Ren

NOVEMBER 2009

I wish all these damn butterflies would go away!

Opening my eyes wide, I slowly stroke my mascara evenly and lightly to avoid clumps. My stomach feels so uncomfortably light that I think about eating again just to try to weigh it down. I've been nervous all day—from the moment I woke up till now, and it's only getting worse.

At first, I tried to chalk up the nervousness to my ongoing apartment hunt. I thought the feeling would subside after confirming how wonderful the apartment I found yesterday was in person, submitting the application, and securing it with a deposit.

However, the slight nausea in the pit of my stomach, which is still slowly circling like a shark in a cage, is now clearly brought on by my impending date with my now beyond-gorgeous ex-boyfriend. Eeek!

I'm trying not to take Xanax these days unless I actually have a major panic attack, and this is definitely not one, but oddly, since I've been home, I really haven't experienced any.

Refocusing my attention to my lips, I add my favorite tinted lip balm, enjoying the silky feeling of rubbing them together as I screw the cap back on. Checking myself one more time in the mirror before I leave the bathroom, my assessment is that I look good—or as good as I can manage. I don't want to appear like I've tried too hard, right?

It's 6:55 pm, so I trot down the stairs eager to watch for Gio's arrival so I can go out to him before he actually comes up to the door.

"Well, don't you look nice," my mom praises from the chair in the living room.

She joins me in the entry, looks over the kinda conservative, kinda not, little black dress I picked out, and then checks my backside. "That dress is a little tight in the back, don't you think? Wait, are you going on a date?"

"I wore it all the time in New York. I'm just going out to dinner with Kristin." I lie.

Why am I lying like a teen? 

But the fact is, I'm not ready for my mom to pry into why I'm seeing Gio again. All sorts of questions and assumptions will crop up. I don't know where exactly this is going yet or how I really feel about it. I want my privacy... for now.

Just then, a shiny black Corvette with tinted windows pulls up in front of our house. WTF! My mouth hangs open for a second.

"Does Kristin drive a Corvette?" My mom's eyebrows shoot skyward, quite impressed. You'll never know it from looking at my mom, but she's really into muscle and sporty cars. She has an old 1960s Mustang she keeps in the garage but rarely drives anymore. Suddenly, I regret my thrifty decision to buy the used Ford Escort that's sitting in the driveway.

Luckily, a Corvette is not totally out of Kristin's personality or capability to own. My straight-A high school friend Kristin had gone to MIT and is now taking over as Vice President of her Dad's tech company.

"I guess so," I respond slowly, still trying to scoop my jaw up off the floor. "Gotta go, mom. I might be back late," I call over my shoulder and close the door behind me. Skipping over to the car, I open the door and look inside. There is Gio dressed to kill in an off-white collared shirt and staring at me.

"Hi, Ren..." he trails off, checking me out. "Wow, nice dress." His eyes darken in the tinted interior of the car. "Hop in."

You don't have to ask me twice! I slide in quickly and shut the door behind me.

"Speaking of wow, Gio," I smile, catching his eyes and adjusting my skirt. "Um, nice car!"

"Thanks," his voice rolls out, low and deep. His lip-curling up on one side in his deathly attractive lopsided smile.

"You must be doing pretty good then."

"Hey, well, I still haven't gotten my Lambo yet." A slight pink dusts his cheeks as he refers to his dream car he always talked about in high school. "But, um, yeah, I get by," he mumbles low, and his eyes shift from me onto the road.

"So, where are we going tonight?"

"Uh, I was thinking of this new restaurant called Boa-Bei. You still like Chinese?"

"Of course."

I thought about the many nights we watched movies at my house on a Friday night, and my dad would order us Chinese take-out, and the one epic night in San Francisco when we went to Chinatown.

"Okay, good, let's go," and I feel him loosen up a bit.

He turns up the song 'Ready Steady Go,' by Paul Oakenfold, on his car's CD player, and even though he doesn't rev the engine, his car makes a very satisfying rumble as he pulls away and toward downtown. The music's bass vibrates my seat; its electronic trance vibe adds to my body's buzz of anticipation, and I almost miss the sound of my phone buzzing in my bag. Pulling my phone out, I smile to myself as I read Sydney's messages.

Syd: I found Gio's cell number!

Syd: 555-891-7542

Syd: But you're right, it's like he doesn't exist on the internet.

Me: Well, he does indeed exist.

Me: I'm in his car right now.

Syd: What!!!!!!

Me: Call you L8er ;)

Syd:

!!!!

Putting my phone away, I try not to grin ear to ear because of the bomb of a text I just dropped on Syd. I just keep my eyes down, drinking in the warm, olive-tone, tan skin of his hand, clutching the leather stick and shifting gears.

I'm reminded of how I was enthralled with those hands when I first went out with him to the cafe and watched him make his coffee. They still have that effect on me... watching his strong, manly, yet still elegant hand take control of the car—every articulation fascinating me.

My mind starts to wander... to him and me... and where those hands had been...

I feel him watching me watch him, the car filling with a thick, unspoken knowing. I know him, or I did - every inch of him, and he knows me too. I feel a warmth between my thighs that sends a slight blush to my cheeks, but I don't think he notices, and I shift in my seat and divert my gaze absently out the window.

He parks the car and gets out, making it clear he intends to open my door before I have a chance to, my heart flutters a little— but he's always done stuff like that. I miss it.

The restaurant is in the old part of downtown, in one of the historic brick buildings that are rammed right up against each other so tightly it's hard to know where one stops and another one begins. Presently, he opens the black metal door to one, and the air pressure blows my hair back slightly as we enter.

He helps me remove my jacket and folds it over his arm with his. The young hostess smiles, "Hi, Giovanni. Nice to see you again. Follow me." He nudges me to go first, and he follows along, a few steps behind.

Once we are seated at our table, I pick up the ridiculously tall and thin menu and scan the offerings. I recognize and can pronounce... absolutely nothing.

The hostess begins to rattle off the specials, and we both turn our attention to her, though I quickly realize she is only speaking to Gio as if I don't even exist at this table. I roll my eyes and listen anyway.

"I don't know what any of these things are," I whisper to him, a little intimidated after the hostess is done speaking.

"Don't worry, just pick anything—everything is good here," he whispers back.

"Can I get you something to drink to start?" she asks Gio.

He orders a glass of sauvignon blanc, and the hostess compliments him on his choice, but his eyes are only on me. I order the same, and she nods and disappears.

"Order anything?" I clarify a little louder after she leaves us. "But I don't know what any of it is?"

"Be a little adventurous, Ren." Then, with a smirk, he adds, "Or do you like sticking to... things you already know?" He looks at me intently as he says this.

Damn. Is he joking or serious?

Then the smallest smile cracks his lips, and it's driving me crazy in two ways simultaneously, and I think he knows it. I wrinkle my nose at him in response, and he laughs.

"I'm more adventurous than you know," I sass him, tucking my hair behind my ear. "I've been in New York a long time. There is stuff you don't know about me now."

"I bet." His voice drops an octave.

He's staring at me with a salacious look in his glittering hazel eyes. Or am I just projecting that on him? He looks so hot in his collared shirt and gelled hair— I'm feeling overheated everywhere all over again.

Luckily, our waiter comes at that very moment to deliver our wine and take our order. I throw my menu down in mock despair and wave Gio off to order for both of us. I find out Bao's are like little stuffed buns, and most items are like dim sum and meant to be shared. Gio orders four dishes.

"So..." I begin as I sip my wine—which is very good and sinks like sweet nectar down my throat. "Tell me about your life now. Counseling? Wow, I wouldn't have guessed that for you. How do you like it?"

"Um..." He looks down, pulling his wine a little closer to him.

"Yeah... it's great. I don't know," he shrugs, adjusting his position in his seat, "I'm just happy to be employed in a salary job right now, right? The great recession and all. It's been tough on people."  He takes a big sip of his wine and clears his throat. "Anyway, tell me about being a graphic designer. I think we knew that's what you wanted to do when you left. You were so talented in art."

Well, that didn't go very far. But, Gio was never much to talk about himself at first.

"I love it. Obviously, I love that it's creative, and I still get to draw, though it's all pretty much on the computer now. My new company seems great, well, I mean, it's not my dream job."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? What's your dream job?" His face flickers golden with the candlelight of the mini votive on the table.

I shrug. "I guess... I'd like to work for myself one day, like my dad." 

"How is your dad?" he says, interested and suddenly serious, taking another sip.

"I'm gonna go see him tomorrow," I smile, both excited to see him and also remembering how well he and Gio got along.

My dad took Gio on almost like a son he never had, and Gio probably loved having a father figure in his life again. His dad left him when he was seven and moved back to Italy.

They used to watch football together on Monday nights during the season. My dad would cook us dinner, and he would go home. But in my Senior year, after I turned eighteen, Gio was allowed to stay the night. My dad has always been cool and lenient like that.

"I don't know how he's really doing, actually. I think he might be struggling to get clients these days. Clients want modern graphics and fast. I think it's harder to find clients waiting to wait for original artwork that costs a lot more. It's hard for people right now, just like you said. I don't know," I continue wistfully, "maybe we could work together someday."

"I think that would be awesome," he says earnestly, leaning his chin on his hand, studying my expression.

"Anyway... enough about me," I deflect, taking another sip of my wine. "How's your mom? Is she still doing her landscaping business out in the headlands?"

Gio suddenly but microscopically tenses, yet I see it clear as day. His jaw sets up tight, but his hazel eyes go soft. He takes his hand from his chin and folds it with his other on the table.

"What?" I ask with a sinking feeling in my heart.

He inhales deeply. My eyes dart around his face searching for what he's going to say next.

♥︎♥︎♥︎

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