Chloe
I fell asleep on the couch. I don’t know what made me decide to wait up for him – actually, maybe I do; I didn’t want to sleep without knowing if we still stood in the same place. Normally, I could be very ambivalent, but with Fitch, it was different.
I’d spent my entire day replaying his words in my head:
“Chloe, I am utterly and completely crazy about you. I can’t explain it, but from the moment I first saw you, I wanted you, and honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And as time has gone on, I’ve watched you open up, little by little. I understand that there is a limit to how much you can let me in, and if that means I have to settle for only a piece of you, I will. Gladly. Because here I am, bordering on being in love with you, and I can’t imagine anything else. Or anything more.”
It was one of the times I was more than thankful for my memory. I knew I was being irrationally silly and sappy and maybe a little fluffy, but what I was feeling was irrational and sappy and a little fluffy.
I wasn’t born indecisive, and I’d always known what I wanted. I was sure of how I felt about Fitch and that it was real, and it wasn’t something I needed to mull over.
It was simple really:
The way he felt about me made me feel really special. I’d barely ever felt special or different or unique, and here I was feeling somewhat . . . well, not repulsive. My self-esteem hadn’t hit the roof, but I never felt better than when he turned his beautiful eyes on me and gave me that look reserved for me alone.
Fitch was beautifully and annoyingly selfless. He seemed to think it only natural that everyone got to be on cloud nine, even though it made him miserable. It was also one thing I couldn’t stand, or maybe I just couldn’t understand it.
I never needed to explain myself. He was the only one who I felt just might be able to read my darkly twisted thoughts, and it was a relief to feel truly understood.
Naturally, I couldn’t help my curiosity with him, and without asking, he was an open book, and he never asked me questions I wouldn’t be able to answer. I knew it was unfair, but I found myself longing to blurt out Annie and Harold stories and a few about Susan and Cam, and Suze, and once in a very blue moon, I’d try it out. A brief memory, a comparison, but it was hard, so I avoided it.
The best thing for me, truthfully, was sometimes, Fitch and I could just be. And I was so happy; it surprised me.
So, I waited up. Not because I had to, but because I wanted to be right there when he walked in. And I was. Asleep.
When I woke up to his eyes peering at me, from his position on the edge of the coffee table, I grit my teeth at the sound of my racing heart. Fear first. Then, my Fitch irregularities.
He smiled, “You have no idea how long this day has been.”
I did. Oh, I did.
I sat up slowly, and he added, “I wasn’t trying to wake you.”
I thought for a second and frowned, “So, you were just watching me sleep?”
He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, like a fish in water, looking a little embarrassed, “No. Um . . . no. Of course not . . . maybe a little,” he replied, jumping over and across his words.
I couldn’t help but smile at this touch of nervousness. “That’s a little weird, isn’t it?”
He chuckled, “A lot weird.”
“Okay, good. I thought it was another one of my social deficiencies.”
I was sitting up straight now, fully awake, with my knees resting on the edge of the table in between Fitch’s. He continued to stare into my eyes, with that smile on his face, the heat from his thighs was palpable, even though they weren’t touching mine.
I looked away; it was my turn to be nervous.
“So, I got you something,” he said, reeling me back into his unwavering stare. I stared back questioningly, and he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a pair of rolled up socks, which he unfolded to reveal prints of a jumble of D.C. landmarks.
“I remembered that you said you wanted socks, and I didn’t want to go to D.C. without bringing you something. It’s cheesy. A little. Don’t laugh,” he rambled.
I bit my lip, softening my growing grin, feeling elated inside at the show of affection. It was one of the reasons why I could never doubt Fitch; he was so consistent in his endearment, that it would be silly to doubt that they might not be real. I know they were just socks, but it was just the reminder that I was on somebody’s mind, his mind, that really got me.
I sat forward on the edge of the couch; he looked embarrassed. I put out my hand and he placed them in it, not bothering to hide his wince. I pulled off my blue borrowed socks and pulled on the red ones he handed over; they went up to my knees.
He gave me a dubious look and a half-smile.
“Lose the look. I’m not humoring you,” I said quietly.
He laughed lightly and shook his head.
Nervously, I wrapped my hands around his waist, kissed him lightly on the cheek, and said, “Thank you for my socks, Fitch.” I had the urge to, so I did. There was much of that happening recently. I felt his hand go around my waist and pull my tighter to him. I could feel his heart beat against my chest, so that it was almost like I had two hearts, as they beat in unison.
I could’ve. I really could’ve.
*
He handed me another shot glass filled with a light pink liquid, and I scrunched my face up in disgust.
“Looks like cough syrup. Are you trying to get me drunk, or to fall asleep?”
He gave me a bored look, “Drink please.”
I took a sip of the curious pink drink, and swallowed it painstakingly. It was dreadful.
Fitch groaned, “Not even that? That’s like the fifth one.”
I handed the glass back to him apologetically, “Seventh, actually.”
He shook his head, “I should just quit.”
I held on to his shoulders from where I was perched on the island, and stared firmly at him. “Try again,” I replied encouragingly.
He had just been promoted to bar manager at Roody’s Bar, and his first ‘assignment’ was a revamp of their drinks and cocktails menu, and I was the guinea pig. So far, only one of them had tasted remotely like it wasn’t a mix of the most awful combination of the worst possible drinks – you name it. Or maybe I was being extreme.
“You know, maybe I’m not the best option. I have a strong aversion to alcohol anyway,” I added.
He smiled, “I know. You’re the worst option. Which means, if you like it, it’s awesome.”
“Ah. Good thinking. Okay, hit me,” I said, sitting up straighter.
He smiled and held my gaze for a moment, before he turned around and went back to mixing. Just watching his back as he worked in sweatpants and a t-shirt, my heart didn’t slow its rapid motions. I loved that only he could give me a certain longing I’d never felt before, and make my body react in ways it never really had.
I stuck out one of my sock-covered feet, so that my toe grazed his leg lightly, as I leaned back on my palms. I felt stupid instantly and resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
He turned and raised a brow, “Do you want a drink or not?”
I smiled. “Not.”
He walked over, abandoning his mix, as he stood in between my hanging legs. “What do you want then?”
I stared hard at him, remembering when I’d asked him the same question. To think that my answer had never been that different.
I was suddenly very aware of his hand on my thighs, and my inner frenzy was so refreshingly intense, I silently whimpered, as his hands moved back to the table.
I shrugged, knowing that if I spoke, it would barely be a croak.
“I could help you,” I blurted in a murmur, and I wasn’t sure if he’d heard me.
He frowned, “With?”
I smiled, feeling my reactions only slightly subside, as his hands moved to the edge of the island, “With your mixology.” I slid off the island, and over to the counter where about twenty drinks were lined, along with small boxes of fruit.
He smiled and walked over to join me, as I encouraged him with a nod, “Test me.”
He looked skeptical.
“How can you even doubt me? I schooled you, remember?” I exclaimed.
“Okay. Okay. Go ahead. Surprise me,” he said, sitting on the other side of the worktop, away from the ingredients.
I pushed up the sleeves of my shirt, eliciting a mocking adoration from him. I smiled to myself, and shook my head, as I got to work.
When Cam used to take me to the bar with him, all I could do was sit and watch from my position on the floor. I was fourteen at the time, and I looked it, which meant that no one could know I was present. So, I watched him mix and shake and slice, and soon enough, there wasn’t a drink I was unfamiliar with. After hours, when the bar closed, he’d be with the manager at the back, adding up the night’s profits, and I’d try out what I’d seen. Once in a while, I’d make up my own drinks, depending on my own mood. It was more out of curiosity than interest, but I got so good at it, that when Cam did find out, he made me his covert assistant.
I cut up a wedge of lime and then cut down the center of the wedge, running it round the rim of the glass, to leave juice on the rim. I poured some granulated sugar onto a saucer, running the rim of the glass in the pile of sugar, so that it stuck to the juice.
“You need to get as much sugar on the rim as possible, cause it helps with the drink,” I commented absentmindedly, as I continued to spin the glass round and round in the pile of sugar.
I squeezed some lime from a sliced half into the glass, and then added four shots of pineapple juice, two shots of vodka and some ice to it, finishing off with my lime wedge on the rim, for decoration.
I turned to Fitch, who was staring at me in a mix of amazement and confusion.
“Key lime martini,” I said, handing him the glass.
He took it from me, and without tasting it, said, “You’re hired.”
“At least taste it,” I said, picking it up from where he’d placed it on the countertop and handing it back to him.
“How did you learn to do this? You don’t even drink,” he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him.
I felt my heart skip a beat, as I thought back to the day I’d been placed under the care of Cam and Susan. I remembered Suze’s shrieks, as she called for me, as I sat solemnly in the back of Mary Santiago’s car. And then, just as quickly, my mind shifted to Robert and his vodka bottle shattering against my back. I felt my heart ram hard against my chest, as my palms began to sweat. It was fascinating that he could have such an effect on me, from such a distance.
I shrugged, without an answer. Fitch stared at me curiously for a second, and then, took a sip of the martini.
He nodded, smiling, “It’s good,” he stated plainly.
I didn’t look up as I sat quietly on a stool and murmured, “I know.” I could feel his eyes on me.
“Chloe?” I heard him call as he stepped over to stand next to me, nudging me with his shoulder.
I looked up as his touch pulled me from my thoughts, “Want me to make another one?”
He shook his head, and held my hand, facing me, “I was thinking . . . we should go out. Like . . . a date,” he said, treading carefully.
I stared at him a little dumbstruck for a moment, “What?”
“You know. Dinner. A movie. Something normal,” he replied.
“A date,” I repeated.
He chuckled lightly, “It’s okay. We don’t have to. I just . . . we’ve had so much irregularity in our lives that I just thought . . . it’s okay, never mind.”
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to; I think we’ve already acknowledged that I’d go anywhere with Fitch, but it was just so foreign, that it seemed a little wrong. But then again, my happiness seemed the same way.
“What did you have in mind?” I asked, as his attention drifted to the grooves in the tiled floor.
“Um . . . I don’t know. I haven’t given it much thought; I wasn’t sure what you’d say.” He looked up at me.
“And what exactly would we do at a date? Dinner, for example.”
“You kind of have to say yes first,” he said, with an unapologetic shrug.
I gave him a doubtful stare, but nodded anyway, “Okay. Yes. Now, tell me.”
“Are you just saying yes out of curiosity?”
“Yes,” I answered honestly, with a smile.
“Then you might as well have said no, because I’m not telling you,” he replied with a shrug, letting go of my hand and walking backwards to lean on the edge of the counter, still looking at me, “Want to change your answer?”
I shook my head slowly. He cocked his head and stared at me, as was his wont, but I’d started feeling less self-conscious about it. I could never help but stare back.
“Now, quit stalling and teach me,” he said, pulling me off the chair and back to the worktop. I’d totally forgotten about the entire thing.
I was starting to discover the major essence of Fitch in my life, and for which I was sure I wanted him in it – to help me forget.
*
Which was why, a week later, with the New Year fast approaching, I got dressed for my ‘date’. I felt a bit silly as I pulled on a low V-neck sweater and a pair of jeans and combat boots. All courtesy of Kayla.
It was a little crazy that she was helping me get dressed for a date with Fitch, but she didn’t seem to have a problem with it. I kept thinking that she was trying to get me to look so stupid, so that Fitch would come back to his senses – silly, I know, but not so far-fetched – but looking at myself in the mirror after she’d done my hair and face, I was left feeling dumbstruck.
She stared at my face and her eyes widened, “You don’t like it?”
“I do,” I replied honestly. She’d put so much effort into everything; it was terribly confusing.
“So, what’s wrong?” she asked, from her position on the edge of my bed.
“Why are you helping me?” I asked outright, unsure of any other way to put it vaguely.
“You needed help,” she answered, and left me feeling half ashamed, half in awe. She wasn’t immature yet she could be, and she wasn’t petty yet she could be. I was losing track. But it didn’t matter.
I was about to go on my first date ever. Talk about a milestone.
Fitch had said to meet him on the street corner right after Roody’s bar. I still had no idea what we were doing, but I wasn’t questioning it.
So, I went, and I sat on the bench across from the Laundromat and watched the large black and white illuminated clock. I was early, skeptical and nervous, but still anticipating.
But, as the clock hands above the Laundromat roof rolled round and round, and the night began to get eerier by the minute, doubt joined in. By the time the clock hands joined at twelve, my heart sunk. And it sunk even lower as I looked up and down the deserted street. I trusted that Fitch wouldn’t stand me up outright, but at the back of my mind, I was thinking, maybe he had come to his senses after all.
I walked back down the street barely registering my fear at the drunken idiots spilling in and out of bars up and down the street, until I got to the corner on which Roody’s Bar was. The large glass window on the side that faced the car park was not covered in writhing bodies, as it normally was. Tonight it was clear, and I could see all the way to the bar.
I took in the three taken seats at the bar, and the backs of Fitch, Kayla and Trey. There was something in the scene that made me feel like I was intruding, and as I got ready to turn and head off to the house, I watched Kayla stand up and wrap her hands around Fitch in an embrace. He hugged her back slowly, burying his face in the crook of her neck, and I thought to myself, maybe I was intruding, after all.
And not just tonight.