The opening song was recognized by just about everyone. Heads started rocking, the massive crowd cresting with jumping bodies and hands thrust into the air. The storm of energy was contagious, and I found my head nodding in time with the beat. Before I knew it, Evan and I were jumping and screaming out the lyrics along with everyone else. The bass and guitar riffs exploded in my chest.
I was a sweaty mess by the end, but I swore I could float. The crowd only enhanced the experience, bodies surfing across hands, voices bellowing the words, fists pumping in time―I was addicted. It released me from everything. I was overtaken by every note, until finally, nothing else mattered.
“Thank you,” I rasped, my voice lost from screaming. I wrapped my slick arms around Evan’s neck and pulled him toward me. I could taste the salt on his lips as I expressed my gratitude.
“Watching you tonight, jumping around and getting lost in the music―you were more entertaining than the band. I'm glad I got to see it.” He squeezed my hand as we followed the crowd that was still riding the experience. We were released into a bitter cold that licked at the sweat on our skin, triggering a chill down my spine.
“Don’t tell Sara, but I’m happy I went with you.”
The buzz of the music echoed in my ears when I found my way to the front door, still floating from the entire night, and his parting kiss.
My mother burst in the room after I released a blood curdling scream. She appeared disheveled and bleary eyed when she flipped on the light.
“What is wrong with you?" she yelled. "You’d think someone was killing you or something.” Then she slammed the door and went back to her room.
I remained still, staring at the door after she'd left. Her verbal assault swathing me in guilt.
“But someone is killing me,” I whispered, “every time I shut my eyes.”
8. Intensity
"You survived," my mother declared with a laugh when I walked through the door.
"Um, hi," I replied, surprised to see her. "What was that supposed to mean?"
"Your first time ice skating with Sara," she explained. "How was it?"
"Cold," I responded, shedding my layers before joining her in the living room. "I wasn't expecting you to be home."
She picked up the wine glass that was on the end table as I sat down next to her on the couch. My stomach churned as I watched her take a sip.
“And how was the concert?”
“Uh, it was amazing,” I responded, trying to conceal my discomfort. "How was your date?"
“He’s so incredible, I could die,” my mother gushed, instantly transformed into a giddy sixteen year-old. “He took me to this sushi restaurant, and then we went dancing. He makes me feel like I'm the only girl in the room. And believe me, every girl in the room is looking at him. He's so..."
If she said dreamy, I was going to laugh.
"...intense."
This description got a raise of an eyebrow out of me.
I knew she was talking about the same guy who had walked in the house last night. I could feel my cheeks heating up just thinking about how nonchalant he was seeing me in a towel, like it was the most common thing in the world. And of course, I couldn't have been any more awkward. I hadn't told anyone about it, not even Sara. It was not a moment I wanted to relive.
"He sounds great," I replied, distracted again when she took another sip from the wine glass.
"I can't―" She stopped when she saw me staring at the glass. She set it down and adjusted herself uncomfortably. "I really am sorry about what happened a few weeks ago. I wish more than anything you hadn't seen me like that."
I nodded, unable to tell her how helpless it made me feel to watch her drown her pain in vodka.
"I'm okay though, I promise," she reassured me with a hint of a smile. "I don't drink like I used to, really. I know my limit.
"I was hurting that night,” she continued. “And I needed to take the edge off. I wasn't ready―"
"For me," I finished for her, knowing the only reason she'd searched for the pictures was because I reminded her of my father, and remembering him crushed her.
"No," she correctly quickly. "That's not it. I've made myself forget him, so I won't hurt so much. It's why you had to..." She couldn't finish the sentence, but I knew she was talking about why she'd left me with George and Carol. "But I'm better. I just had a bad night, that's all. So you don't have to worry if you see me having a drink or two. I have it under control, I swear."
"Okay." I wasn't exactly convinced, but in the month that I'd lived here, I'd really only seen the one lapsing moment. I guess I understood what triggered it, but I hoped more than anything that it didn't happen again.
"So, I told Jonathan about you," she said, smiling brightly. "I wasn't sure how he was going to react, knowing I have a teenage daughter. But, he wants to meet you!"
She said it like it was the most exciting news ever.
"Really?" I was tempted to tell her I'd already met him―however briefly. "Why?"
My mother drew her brows together, appearing offended that I didn't understand.
"Because he wants to date me," she explained emphatically. "So, he wants to make sure you're okay with us―you know, when he starts coming over."
"Oh," I responded with big eyes, finally understanding. "Great." I feigned excitement, but the thought of seeing this guy again made my stomach flip.
"What's wrong?" she demanded, her smile faltering.
"Nothing." I forced the words through a frozen smile, "That's really great."
"You're such a horrible liar," she accused. "But I understand why you'd be nervous. Don't worry, he's so great. You'll love him."
"So, when am I meeting him?"
"Monday night," she exclaimed jubilantly, her eyes sparkling.
"Great," I returned again as excitedly as I could fake. It seemed to be the only word my brain could form. "Great," I grumbled in dread under my breath when she left to top off her wine glass. "Can't wait."
~~~~~
Text me as soon as you get home. I want to hear all about him! Sara sent as I pulled into the parking lot.
I called my mother to make sure she was at the restaurant before I went inside. She picked up on the third ring.
"Hi, Emily," she answered. "Are you there?"
"There?" I questioned in alarm. "You mean you're not here yet?"
"Um, no," she faltered. "I'm still at work."
"What?" I shot back, panic beginning to take over. "So what am I supposed to do?"
"Start without me," she suggested. "It will give you some time to talk without me there, you know, to get to know each other.”
I didn't respond. I sat in the car with my mouth open, shaking my head.
"Please," she begged. "You can do this."
"Uh huh," I uttered, staring at the large glass windows, wondering which one of the people in there was waiting for me. "Does he know you're late?"
"I just talked to him. I won't be too much longer, I promise. Just take a deep breath; you can get through this."
The fact that she understood my anxiety wasn't at all comforting. It only gave me another reason to panic.
"Please," she begged more emphatically.
I filled my lungs with air and blew out quickly. "Okay."
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed joyously.
"Hurry."
"As fast as I can," she promised.
I walked into the steakhouse, trying to remember what this guy, Jonathan, looked like. I had been too stunned and embarrassed the other night to really get a good look at him. All I knew was that he had intense brown eyes.
"Can I help you?" the hostess offered as I looked past her into the dining room.
"Umm, I'm meeting someone."
"Emma." A man stood at a table in the middle of the room.
"Found him," I told the hostess, who shot me a curious look. I glanced back a couple of times as I approached the table, finding her still following after me with a stunned expression on her face.
"Hi," Jonathan welcomed, pulling out a chair for me.
"Hi," I responded, draping my coat on the back of the chair before taking a seat.
That's when I looked at him―I mean really looked at him―and nearly slid off my chair as I pulled it forward. He was not the guy I remembered from the bottom of the stairs.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come in," he said, sitting across from me.
Jonathan definitely looked young. But it was difficult to pin an age on him, except to say he was in his twenties. He was bigger than I remembered as well, but then again, he'd had a jacket on when I last saw him.
He had an All-American quarterback look. His dark wavy hair was neatly unkempt on top, with the sides trimmed tight. But it was his eyes that kept me from speaking. Intense was absolutely the word for them. I had a hard time meeting his eyes. It felt like he could peer right into me, and it kept me a bit on edge.
"Emma?"
"Huh?" I looked up. I had been fidgeting with my napkin to avoid making eye contact. My cheeks became hot when I realized he and the server were waiting for me to respond to whatever she'd asked. "Sorry. What was that?"
"Do you want something to drink?"
"Um, water's fine."
The tall blonde paused before leaving, looking me over with judgment. Then she turned toward Jonathan and smiled brightly. "I'll be back with your drink."
I raised my eyebrows at her odd behavior and watched her walk away.
Jonathan laughed. "What's wrong?"
I quickly turned back toward him, my entire face heating up again when I realized he'd read the look on my face.
"Wow, I thought Rachel had all of the hues of red down," he said, sounding amused. "But you have a few shades I've never seen before." He chuckled before adding, "Did she do something wrong?"
"No," I answered quickly, my napkin falling off my lap as I adjusted myself in the chair. I bent down to pick it up. While I was out of his eyesight, I closed my eyes and willed myself to pull it together.
"Everything okay?" he asked in amusement when I sat back up in the chair.
"Just my napkin," I explained feebly.
Jonathan's phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket, still grinning at my social ineptitude.
"Looks like she's running later than she thought. She wants us to order, and she'll be here for dessert."
"Great," I muttered, my enthusiasm amiss.
"Would you rather not do this?" Jonathan questioned, his bemused expression suddenly lost.
"Sorry," I grimaced. "That sounded really bad. I'm just... nervous."
"Because of me?" He sounded legitimately surprised.
I shrugged, reluctantly looking over at him. His brows creased apologetically. I wanted to slink under the table.
"I'm not very good at this," I confessed in a rush. "I guess you could say I'm not the most social person, so even if you looked like that guy," I nodded toward the overweight, balding man at the next table, "I would still be a fumbling idiot."