Jellyfish

20. Irreparable

I didn't expect to be so nervous when Frankie's car pulled up and, in fact, I was not quite ready to admit that nerves were what it was. It was obviously the cold that put a slight tremor through my fingers despite how tightly I'd curled them into my light jacket as I waited. It was the wind that made it difficult to keep still, certainly not the worry of what could be after tonight. Waiting outside seemed better than sitting in the living room with my family, letting them mock and jar me further into a state of nerves, but when Frankie's car pulled in and Miles's smile greeted me from the passenger seat, I couldn't help but wish I had been inside. That there was still a barrier between us or a door that prevented them from seeing just how wound up I was over this silly little dinner. Unfortunately, my decisions had been made and there was no such safety net between us, only a windshield with a very thin veil of frost clinging to it through which I could see Miles ready to jump out the second the car stopped.

His door was already opening as they slowed and I half worried Miles would bust his ass from his own overzealous nature. Fortunately for him, he landed gracefully enough to bound up and grab me in an excited embrace. "Hello! You look especially adorable tonight August."

Giving my thin pullover and frayed jeans a doubtful glance, I said, "you're going to fill this night with affection, can't it wait until it actually starts?"

"Oh, but it has started," he grinned, giving me a soft tug toward the car where Frankie was watching slightly amused and slightly embarrassed. "The date started the second we saw you."

"Wonderful," I groaned, but I think we both knew I was secretly pleased already. As I slid into the backseat, with Miles almost joining me, I greeted the rational one. "Evening, Frankie."

"Hi, August," he grinned. "Ready for date night?"

"I suppose," I teased. "Anything I should prepare myself for?"

"Cake." Miles stated, a serious look drawing over his face, and I couldn't help but laugh.

If I was being entirely honest, I could barely remember our first date, a disappointment I know. I remember that Frankie hit probably every single pot-hole on our way to the arcade, and Miles did slip this time when he launched out of the car. We'd walked in together, a smiling boy on either side of me and I'd felt incredibly warm despite the frost beneath my feet. Frankie poked fun at the flush in my face, something I'd adamantly blamed on the weather and it seemed the further I retreated into my scarf, the louder he would coo at me until I playfully shoved him away. It was a good first date, I remember that. Miles hadn't lied about the cake, but I hadn't expected it to be left overs from some seven-year old's party, nor did I expect to watch one of my prospective boyfriends be scolded by a middle-aged woman at nine in the evening. It was the best night, so much better than I had expected and when we'd gotten back into the car I didn't know how I could possibly refuse another. In fact, I didn't.

"You'll come again, won't you?" Frankie asked softly when he'd pulled up to my front door.

There was no possible rejection to build so I gave his arm a soft squeeze and nodded. "It still doesn't mean we're dating," I'd reminded them heavily, but by the grins they both exchanged, I don't think either one believed me. Walking up to the house, I wondered if I even believed me.

The smile on my lips as I waved them goodbye was one I couldn't have fought if I tried. I almost didn't want to go in, hand hesitating on the knob as if some greater force knew I'd regret it and regret it I did. I truly didn't remember much about my first date, but I remember the long night after it. People always said your brain remembered the bad things far better than it did the good, so it made sense that my last fight with Blair was permanently engraved into my memory. He'd been waiting there on the couch when I walked in, a cup of tea in one hand, the other a loose fist on the couch beside him. He was staring into space as he so often did, an unfocused anger in his eyes that I hoped wasn't directed at me. Had we still been on good terms, I'd have sat down right beside him and pulled him into my chest. I'd have grounded him as I'd done so many times before, until he was present enough to thank me and take off towards the stairs.