All characters over 18.
I rest my head against the window, looking out through dirt-streaked glass as we take the last few curves that lead up to the house. My eyes anticipate the homes that line the way, flickering to them for little moments in a kind of quiet countdown. It's dark now, late - or late-ish, anyway. Half past eight, according to the LCD display that's glowing steady from the dash. The vague unease, the tugging of discomfort in my stomach only makes it feel later, like I'm in a scene that already should have ended. The early nights of autumn, too. It's a relief to glance ahead and see the outlines of the house swing familiar into view, the gentle-angled roof and light blue facing of the home I've had for all my life. To hear the faintly injured squealing of the brakes as we pull up a moment later, as the aging hatchback grinds protesting to a stop.
"Well. Here we are."
He's a little chubbier than how the photo looked. Andy is. Andrew. Mostly in the face, I guess, a puffiness like baby fat that clashes with the rest of his appearance. It stands up on his cheeks in two big bubbles when he smiles, which he seems to do a lot...a kind of smile, anyway. An awkward kind, uncomfortable and nervous. Which, and if I'm being honest, is probably the same way mine have been as well, uncertain how to treat him, what to do. Uncertain what I even want this halfway date of ours to be, or what I wanted it to be. Wondering if it makes sense to say you're pleased with disappointment.
"Anyway, uh." He speaks again, after a second's silence. "I suppose I should, um - escort the fair lady to the door, huh?" Another tight and clumsy grimace of a grin - he aims it at me for a moment so I can see that it's a joke. Or something like a joke, at any rate. The flicker of a smile that I return must come across as an encouragement, because he swiftly lurches from his seat and scurries round the car to open up my door for me, and slam it shut once I get out. Chivalrous, I guess. I'm sure that's what he's going for, at least, walking carefully a foot or two away from me as we head up to the house, stopping just before the door.
"I, ah." He's first to speak, again. It's been that way all afternoon, all evening, me mostly just responding - which isn't really fair to him, I know. It bothers me, somewhat. He tried, for this. He decided where to go, came up with conversation, paid for everything, and I haven't even really given him all that much of a chance. Didn't start the evening with that much of an open mind, an open heart, despite what I intended. "I don't know about you, but I had fun tonight." He even sounds sincere. As far as I can tell.
"Yeah." I'm not sure I do, as much. "It was interesting. I'm...I'm glad we did this. Glad we met."
It's obviously not an accident, the tiny step he takes towards me, the way his arm lifts barely upward. I can see the worry in his eye, the calculation. Desperation, maybe. "You think, ah..." His voice emerges slightly chirpy, tight - he coughs a little, and when he tries again it's dropped into a timbre low enough to sound a trifle forced. "Think it's the kind of evening that should end with a kiss? I'm not too sure, myself."
Jesus. "Um." My gaze flits over to the door as though attempting to escape, but only manages to batter fruitlessly against the simple patterns in the wood. I don't know what I ought to say to this. I don't know even what I really ought to feel, if the aversive apathy that's curdled in my stomach is the reaction I'd have always felt after the evening I've just had with him, or if it's just a product of my own particular insanity. Of the fantasies I halfway tried to leave behind when we set out this afternoon, so I at least could give this guy some fraction of a chance, an opportunity. Could find out maybe if I
am
just in a phase, a passing fancy, a fixation that could be swept aside when I run into someone new. An ordinary boy, who likes me as I am.
"Yeah, I guess not." He volunteers the answer for himself, after a couple seconds of my silence. Plainly disappointed, embarrassed, though he tries to hide it with another awkward grin, an easygoing shrug. He starts to push his hand towards me instead, as though to offer up a handshake, but seems to change his mind before it's halfway there, and redirects the motion to a vague and formless gesture as he begins to back away. "Maybe next time, huh? If - yeah." Another couple steps, still walking backwards; he manages to make his way down from the porch comparatively gracefully, all things considered. "I'll give you a call sometime, the next few days. Or I'll...don't have your number, do I. We can exchange-"
For a moment there, he dances through a quick, abortive little shuffle, stepping back towards me again and then rethinking it immediately afterward, apparently preferring not to lose the progress that he's made on this farewell. "-no, I'll just get it from your dad. Well, from my dad. From...hah. Oh my god." That last bit muttered barely audible, underneath his breath, before he crisply finishes. "I'll get it. I'll call you. Good night."
"Good night." I give a little wave as well, despite the fact that he's already turned around. Watching as he walks back quickly, stiffly to the shabby car that's parked right at the curb, his shoulders lifted high and tight. Seething with self-loathing, if I had to make a guess. And it's a little weird, I know, but I think I feel a greater kinship with the guy, seeing this, than I have in all the other hours that we spent in one another's company. A spark of recognition, sympathy, if not quite of affection...I know that awkwardness myself, the fumbling with what you hoped to do, with what seemed so easy in your head. The stinging judgment that descends when you just know you've come off as a fool, and you can only pray you didn't look as clumsy in the other person's eyes as you appeared in yours. It's comforting to see it, in a way. Nice to know I'm not the only one who struggles with the curse of self-awareness, the inner critic always waiting to harangue you for everything that you've done wrong.
It's still a definite relief, though, to turn around and head inside, to leave behind the deepening of night, and all the evening's uncomfortable moments that I would just as soon forget. I breathe a little easier just stepping through the door into the living room, the feeling of it warm and welcoming beneath the steady incandescent lights. The television's off, the couch abandoned...huh. Maybe dad's out in the garage. Usually he doesn't leave the lights on when he-
"How'd it go?"
I almost jump out of my skin to hear him speak up suddenly behind me, letting out a startled little yelp before I whirl around. He's sitting by the window, in the easy chair that no one ever uses, practically. His eyebrow raised at my response, a tiny smile curving at the corner of his mouth. "Jeez, dad, you scared the - heck out of me."
"Sorry." He chuckles briefly, sounding more amused than actually apologetic. "Your poor old dad was just watching out for when you would come home." A twinkle as his eye, as his voice drops down near mourning. "I've been worried sick, you know. My only daughter, staying out until all hours with dangerous characters."
Oh, brother. I roll my eyes, but I can't keep myself from smiling. My heartbeat flowing smoothly from the rapidness of fright into that of faint and prickling excitement. I can feel my insides melting warm and gooey just to look at him again, just to gaze upon my daddy's stubbled, handsome features, as though it were uncounted weeks since last I saw him, instead of only half a day. "Silly." Teasing, as I wander up a little closer, baby steps that bring me near. He's sitting back, relaxed, his hair a trifle mussed. A book held in his hand, beside him, one finger held inside to keep his place. "You're the one that set me up with him. It's completely your own fault."
