beeps and I pull it from under Erica’s in case I miss a message from work.
“Hey! We said no phones while we’re chatting!” She takes the phone from me and looks at the screen. “Who’s Guy?” Erica looks up from the message.
“Just some Guy,” I say with a smile to myself.
“Some significant Guy?”
God, I hope the message is a sane one.
“‘Hey, beautiful. Check this out’,” reads Erica. “Um. Beautiful?”
I snatch the phone away. “He’s a friend.”
“How come you never mentioned him? How long have you known him?”
“About three months.”
“Three months? Far out! Who is he?”
How do I explain Guy to Erica? Or anyone? He hovers on the fringes of my life because I won’t let him in. Since I got the tattoo and spent the evening with him a couple of weeks ago, we’ve conversed by text only; he never tries to call. Is he waiting for me to contact him first?
I click on the link and the webpage opens to a charity masquerade ball being held in Perth in a couple of weeks. I was aware, invites were emailed to work, but huge social events with an expectation of networking don’t appeal.
“Like I said, just a casual friend. We’ve only met a couple of times.”
Erica points at my phone. “Photo? Is he hot?”
“I guess...”
“Photo!” She grabs the phone from me and scrolls through my pictures. “Huh. Why no picture? Facebook? Is he on there?” She clicks open the app.
“No idea, I never asked.”
“You’re friends but not Facebook friends. That’s weird.”
“Not really, I just don’t know him well.”
“Well enough for him to call you beautiful!”
“I don’t think he reserves that term for me only.”
“So what did he message about?”
“Nothing.” I switch my phone off and place it pointedly on the table.
Erica eyes my shaking hand. “Is he a creeper? Is that the problem?”
“No, no.” How do I explain this? “We’re friends. We’re... working on our bucket lists together.”
Erica sits back. “What does that involve?”
“So far, not much. We’re planning what to do.”
“Phe, do you know how weird that sounds? Kinda romantic too.”
“No romance.”
“So Mr Eyelashes is in with a chance? Two men to choose from!”
“Erica!”
I look over my shoulder. Ross serves a new customer adding his natural charm to the order, broad smiles for the young mother and her brown-haired daughter. Ross remembers the names of regulars, asks how their day is with genuine interest; I’ve heard him many times. I stare, as I often do, picturing his full lips on mine, his large hands against my skin.
‘Ask a stranger on a date’?
Ross looks over, because he has a sixth sense I’m staring or because he noticed where I sat when I arrived here? Our eyes meet briefly, too brief to gauge any interest.
No, I’m one of hundreds of customers who pass through here daily. Part of Ross’s job is to keep customers coming back and flirting is a useful tool to use. Rejection would be embarrassing. I need to choose somebody who I’m certain is interested.
****
I responded to Guy’s text with an “I’ll think about it” and he didn’t reply. That was two days ago.
He’s a curious person, sometimes his texts are sharp and witty, smoothing the rough edges off frustrating days, and other times they’re short and opinionated. This dichotomy puts me off. I’m uncomfortable spending time with people who I’m unsure how they will react. I like my world organised and predictable; people who aren’t don’t fare well in my life.
I return to work refreshed after my weekend with Erica. Today, Pam is out interviewing a local doctor who’s an ambassador for women, the type of woman who stands for the person I’d like to be when I’m older: successful, self-assured, and an achiever. I’m left to copy edit articles and scour stock photo sites for suitable accompanying shots. An hour later, and my eyes glaze as I stare at beautiful beaches and tropical
“Hey! We said no phones while we’re chatting!” She takes the phone from me and looks at the screen. “Who’s Guy?” Erica looks up from the message.
“Just some Guy,” I say with a smile to myself.
“Some significant Guy?”
God, I hope the message is a sane one.
“‘Hey, beautiful. Check this out’,” reads Erica. “Um. Beautiful?”
I snatch the phone away. “He’s a friend.”
“How come you never mentioned him? How long have you known him?”
“About three months.”
“Three months? Far out! Who is he?”
How do I explain Guy to Erica? Or anyone? He hovers on the fringes of my life because I won’t let him in. Since I got the tattoo and spent the evening with him a couple of weeks ago, we’ve conversed by text only; he never tries to call. Is he waiting for me to contact him first?
I click on the link and the webpage opens to a charity masquerade ball being held in Perth in a couple of weeks. I was aware, invites were emailed to work, but huge social events with an expectation of networking don’t appeal.
“Like I said, just a casual friend. We’ve only met a couple of times.”
Erica points at my phone. “Photo? Is he hot?”
“I guess...”
“Photo!” She grabs the phone from me and scrolls through my pictures. “Huh. Why no picture? Facebook? Is he on there?” She clicks open the app.
“No idea, I never asked.”
“You’re friends but not Facebook friends. That’s weird.”
“Not really, I just don’t know him well.”
“Well enough for him to call you beautiful!”
“I don’t think he reserves that term for me only.”
“So what did he message about?”
“Nothing.” I switch my phone off and place it pointedly on the table.
Erica eyes my shaking hand. “Is he a creeper? Is that the problem?”
“No, no.” How do I explain this? “We’re friends. We’re... working on our bucket lists together.”
Erica sits back. “What does that involve?”
“So far, not much. We’re planning what to do.”
“Phe, do you know how weird that sounds? Kinda romantic too.”
“No romance.”
“So Mr Eyelashes is in with a chance? Two men to choose from!”
“Erica!”
I look over my shoulder. Ross serves a new customer adding his natural charm to the order, broad smiles for the young mother and her brown-haired daughter. Ross remembers the names of regulars, asks how their day is with genuine interest; I’ve heard him many times. I stare, as I often do, picturing his full lips on mine, his large hands against my skin.
‘Ask a stranger on a date’?
Ross looks over, because he has a sixth sense I’m staring or because he noticed where I sat when I arrived here? Our eyes meet briefly, too brief to gauge any interest.
No, I’m one of hundreds of customers who pass through here daily. Part of Ross’s job is to keep customers coming back and flirting is a useful tool to use. Rejection would be embarrassing. I need to choose somebody who I’m certain is interested.
****
I responded to Guy’s text with an “I’ll think about it” and he didn’t reply. That was two days ago.
He’s a curious person, sometimes his texts are sharp and witty, smoothing the rough edges off frustrating days, and other times they’re short and opinionated. This dichotomy puts me off. I’m uncomfortable spending time with people who I’m unsure how they will react. I like my world organised and predictable; people who aren’t don’t fare well in my life.
I return to work refreshed after my weekend with Erica. Today, Pam is out interviewing a local doctor who’s an ambassador for women, the type of woman who stands for the person I’d like to be when I’m older: successful, self-assured, and an achiever. I’m left to copy edit articles and scour stock photo sites for suitable accompanying shots. An hour later, and my eyes glaze as I stare at beautiful beaches and tropical
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