I open another one of Simon’s care packages. In this one, I find a fabric-covered journal, three kinds of new tea and a squeeze bottle of honey, microwave popcorn, two bars of dark chocolate, and—God bless him—a caffeine eye cream for reducing bags. I smear some on, say a little prayer, and then fish out the last item in the box.
I may start crying again.
Simon has sent a teddy bear. A floppy, long-limbed, chestnut-brown teddy bear with a polka-dot bow around its neck. I hug it close and shut my eyes. No one has ever given me a stuffed animal, and I am struck by what a devastating realization that is. How unforgivable and insurmountable it feels. Honestly, I don’t think it occurred to any of my foster families that I wouldn’t have a stuffed animal. I used to fall asleep hugging pillows, and today I have a teddy bear. The smile on my face when I take a selfie of me with the bear is genuine, and I text it to Simon. He replies almost immediately: Every kid should have a teddy bear. You’re too old for this, and you were too old when we met, but . . . a father has to give his daughter a teddy bear, so better late than never.
I close my eyes and hold the bear close. And I breathe. Better late than never, indeed.
Thirty minutes later, I am at the door to my Social Psych class. Stepping across the threshold feels like a monumental moment, but I remain calm as I take my usual seat and set my bag onto the seat next to mine. Intentionally, I am the first student to arrive, and I keep my eyes glued to the doorway, waiting for him. I do not put in my earbuds, and I do not bury myself in reading or pretend note taking.
Today, I just wait for him.
The room is nearly three-quarters full when he arrives.
I sit up taller in my seat.
Esben acts as if he cannot decide whether to look around the room or not, and I pray he’ll look my way. He starts up the stairs to my right, and just when I think he’s going to move into a row in front of me, he stops and very slowly raises his head. He’s apprehensive, presumably waiting to see what I’ll do.
I feel for him. I haven’t exactly been predictable.
I give him a small smile, and his face relaxes. Other students are trickling in, and I’m sure we are being watched, but I don’t mind. I take my bag from the seat beside mine and tip my head, asking him to sit with me. There’s an adorable bounce in his walk as he makes his way up, while other students brush past him to get seats. Today, he doesn’t respond when a few people greet him, and he has no reaction when his name is called from a few rows up. He just walks to me as if there is no one else in the room.
When he lowers himself into the seat beside mine, his arm grazes against me. “Hi,” he says softly.
“Hi.”
“How was the rest of your weekend?” he asks with a glint in his eye.
“Less drunk,” I reply.
In the sweetest voice I’ve ever heard, he says, “You’re cute drunk.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling too much, and I’m glad that the lights suddenly cut out when our professor flashes a PowerPoint display on the classroom screen. We don’t speak or even look at each other again during class, and when the lights come back on, I fumble for an unnecessarily long time, packing up my things.
Esben stands. “Well . . . I’ll see you Wednesday, I guess, yeah?”
He turns to go, and I feel my heart begin to pound.
“Esben, wait. Wait.” I am panicked and frazzled and desperate. If I don’t do this now, I will never do it. “Please, wait.”
Fight or flight time.
“Do you . . .” I swallow hard. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee? Or something? Maybe you hate coffee. So we don’t have to do that. We could do anything.”
He’s got this outrageously charming look on his face, but he still isn’t saying anything.
“But if you want to, I love coffee,” I continue. “Like, a lot. Probably too much. We could just go to the student union. It isn’t exactly gourmet there, but . . . um . . .”
He takes my bag from my hand. “There’s a really fun coffeehouse not far from here. Sofas and cushy chairs everywhere. And the coffee is much better than the union’s.”
“Sure. Yes. That sounds nice.” I’m trying to sound casual, as though I may not faint at any moment. But then I again take in how kind he is, how easy he is to talk to. Just because I’m not fueled by gin doesn’t mean that I should forget that. Although I am sort of wishing I had that teddy bear with me to cling to.
“My car is parked right behind the building.”
“Okay.” I seem to be having trouble moving.
Esben reaches out a hand. “I dare you not to like their mocha quad cappuccino.” He gives me a reassuring smile.
So, I set my hand in his and let him pull me from my seat. My hand stays in his as he leads me through the crowded hall to the back exit of the building, and I have to force my legs not to buckle. When he lets go to open the door, my palm feels noticeably empty.
He looks at me. “I should warn you about something.”
“You’re not as nice as you seem, and you’re going to stuff me in the trunk of your car and roll me off a cliff?”
“There aren’t any cliffs around here.” He gives me a playful pat on my arm. “I’m kidding!”
“I hope so, or I’m making a really big mistake.”
“You’re not.” He flashes a perfect smile. “So, here’s the deal. You thought my room was a mess? Prepare yourself for my car.”
I rub my forehead. I’d forgotten that I’d called him a slob. “Oh God. Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. You’re right.”
We walk to an older silver sedan, and he opens the passenger door. “See? You don’t have to ride in the trunk!”
I laugh. “You’re quite the gentleman.”
Esben circles his hand in front of his waist, then bows. “I aim to please.”
In the few seconds I have after he shuts my door and before he’s in the driver’s seat, I exhale loudly. I am brave. I am brave. I am brave.
The radio comes on when he starts the engine. “It’s not far, but a little too long for a walk.”
“It’s nice that you have a car.” I glance around the floor. “Even with the many empty cups, crumpled papers, books, and . . . I believe, forty pairs of sunglasses?” I smile to let him know that now I’m the one teasing.
“Ha! Right? I have a sunglasses problem. I keep thinking I’ve lost a pair, so I buy another cheap pair, then find the lost one. It’s an endless cycle.”
“It’s not a problem. You’re a collector.”
“Reframing. I like it. Smart.”
“‘Reframing.’ Nice sunglasses joke.”
“Ha! And I wasn’t even trying. Wait until I set my mind to doing something amusing!”
He pulls onto the main road, and I look out the window, unsure what to say now that we’re officially en route and trapped in this car together. We’re quiet for the drive, and I’m glad for the music that fills the silence. But the truth is our silence is not as strange as it could be. It’s as though Esben is simply giving me space. My anxiety threatens to cripple me, but it’s so weird and wonderful how he creates comfort when there shouldn’t be any that my desire to take risks today remains strong.