight. But I don't get very far before my mom walks through the door from the living room.
"Hey, how you feeling?" she asks, passing me up en route to the refrigerator. She knows how nervous I've been all day.
"Still nervous," I confess, fiddling with the corner of my napkin.
She sighs as she closes the refrigerator door and turns around. "You said he's a really nice guy, right?" She walks over and stops directly in front of me. I look up at her and nod.
"And," she continues, "Becca and Holly are going to be there. It's gonna be fun."
"I know, it's just?" I pause and stare straight ahead, trying to figure out exactly why I am so nervous. But my mom quickly fills in the blanks.
"It's your first date," she says with a shrug. "It's natural. You don't know what to expect. But he did a really nice thing inviting Becca and Holly. It's going to make things a lot easier for you."
Just as I begin to nod in agreement with my mom's statement, the kitchen door slings open and my dad stands there, shaking his head.
&nbs
p; "I'm a mess," he mumbles to himself. He wrestles his shoes off with his feet and kicks them just outside the door. "What are you guys talking about?" he asks, closing the door behind him then heading to the fridge.
"Boys," my mom says. Then she looks at me and grins. "Well, a certain boy."
My dad looks over his shoulder at us while grabbing a water bottle. "Bryson?"
We both nod, only my mom's grin is much larger than mine.
Dad shakes his head. "Man, that boy is one heck of a basketball player, I'll give him that. How many points did he score last night? Thirty-eight?" he asks, walking up to us.
"Yep," I nod.
"Wow! And he didn't even play but a little over half the game or so."
I watch my dad as he stares at the wall behind me in amazement. Thankfully, my dad is not the typical 'greet him at the door with my shotgun' type of dad. But it's still a relief to see him already so accepting of Bryson after simply watching him play a basketball game, and then shaking his hand and saying a few words to him afterwards.
I smile. "Yeah, he's really good. He was Central High's star player."
"I can tell," my dad says, grabbing one of my crackers.
Just then, Hailey runs in from the living room, and she doesn't stop until she reaches my stool and hops on the bottom rung. I cup the back of her head with my hand and kiss her cheek. "Hey, girlie."
"Hey," she replies. With her focus already on my crackers, she points her finger at them and looks up at me.
"Go ahead, I'm not gonna eat them."
She scans the bunch for the biggest slab of pepper jack cheese she can find, and then swipes it right off the cracker.
"So, did you enjoy the game last night?" I ask her.
"Yep," she replies with a mouthful. "You did really good."
Then, without moving her head at all, she peeks at me with a Mom-like grin and says, "Bryson was pretty awesome, too," as if she's already fully accepted him, as well.
I laugh and shake my head as she hops off the stool and skips to the fridge.
"So, what time is he coming to pick you up?" Dad mumbles, still working on my crackers.
I look at the microwave to check the time. "He's coming at 6:30. I actually need to go start getting ready."
I snatch a cracker from my dad as I hop off the stool. He jokingly raises the back of his hand to me as I scurry to the door. "Hey, woman."
"When is Becca getting here?" Mom asks.
"She'll be here soon. She had that family reunion today," I say, cracker crumbs now spilling from my mouth. "Hailey, you wanna come help me decide on an outfit?"
"Sure!" she exclaims, running toward me.