seven: it's a date

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All I can hear is my heartbeat in my ears, so loud and fast that I'm sure if I stood right now, I would pass out. My skin flushes hot and cold and I'm sure I heard her wrong, but I can't think of anything else she could have said. It feels like forever passes before I respond, though it's probably only a couple of seconds before my brain kicks in.

"You still love me?" The words are clunky and awkward and they tumble out before I can find something better to say. "As in ... you still love me?"

Storie doesn't laugh or even crack a smile and in that second, I'm convinced I heard her wrong, but she nods, her expression severe. I can only just see her in the dark of her bedroom, her face barely illuminated by the city lights that sneak through the curtains.

I'm torn between wanting to turn on the light and drink her in, and wanting to just bask in the rawness of the moment.

"I never got over you," Storie says. "It took me a long time to realize that." She lets out a quiet hum. "I tried to move on. I tried so hard. I went away with Gray; I dated other guys; I nearly got engaged. But something always felt just ... a bit off."

She sucks in a breath and pauses, my pulse filling the silence.

"I don't know if it's because you were the first guy I loved or because of everything that happened with us, or just because you're you," she continues, her voice barely louder than a whisper, "but I can't get you off my mind."

"You didn't say," I manage to stutter. Inside, I'm skipping; my pulse is deafening.

"I thought that, maybe, seeing you again was what I needed to put my feelings to bed," she says. "I mean, after I ended it, we never spoke again." She lets out a long sigh. "I couldn't help but feel like we were unfinished." She pulls the comforter tighter around her shoulders, her eyes fixed on me. "We started something good, but it had to end."

Her words are like an arrow through my balloon of hope.

"If I hadn't broken up with you back then, there always would've been this giant question mark hanging over us and I couldn't have dealt with it."

There's nothing I can say, not even when Storie falls quiet and the silence between us stretches like an ocean. I'm trapped in a boat without a paddle, aimlessly floating. I don't know who's supposed to speak now, whether her thought is unfinished or this is my space.

When Storie says nothing else, I take the plunge.

"Can we give this another go?"

The time it takes her to respond is pure torture, milliseconds expanding into years before her hand finds mine and her touch sets me on fire and my heart explodes when she sighs.

"I think we owe it to ourselves," she says, curling her fingers around mine. She smiles, a cautious smile that makes me want to kiss her a million times more. "Take two?"

*

I don't know how the hell I slept last night. How on earth did my mind shut down for long enough to let me fall asleep with Storie right beside me, ready and willing to give our relationship another go?

I have no clue. We didn't talk for much longer last night before she drifted off and I couldn't sleep, listening to her snores. The snoring never bothered me. I have six siblings and I spent the first two years of college in a twenty-man dorm room, so I've seen and heard it all. If anything, it's weirdly endearing. I know she hates it, but I couldn't care less.

It was her mere existence beside me that kept me awake, and my inability to believe a moment of the entire day.

It's only when I feel a hand on my shoulder that I wake up to see Storie fully dressed and standing over me with a mug in her hand.

"Hey." She smiles. It lights up the world. "I'm not sure what time you have to be at work but it's eight twenty, so I thought you might want a wake-up call. And a hot chocolate." She holds out the mug and her smile widens a little when I sit up, wondering if last night's talk really happened.

Did it really happen? Was it all some kind of weird, stress-induced dream after getting trapped in the elevator?

But I don't ask that. I just say, "Hey. Morning. Yeah, I have work at nine." Like an idiot.

"Great. Me too," she says. "If we leave in twenty, I can drop you off before I have to be in the office."

I'm still half asleep when I stand, my head cloudy enough that I'm beginning to convince myself that last night didn't happen as I look for the tights that I took off last night and probably should have washed.

"I was thinking," Storie starts, sitting on the edge of the bed as I find my hideous elf tunic and struggle into it, "about this whole giving us a second chance thing."

"Yeah?" I hope my concern doesn't show on my face.

"Well, what would you say to grabbing dinner on Friday?" She fiddles with her sleeves, pulling them over her thumbs and winding a loose thread around her finger. Somehow she makes a sweater and jeans look classy. Everything about her is classy, from the way she acts to the way she speaks to the way she dresses.

"Yes! Yeah. That'd be awesome."

"I know we're getting dangerously close to Christmas territory," she says, a smile gracing her lips when she nods at my get-up, "but I've got a busy few days coming up and I'm not free before then."

"Friday would be great."

"I'll pick you up from work?" she asks. I nod, the only thing I'm capable of doing coherently, and she gives me a coy smile, tucking her hair behind her ears.

"It's a date," I say when I finally get my words back. Storie lets out a quiet chuckle.

"It's been a while since we had one of those, huh?"

*

I'm fifteen minutes early for work – once I reluctantly get out of Storie's car, armed with her new number and her reminder that she'll be here at six on Friday.

Six on Friday can't come soon enough.

I regret all the dates we didn't have when we were together, when I was too busy with pointless crap to see her or I was put off by how far away she lived, or I just didn't carve out the time to see her. There's so much we never did, and the dumbest stuff jumps to mind. I want to go bowling with her; I want to go to a board game café with her; I want to boat on Lake Erie with her.

When I head into the Winter Wonderland, which is a pretty sad place at a quarter to nine on a Tuesday morning, Kaylani does a double take.

"Hey there, eager beaver," she says.

"Morning."

"If I'm not mistaken, that car driving away right now is the same one in which your not-girlfriend was waiting for you last night." Her eyebrows jump at me as she tries to tame her hair enough to tug her hat down. "You got something to tell me?"

I can't help the way my face reacts before my brain kicks in and tells me its not polite to grimace at a near stranger. I'm also pretty sure it's not that polite for a near-stranger to question me on that. But I also can't be bothered to try to deny and have her hound me all day.

"We're giving it another go," I say, heading to the staff room to sign myself in. I see a grand total of two customers on my way over. That seems about right.

"Another go?" Kaylani stops messing with her hat, leaving it at a crooked angle, about to fall off her afro. Her eyes sear into me like a pair of beacons, somehow dark brown but burning bright.

"We dated a few years ago."

She hovers by my side as I scrawl my name and the time, and I tell myself to stick it out and stay an extra forty-five minutes today – I might as well take advantage of being early and pocket another ten dollars.

"Ah. Returning to an ex, huh? Why'd you guys break up?" She seems to be getting closer now and I can feel myself bristle. I don't care if she means well and it doesn't matter that she smells like a Christmas candle: she's too close, and I find myself shrinking away.

"I'm afraid that's all we have time for on Let's Quiz Liam," I say, clicking the pen and dropping it on the table. I give her an awkward, closed-lip smile, and turn my attention to the shift board. Apparently, I'm working outside today. Never mind that it's not quite thirty-five degrees and my coat hardly screams festive fun.

Kaylani disappears into the closet for a moment and comes out with what looks like a bathrobe, just as gawdy as my current costume. "You'll want this," she says, shaking the robe at me. "There are gloves in the pockets."

"Do elves wear coats?"

She pushes it against my chest so I have no choice but to take it. "Elves who work in garden center winter wonderlands do, because it's cold as fuck out there and you'll freeze your balls off if you don't. And it's festive."

I shake it. It jingles. There's a bell hanging from the hood, and several more sewn onto the hem. Kaylani laughs. I plan how I'm going to spend the least time outside as possible.

*

I'm on my lunch break when I get a call from Mom. I don't even realize at first – my phone lives on silent mode, and I'm forever missing texts and calls – and when I answer right before it goes to voicemail, Mom chuckles.

"He's alive!" she says. "I was starting to think you were ignoring me."

"Huh? I'm at work, Mom."

"I called you a few times yesterday. After work. Unless you were still working at ten?"

No, I think. I definitely wasn't. At ten, I was in the midst of a freak out in an elevator with Storie. "Sorry. I guess I didn't see your calls," I say, a twinge of guilt running through me.

"Can you talk now, honey? You're at work?"

"On my lunch break," I say through a mouthful of the surprisingly good stew from the café. "Everything ok?"

"Everything's fine, honey," she says. "I just wanted to see how things are going with your job, and I wanted to check if you're around on Friday."

I wipe my chin before I can stain my elf outfit. "Um, no. I'm not, actually. Why?"

"Oh." Mom sighs. "Sorry, I know it's late notice. I forgot to ask you before; you know me. It's just that Sam is doing a concert in Cleveland on Friday evening – he has a piano solo, you know! – and I thought it would be nice if he had all of his siblings there. But I know it's last minute."

The guilt is back, a slender knife that twists in my gut. I wish I'd taken her call yesterday. I wish I'd seen her call yesterday. "What time's the concert?" I ask, praying she'll say it's at nine.

"Seven," Mom says. Damn it. "The doors open at six-thirty, though, so we'll be there nice and early to get good seats."

"Is Matt even going?" My older brother moved out and on years ago – I can usually rely on him to be absent from things like this.

"He is! Sammy is so excited."

I sigh. Mom does too.

"Are you working then?" she asks. "Is there any chance you could finish early, perhaps? I just know Sammy would love to see you."

My conscience is kicking in, fighting with the need to see Storie again. Friday already feels so far away when it's only just Tuesday afternoon, but I don't want to be the shitty guy who can't make it to his eleven-year-old brother's concert when he'll be performing a couple miles away. For a moment, I savor the idea of dinner with Storie before I let it slip away.

"I can be there," I say. It's hard to keep the pain out of my voice, but I can see Storie another time. I guess it's not that often that Sam gets the chance to play for a crowd.

"Oh, Liam! Are you sure?"

"Mmhmm."

"I can't tell you how much that means to me," Mom says, her accent slipping deeper and deeper south when she gets excited. "Sammy's going to be over the moon. Thank you so much, Liam. I can't wait to see you, sweetie."

"You too, Mom," I say. I do love to see my mom – my whole family, of course, but Mom especially. "It'll be nice to see you all."

She gushes a bit more in typical Mom fashion, before the call eventually comes to an end and my heart sinks as I open up a new text to Storie. My thumb hovers over the screen for a full minute before I lock my phone and put it face-down on the table. A text won't suffice.

I know Storie hates texts. She used to complain about messaging to me, how she could never tell the tone. If I cancel our date in a text, anything I say will sound like a lame excuse. With another mouthful of stew, I resolve to call her when I get home.

*

This apartment is undeserving of the word home. When I get back after way too long on the delayed red line, shivering my ass off after a twenty-minute walk from the RTA station, there is no consolation waiting for me at the top of the stairs. It feels like I haven't been here in days, rather than that I left yesterday morning: my room is cold and dark and I swear it's a bit damp. My bed feels like a shoddy, lumpy mess after the luxury of Storie's; my shower is a disappointment when I jump into it the second I throw my costume in the washing machine.

That's just about the only perk of this place: I have my own washer dryer, a necessity when the closest laundry place is ten blocks away. It puts one hell of a dent in my electricity bill, but there's not much better than warm, freshly-laundered clothes on a chilly night.

It's seven by the time I get out of the shower, practically frozen solid in the time it takes to cross the floor from the bathroom to my bed and find something warm to wear. Every year, Mom gives me thick pajamas and now, they're a godsend. I had never been the pajama-wearing type until I moved in here: I've gone from sleeping butt-naked to sometimes wearing two pairs.

Only then do I pull out my phone again and stare at Storie's contact information for too long, willing myself to take the plunge for a couple of minutes before I eventually do.

It seems to ring forever. The dial tone makes me mad. I swear the time between the sounds gets louder each time, giving me a moment of false hope that she has picked up, but that insufferable tone drills into me again and again and again and then-

"Hello?"

"Hi, Storie."

"Hey, Liam," she says, her tone a little softer. I wonder if my name showed up on her screen. My number hasn't changed, but I guess she would've deleted it pretty quickly.

"Hey."

She lets out a quiet laugh. "Everything ok? What're you calling for?"

Right to the point. I guess that's why I'm calling. I can't exactly pretend I just felt like a chat when I saw her this morning, after nearly fourteen hours in her company. I just have to blurt it out.

"I can't do Friday," I say. Not very tactful. Not at all tactful. Before she can reply, I hastily follow it up with, "I really want to. God, I want to. But my mom called earlier and my brother has a concert at seven and I should be there."

She's quiet for a beat. Then another. "Which brother?"

"Sam. He plays the piano; apparently he has a solo and my whole family's going and it's only now that Mom remembered to tell me."

She laughs. "Classic Allie," she says quietly. "Good for Sam. That's great."

"Yeah. It's pretty cool. I'm so sorry. I hate to blow you off."

"It's fine," she says. "Family comes first. I get it."

My mouth disengages from my brain for exactly long enough to say, "Come with me."

By the time I rewire myself, the words are already out.

"What?"

There's no turning back now. "Come with me," I say again, this time fully engaged and aware of what I'm saying – and shaking with cold, the heating not due to kick in for another thirty minutes. I'm torn between having it on for longer and paying less for my bills. "You could come too," I continue. "I mean ... ok, I know there are way better things you can do on a Friday night than come and watch your ex-boyfriend's little brother play piano for an hour or two."

I've really put my foot in it now, but I can't seem to stop. "We could go for a drink before, when I get off work – and I could change out of my godawful disgrace of a uniform – and then get dinner after..." I trail off.

Silence ensues.

"Are you still there?" I have to ask when the lack of a reply turns painful.

"Yes, yeah, I was just contemplating."

"Oh. Ok. Sorry, I didn't mean to lump all of that on you," I say, stretching my feet to reach a pair of slippers when my socked toes get too cold. I'm one degree away from tucking up under my comforter right now and just going to sleep to escape the weather. "We can just have dinner a different day, really. It was just a stupid thought, but I bet the last thing you want is to be bombarded by my family."

Another quiet laugh before she says, "I miss your family."

She doesn't need to know that they miss her too, that it took two years for Daria to stop asking why my girlfriend never came over anymore.

"Ok," she says after another thirty seconds of contemplation. "Ok, screw it. Let's do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Go hard or go home, right? And I really want to see you again, so ... Friday it is."

"Concert and all?"

"Concert and all," she says.

"You really don't have to. If it'll be too much, just let me know."

"If it's too much, I can leave," she says. "I had Friday set in my mind. I don't like change. So Friday it is."

"My whole family will be there."

"Is that ok with you?"

"Well, yeah," I say.

"Then it's fine by me. I know it's probably going to be awkward but I'm a big girl; I can handle it," she says. I wish we were having this conversation face to face rather than on the phone: I wish I could look in her eyes right now. "I mean, we both kind of already confessed our unkillable love for each other. We jumped right back in the deep end. Might as well keep swimming."

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