Think About Me

Chapter 3: Lunch at the Café

I don't think I've ever been so nervous for anything in my life. I sympathize for Barty; he must have watched me try on seven different outfits this morning. And I know I could've called Paige and asked for suggestions -it seems she knows my closet better than me sometimes- but I'm still convincing myself that this isn't a big deal.

It's just lunch. It's just catching up.

That's the mantra I repeat to myself mentally as I walk the three blocks to the café in attempts to keep my nerves at bay. And it's actually helping, until I push open the door to find him waiting for me at my usual table.

Seeing him here again -in my own little haven- is still jarring, but it's the knowledge that he's here to see me that has all of my prior mental composure crumbling.

Is it too late to turn and leave?

But he looks up and notices me standing there, and that small, polite smile makes its way onto his face. It's a little warmer today, a little wider, and my heart clenches when I see it. It makes me feel like a child again -a foolish, naïve, smitten schoolkid- and I suppress the old emotions threatening to rise, snuff them out like a candle wick in hot wax before they can get the better of me.

"Hey," he says as he stands, and I can't help but let my eyes hover on him.

Today he's wearing a maroon sweater, the sleeves pushed up his forearms. His jeans are dark wash -almost black- with frayed holes in the knees and cuffed so that I can see his black canvas high-tops. Part of me wants to crawl into a hole because I should not find him this attractive, while another part of me wants to laugh. He just doesn't fit the aesthetic that I've associated with this café. It's always been so warm and cozy here, and the vibe I get from his attire is just so... dark and cold.

He seems to hesitate now, a good six feet from where I'm standing still as a statue but with none of the grace.

"Is it alright if we sit here?" he asks a little nervously.

"I'm sorry," I mumble, blinking out of my stupor and managing a timid smile as I push the hood of my coat back and walk toward the table. "I'm just surprised you're here so early."

He shrugs. "I wanted to look over the menu, so I'd be ready to order when you were."

"Oh" is all I say as I hang my coat on the back of my chair.

We sit opposite of each other, and right away I can feel it seeping in -the quiet awkwardness. I immediately begin picking at the hem of my oversized cable knit sweater.

What am I doing here? This really is just so bizarre. It feels almost like what I'd imagine it would be like to sit down with your favorite fictional character or your celebrity crush. Over the years, I think I've managed to disassociate him from reality, and I realize now that he really is a stranger to me. A stranger I've always had an unexplainable fascination with, but a stranger nonetheless. I don't know anything about the man sitting across from me. Do we have anything in common at all? Will I talk to him for a while and realize that I despise him?

"Are you hungry now, or would you like to wait a bit?" he asks me, glancing toward the counter.

Is he nervous, too? His posture makes me think that maybe he is -the way he's slouching forward slightly, the way his eyes bounce across the room and away from me. Does he regret asking me to lunch? I can suddenly see why he would. I'm just sitting here, staring at him silently.

Get it together, I tell myself. I really don't want this to go so badly that it gets categorized as one of my most cringe worthy memories. I don't want to be lying in bed at night, six months from now thinking, remember that time you went to lunch with Jude Taylor and you made a complete fool of yourself?