"To trivia." Max glanced over at me from his side of the park bench we'd chosen for this late-night taco supper. "It's at the best little tavern and—"
I set the taco down, wiped my hands, and stared at the ground as I tuned out the finer points of Max's friend group trivia traditions. I didn't know how to explain to someone I liked and wanted to spend more time with that I'd had fun but this was not my normal. I was willing to step beyond the bounds of my comfort zone—and those avoidant tendencies—but I couldn't do that every single weekend and be a functional teacher during the week. I didn't operate on the same fuel as Coach Maximum—I needed downtime and quiet and a heavy pour of predictability.
I rubbed my forehead. "Max. Listen."
"Yeah?" He leaned closer, dipped his head to catch my gaze. "What's up?"
He looked so sweet. So sweet. And concerned. He peered at me like he truly wanted to hear what I had to say, and I just didn't think I could bear to dim the light in his eyes. Not on my stupid, anxious, fretful account.
"You're right. I am into trivia," I said. "That sounds incredible and so do your friends. Sign me up for French night. I'll bring the brie en croute."
"But? Because I heard the but."
"But…" I trailed off. I wasn't good at articulating my needs. I wasn't good at disagreeing or saying no, even when it was in my best interest. I didn't like making my issues someone else's problem—not being a problem was a core principle of my anxiety—though I had the strange sense Max could handle my problems. That he'd be offended if I didn't share them. "But you should know my bedtime is ten p.m., and on most school nights, I'm tucked in with a book by nine. I had an amazing time, Max, fully amazing, though I'm not sure I'll ever be able to pack a baseball game and a concert, plus stops at a sports bar and a Somerville taco stand into one date again."
"I went a little overboard, huh?"
I replied with a shrug-nod. "I had an amazing time," I repeated. "But I'm gonna need some hot tea and a lazy day in bed after all this."
"I can accommodate those needs," Max replied, his gaze heating.
"Max…"
He laughed, but I knew he was serious. If I agreed, he'd escort me to his bed and keep me there the remainder of the weekend. In many ways, I wanted that. I wanted to be with Max, to open myself up to him in every way, to get lost in him. But I also wanted to be cautious with him. This wasn't a race and there was no penalty for taking it slow.
And I was pretty sure I'd developed a blister on one of my toes. There was nothing sexy about that.
"As nice as that sounds, I don't think I'm ready to add that to today's adventure. I'm too tired to be polite—"
"I don't allow good manners in my bed anyway," he interrupted.
"You know, Max," I started as I dropped my head on his shoulder, "that doesn't surprise me."
4
Max
I pulled a navy blue sweater over my head, immediately whipped it off, and added it to the pile forming on my bed. Wrong. All wrong.
My wardrobe consisted of t-shirts, polo shirts, and sweatshirts. My non-gym-teacher apparel was limited. And all of it was wrong.
"This would be easier if I had a damn clue where we were going," I grumbled to myself.
Since I'd turned our first date into a chapter from The Hobbit, I suggested Jory plan the next outing. That way, he was guaranteed to enjoy himself, and I'd learn what he liked. Because I obviously had no clue and when I'd tried to feel him out before our first date, he'd insisted he was up for anything. He'd repeated that sentiment the whole night too.
I wasn't the sharpest tack in the box, and sometimes I failed to read between the lines, but I'd checked in a bunch of times that night and he'd given me every indication of having a wicked good time. I'd realized at the taco stand that some of his smiles were more like grimaces and it seemed to me he'd only let those slip by because I'd put him through a marathon of fun and he was too tired to censor himself.
No more of that. Nope. It should've dawned on me while I'd asked him out a half dozen times only for him to respond with wide, overwhelmed eyes, fidgety hands, and a gentle change of topic. Jory liked slow. He needed it that way—and I had to adjust accordingly. It didn't matter whether my whole body clenched when he smiled or I got a massive endorphin rush from seeing his name in my text message inbox. Jory favored a slower, steadier approach and it was on me to adapt.
Tonight, I'd make sure he was tucked into bed right on time. I wasn't opposed to doing the tucking—I'd tuck the fuck out of him—but there was no need to rush.
In fact, rushing wasn't even a concern at all as I couldn't find a single thing to wear. I tossed another sweater on the bed and headed toward the staircase leading up to the main level of my sister's house.
"Mallori," I called. "Can you help me?"
I lived with my sister—and her husband and kids.
"With what?" she shouted back.
The basement wasn't so much an apartment but a dark, slightly damp dungeon with a small bathroom that leaned hard enough into rustic chic that my niece and nephew were terrified of stepping a single toe in there. But it was free and free was a bangin' deal.
I leaned back against the wall. "I don't know what to wear."
She made a sound, one that conveyed frustration, impatience, and grudging affection all at once and carried through walls and ceilings with ease. It was the knuckleball of mom sighs because it was never clear which of those emotions would connect the hardest.
"Jeans and a nice sweater," she replied.
I shot a baleful glance at the pile on my sofa bed. "I don't have any nice sweaters," I yelled.
We were yellers. We might not have been born this way but we grew up that way and hadn't managed to outgrow it yet.
"Oh my god," she muttered as she jogged down the stairs from the kitchen. "I gave you a nice sweater last Christmas, and the kids gave you one for your birthday a couple of years ago. What's wrong with those options?" She gave my boxer briefs the why are you practically naked mom sigh before turning her attention to the bed. "What's this all about?"
"I have a date," I said.
"Really? You kids still use the word date? That's neat."
My sister was barely two years older than me yet treated that gap like two decades. She was always the adult in our relationship. Always the smart one, the mature one, the sensible one, the settled one—and she knew it.
I was…none of those things. I lived here because I'd had nowhere else to go when things with Teddy fell all the way apart last winter. Walking into our apartment and finding him with another man on my birthday was the last and final straw. There'd been other last straws, too many to count, and I was ashamed of each one of them because I'd put up with Teddy being terrible to me for much longer than I could cover up with excuses.
I glared at her as she picked through my pile. "I don't know about the other kids but yeah, I'm calling it a date, Mallori."