Chapter Six: I Never Saw It Coming

Every first kiss I've ever received has happened with my eyes closed.

The first time I was fifteen, and the boy had liked me forever and I liked him, too. I was in his bedroom, more innocently than that sounds, and at some point, I sat on the floor, leaned back against the wall, and closed my eyes. I don't remember why, but the next thing I knew he'd kissed me.

It was a pattern that would repeat in my life. Something about closing my eyes around a man I wanted to kiss me made me kissable. I tried not to think too much about what that said about me. Why I waited for him to make the first move. Why I had to hide my desire to get what I wanted.

All I knew was that I never saw a first kiss coming.

When Jack came back twenty minutes later my pants were dry, and I'd checked my hair on my phone. It had gone frizzy with its proximity to water and sun, so I smoothed it down and tied it back into a tight ponytail. The sun felt good on my neck, though if we stayed outside too much longer, I'd get a sunburn. I was willing to risk it because I liked Jack—more than I thought possible after spending only four hours with him.

The last time I felt this way was when I started dating my ex, Chris. What had begun with stolen kisses and laughing at sudden rainstorms, had ended with us being more like roommates two years later. We'd broken up a couple of months before I moved to New York. So, I knew better than to put too much stock in what I was feeling, but boy it was nice while it lasted.

I watched Jack walk across the lawn. He had an easy, comfortable stride, and was holding a large plastic bag and a couple of takeout boxes that smelled so delicious my mouth started to water when he was ten feet away.

"What'd you get?"

"The best food truck Chinese in the city." He put the boxes down on the table, then pulled out chopsticks, napkins, and paper plates. "Hold on while I set the table."

"What else have you got in there?"

"You'll see." He made a motion for me to spin around so my back was to the table. I did as he asked, listening to him bustle around the picnic table while my stomach rumbled. "Glad to hear you're hungry."

I rubbed my noisy stomach. "You heard that?"

"I think that couple over there did, too."

There was a couple in their sixties enjoying a picnic at the next table over. They had a whole Mediterranean spread in front of them—cheese plate, cured meats, olives, and heavenly looking bread. They were drinking white wine from small plastic cups. The woman raised her glass to me, making eyes at Jack.

I smiled and looked away. "My stomach would like you to hurry up."

"Hold your horses."

"Can't think of a porny title for that one."

"That's probably best."

"What's the origin of that saying, anyway? Like, literally stand there and hold a horse so you don't, what? Charge the other side?"

"Mental note," Jack said. "She gets a little loopy when she's hungry."

"That's a good note."

I heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle cap being removed, and then something in glass being put on the table.

"Okay, turn around!"

I span slowly in my seat, lifting my legs to bring them over the bench. Jack had laid out the plates and utensils and there was an array of dishes. A bottle of Chinese beer sat by each plate, and there was a small bunch of flowers resting on the table.

"Tada!"

"This looks great. Thank you." I eyed the flowers. "Are those for me?"

"I thought they'd make the table more festive."

"Good idea. What's this?" I pointed to one of the containers.

"The best Bao Buns with Peking Duck in the city." He opened the other box. "And this is a mix of shrimp toast and scallion pancakes."

"I haven't had shrimp toast in years."

"You've never had shrimp toast until you've had this shrimp toast."

"Can't wait. And the beers? Contraband?"

Jack picked his up and angled it toward me. "Probably, but I don't see any cops around and I'm willing to risk it if you are?"

His look was a challenge, one I wanted to accept. I picked up my bottle and clinked it to his. "Definitely."

Jack served me one of everything and we dug in. I started with a Bao Bun, a delicious mix of hoisin sauce and scallions and crispy duck skin in a steamed fluffy bun. "This is so good."

"Try the shrimp toast."

I took a sip of beer and did as he suggested. It was equally fantastic—shrimp and ginger and fat fried together on bread—and I could feel my blood getting sluggish as I ate it.

"Right?" Jack said.

"So right. How did you find this place?"

"It's the knowledge."

"The knowledge?"

"Native New Yorker knowledge."

"New Yorkers are so snobby."

"Oh?"

"It's impossible to be a New Yorker unless your high school had a P.S. number."

Jack bit into a shrimp toast. "I don't make the rules."

"Well, it's frustrating. Hard enough to move to a new city. Harder to still feel like a tourist two years later." I eyed the last Bao bun. "You want that?"

"I totally do, but you can have it."

"Chivalry isn't dead." I scooped up the bun. I was going to have to go for a massive run to work all of this off, but it was so worth it.

"So, tell me an Ohio thing. It must have things you'd never know if you weren't from there."

I thought about it. "Cincinnati chili is basically just spaghetti with meat sauce and cheese piled on top."

"Interesting."

"The Cincinnati airport isn't even in Ohio. It's in Kentucky."

"Bizarre."

"There's riverboat gambling."

"Like in Ozark?"

"Kind of like that. Though I don't know if they're money laundering operations."

Jack sat back, cradling his beer in his hands. "You miss it?"

"Cincy? Sometimes. The people are really nice. They move slower. When you smile at a stranger on the street, they don't assume you're mentally ill. And at least I knew what direction north was there. I never got lost."

"This city is easy to get around."

"So you say."

"What's the thing I'd find weirdest there?"

"Hard to say, but I can tell you about the weirdest thing I ever saw there."

"Please do."

"Well, there's this whole cave system called the Ohio Caverns, it's famous, and at various places you can take a boat into the caves and look at the stalactites."

"Sounds cool."

"I'm sure you'd love it. Anyway, I went with Kit for something to do when she was home for a visit a few years back, and we got into these boats for the tour and the guy sitting across from me had a dummy on his lap."

Jack put his beer down. "A what?"

"A dummy. You know, like a ventriloquist dummy?"

"You're shitting me."

"Nope."

"Did it talk?"

"The guy holding it talked for it, yeah."

Jack shook his head. "He threw his voice and it seemed as if the dummy was talking?"

"He talked through his lips and it was obvious it wasn't the dummy talking."

"Did anyone say anything?"

"Everyone acted like this was perfectly normal. Like it was something they saw every day. Kit and I were dying. But I did manage to get a photo."

"I need to see this."

I pulled out my phone, brushing away several texts from Kit. I scrolled through my photos till I found it, a blurry shot of a ventriloquist dummy grinning madly from the lap of a middle-aged man. It still creeped me out to look at it, though Kit and I had laughed for hours after the tour. I passed the phone to Jack.

He took it and started to laugh. "This is outstanding. How did you get the shot? Did he know you were doing it?"

"Don't think so. I took my phone out and held it at hip level." I mimicked what I was saying. "And snapped it quickly. He didn't seem to notice."

He handed the phone back. "That's the best. I feel like this should be one of those things that you see on a viral meme."

"Oh, I tried that. No traction."

He finished his beer. "I should've gotten two of these."

Mine was empty as well. "This was perfect. Thank you."

"You're welcome." He started to clear the containers and plates away.

It felt like our day was coming to a natural conclusion, but I wasn't ready for it to be over yet. "How are your tour guide skills with the park?"

His eyes widened. "Please tell me you've been to the park before?"

"It was the first place I went when I got here. But I don't know it. Not like a 'real' New Yorker."

"Using my words against me, I see."

"Am I?"

He checked his watch. "I guess I have a bit of time."

My heart fell. "I don't want to keep you."

"No, you're not. I'm supposed to go see my mom, and I don't want to miss visiting hours."

I felt awful. "Of course. Go see your mom."

"I didn't mean ... I want to show you around. Visiting hours are till eight. I definitely have some time."

"You sure?"

"I am."

I stood and brushed off my legs, kicking myself. Everything had been fine, and I'd gone and made things weird. "Why is your mom in the hospital? If you want to say."

He tied the top of the plastic bag together, sealing off our trash. "She has MS. She's had it most of my life, but it's been a lot worse these last few years, and when she has a bad flare up, she has trouble breathing. Hence, the hospital."

"I'm so sorry."

He seemed sad but resigned. "We've all lived with this for a long time and so has she. Honestly, I think she just wants it to be over."

I touched his arm. "That must be really hard. I hope it's okay that I asked."

"It's good." He raised his hand to mine and squeezed it. "I don't ... I don't talk about this, usually, and that's not a good thing. Bottling things up, it's not always the best way." He let my hand go.

"Easier though."

He made eye contact, fighting his emotions. "It is. Until it isn't."

I knew what he meant. "For years after my sister, Sara, died ... no one talked about her. It was like she didn't exist. Like she never had. Kit was the only one I could talk about her to. It's why we're so close, even now. Because she didn't pretend I never had a sister. Sometimes my parents will say I'm an only child when they're talking to someone new, just to make things less uncomfortable. I hate it."

"I'm glad you have Kit."

"Me too." I blew out a long breath. "Phew. When you said no small talk ... We're taking that pretty literally."

"It's nice to have a real conversation, though. Right?"

"Yes."

He touched my hand again, then stepped back. "Okay, time's a wasting. I can't give you a full tour, but why don't I take you to my favorite bridge."

"You have a favorite bridge? Wait. Of course you do." I folded the towel Jack had bought for me and tucked it into my bag. "Tell me about it."

"It's not far, just over there by the lake." He pointed over my shoulder. "It's called the Bow Bridge."

I thought about it.

"What?" Jack asked.

"I'm trying to get a title from that, but I've got nothing."

"Bridge Over the River KY," Jack said without hesitation, his lips twitching.

"I can't believe I missed that one."

"Good thing you have me, then."

"Definitely." I let that lie there for a moment, then rushed on. "Why's this bridge your favorite?"

"You'll see when you get there."

We threw our trash away, then walked across the lawn toward the lake. The bridge was a low expanse of weathered cast iron that had an intricate railing. I recognized it as soon as I saw it.

"Oh, I've been here." I turned to Jack. "You're not disappointed, are you?"

"Not at all. And do you like it?"

"It's beautiful." I took in the bridge—the blue water to the left, the border of trees along the edge of the park, and the sandstone buildings beyond it on West 86th Street. "I can see why it's your favorite."

"My mom used to bring me here." He stood next to me, his hands on the railing, his left arm brushing my right.

"After work?"

"That's right. We'd get ice cream unless it was freezing out, and then we'd come here. It was her favorite place in the park, too. My dad even proposed here."

"Like in a movie."

"Yep. They're cheesy like that."

"Oh?"

He grinned. "Honestly, growing up my sister and I thought they were ... 'disgusting' I think was the word we used. But now, I don't know, I think I'm jealous. They're happy. Despite everything."

"That's so great."

"What about your parents?"

I watched the water ripple in the breeze. "Mine? They're ... not great. Losing a kid, I think it broke them."

"Are they still together?"

"Yes, but not in a good way. More like how you are sometimes with family. Not the people you'd choose to hang out with, but you're stuck with them come what may."

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you." I tried to shake the feeling I always got when I thought about my parents. Like I was better off getting a rescue cat and convincing Kit to move in with me forever. "What's the craziest thing you've ever done on a bridge?"

"What?"

"I'm trying to lighten the mood."

"Ah, okay. Let me think..."

"I don't need a sexploits story."

He raised an eyebrow. "No? It's a good one."

"Moving on!"

"Okay, okay, I guess that only leaves the Famous Steve Mala story."

"Can't be that famous. I've never heard it."

"No? Well, you're in for a treat. Have you ever been to Oxford?"

"Mississippi or England?"

"England."

"Nope."

"Well, there are a lot of bridges in Oxford."

"Because of the Thames?"

"Yes, though it's called the Isis in Oxford, don't ask me why."

I laughed. "Go on."

"So, I'm in Oxford with my friend Steve Mala and we're in college and we're there for crew."

"Oxford, rowing, Thames. I'm getting a ... what's that running movie called?"

"Chariots of Fire?"

"That's the one. I'm getting strong Chariots of Fire vibes."

"If you're imagining us in white short shorts and singlets, then no."

"Damn it."

"Anyway," Jack said, his eyes dancing. "We have our regatta, and we lose pretty badly because our team sucks, and we end up on a pub crawl to commiserate."

"As one does."

He nods. "And it's late at night, super late, and Mala has had a lot of beers, only they're pints there which is like two beers per beer."

"Recipe for trouble."

"Exactly. So, we're on some bridge in Oxford and Mala, who I should've said is a guy who talks with big, sweeping hand gestures especially when he's drunk, is talking enthusiastically about Gretchen."

"Who's that?"

"Only the love of his life that he met in the pub we just left. Or maybe it was the pub before. It's hazy."

"Did Gretchen like him?"

"Gretchen did not. So, he's very disappointed, but also kind of delusional, like he's going to get her to like him, he just needs to sober up a bit. That's what he kept repeating, 'sober up a bit', and he'd wave his arms like this." Jack raised his arms and flapped them like a bird.

"Shocking that Gretchen wasn't into him."

"Indeed. So, he's walking ahead of me on the bridge, his arms going, trying to sober up and then he just disappears."

"Like in a magic show?"

"Like in he went right off the side of the bridge."

"Holy shit."

"That's what I said."

"Was he okay?"

"He was. He was totally okay. He was lying on the concrete piling that was up out of the water because the river was low, and he was laughing. The son-of-a-bitch was laughing so hard."

"How did he survive?"

"The doctor said it was because he was drunk. It made him pliable."

"My God." I started to laugh, leaning into Jack. "How did he go over?"

"It was an old bridge, and the side was much lower than we're used to since it was built before building codes or when people thought about things like a drunk college kid who might just fall over the side."

I held my sides. They hurt from laughing so hard. "That's a great bridge story."

"It's one of my favorites for sure."

"It's amazing. You're amazing." I stopped laughing. "Forget I said that."

"Why?"

I tucked my head down. I didn't know what I was doing, and I was scared. "I wasn't supposed to like you."

"No?"

"You were supposed to be my 'get back out there' guy."

"Like a rebound?"

I closed my eyes in inhaled deeply. "Something like that."

"Hey, look at me."

I brought my chin up, but my eyes were closed. And before I could open them, it happened. He kissed me.

I never saw it coming.