This is a short chapter because I'm lazy.
Chapter 1
I scrutinized myself in the mirror. Colored blonde hair in a braid, naturally blue eyes. Crisp white shirt buttoned all the way to the top, black skirt that cut off at the knee. No jewelry. Apron.
You'd think that the blonde hair and blue eyes part would make me at least a little bit noticeable to men, but that's not the case. My mom told me once it was because I "carried myself in oblivion," whatever that meant.
That's why I was so surprised when a young man at a table I was waiting asked me about my hours.
"Why?" I had asked, incredulously. I'm figuring that didn't do much for my confidence. Maybe that's what my mom had tried to say. Perhaps she meant that I never looked outside my little bubble, so whenever anyone tried to speak to me, it came as a surprise because my bubble had been invaded.
"Just wondering," he shrugged, trying to seem cool and calm as his friends laughed.
They must be mere teenagers.
I wasn't sure what to say. Am I supposed to be offended in this situation? Should I be flattered?
"Everyday from eight to three and five to ten. I'm off on Wednesdays." The words slipped from my lips.
The boy smiled at me. That made me flustered, for some reason, so I just walked away, ignoring the loud teasing that failed to escape my ears.
That's how I first met Jake.
We started seeing each other for a little while after that. It wasn't really anything serious, but we had reached the point where we didn't date anyone else and knew quite a bit about reach other.
Jake was a political science student in his second year at Columbia University. He was only nineteen--a year younger than me. Taking into consideration that we had next to nothing in common, it was a surprise that we never ran out of things to talk about. He was smart, witty, and so full of life that it was almost disgusting. He embodied a lot of what I think I could've been, had my family situation been different. It also made me wonder what he could've seen in me, a college dropout who has neither a mother nor father, especially since he came from such a perfect family.
"I told my mom about you," he mentions casually to me over a cup of coffee.
My head jerks up from my Starbucks cappuccino. "Huh?" I ask, because I haven't really been paying attention.
"My mom. I talked to her about you," he explains patiently. I'm very lucky that he has so much patience. I drift off a lot. IA lot./I
Oh yeah. Jake's mom. The cancer research scientist. Barely into her forties and already prominent in the field. Graduated in the top five percent of her class from Harvard and then went on to Johns Hopkins for graduate studies. Sounded more intimidating than motherly, but I'm usually proven wrong anyway.
"Anyway," Jake continues cheerily, "I said that if you're free, I could bring you to meet her and my dad for Thanksgiving."
I pause. Why wouldn't I be free? I'm always free.
"You have plans already?"
He isn't very good at reading my thoughts.
"No," I manage. "I'd be happy to." I smile at him.
"Great." He grins back and takes a large gulp of his black coffee. His grin then disappears.
"Hot?" I ask.
"Yes. . . and Ibitter/I!" He exclaims, reaching for a napkin. "Christ, I must've been delusional when I ordered this."
I laugh at him, because he makes me laugh.
