I can feel Alana’s body go stiff while she holds my hand. She searches my face, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what she’s looking for.
“I guess I’ve never thought about it like that.” She grabs her water and takes a big sip. “There isn’t any emotion in my house. My father treats me like an obligation.”
I squeeze her hand again. “I can give you all the affection you need.”
She suddenly perks up, aware. “I don’t know why I just told you that.” She pulls away from me.
“You can tell me anything.” I reach for her across the table.
“That was a little too personal.”
“That’s how we get to know each other. By being personal.”
“I’m not ready for personal.”
The waitress decides at that moment to take our dinner order. I curse under my breath. Alana gets a Caesar salad with grilled tuna, cooked rare. Which,eww.And I go with a burger and fries.
“This is for when you’re done. To rate your dining experience.” The waitress hands me a pen and little white card with a flirty smile.
“Thanks.” I take them, and the short, curvy redhead lingers over me a few seconds too long. I focus my attention on Alana. She looks clearly uncomfortable, fiddling with her fingers while shooting the waitress a death stare.What’s that about?I try to lighten the mood. “You said you were going to school. Where?”
“Princeton. Pre-law,” she announces assertively, before she draws her eyes back to mine. The waitress takes the hint.
“Wow, that’s impressive. And not too far away.” I smile.
“No, only two hours from here. Did you go to college?”
Ah, the dreaded question. “Um, no. College wasn’t exactly in the cards for me. I needed to work to help out my family.”
“What about your brother? Does he work?”
I laugh. “Sean? No, he hustles.”
“He sounds colorful.”
“I guess that’s one way to put it.”
Alana doesn’t press any more about Sean or my family situation. She keeps the questions simple, like she’s feeling me out. I’ll tell her anything she wants to know. And when she’s ready to get personal -– which I pray is someday soon — I’ll answer those questions honestly too.
Dinner actually goes better than I expected. Considering it got off to a bumpy start. I sketch mindlessly on the card while listening to her talk about candy striping and the little boy she met today. She spent half her afternoon getting her ass kicked at PS3. I’m elated she’s being so relaxed with me.
“What are you drawing?” She leans over the table.
“Nothing.” I put my hand over the picture.
“Let me see.” She reaches over and playfully snatches the card. She freezes for a split second when she glances down at the drawing. She looks back up at me with an expression of such disbelief, I suddenly feel self-conscious. “It’s not very good, I know.” I go to take back the card, but she pulls it close to her chest.
“It’s amazing. I can’t believe you did it with just a pen.”
“It’s just a rough sketch.”
“Yeah, but...” — she looks back at the card — “it’s so lifelike.”
I shrug. “You have a beautiful face.” It’s not a line — it’s the truth. Alana has gorgeous angles. Her lips are full and plump, her cheekbones are high, and her nose is perfectly straight. But it’s her eyes I love the most. How deep and rich the reddish-brown is, dotted with specks of black.
She blushes. “Do you draw often?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it drawing. I like to scribble.”