A Good Excuse
"Hi Johanna. This is Nathaniel. I live two doors down. We met the other day. You know…when I was on your roof."
Like I could forget. Yes, Neighbor Boy Nathaniel, I know who you are—and I've been secretly dying for you to text me.
Maybe I should wait a few minutes before responding, I thought. That way I won't seem…desperate.
But I don't want him to think I'm ignoring him. And I am sort of desperate.
It felt like I hadn't left the house for days, since all I ever did was run errands with either Mom or Dad. The most fun thing I'd done so far was help Dad choose wall colors for the living and dining rooms from among hundreds of neutral paint swatches. (I know. Super exciting.)
I couldn't stand to wait any longer.
Forget it. I'm texting him back now.
But what should I say?
Nothing complicated, I coached myself. Keep it simple. Just something like "Hey, Nathaniel!" should get the job done.
…Is the exclamation point too much? Should I stick with a more impartial period?
Before I could make a decision, my phone vibrated when Nathaniel sent a second text. "There's not much to see, but I could show you around Sweet Amoris if you're free this afternoon."
Yes! Nathaniel was an absolute godsend. "I'm free," I responded immediately. "I need a good excuse to get out of this house. We've been painting all day, and my arms are getting tired."
"Sounds good. What time works best for you?" I was trying to calculate how fast I could clean the paint from under my fingernails when Nathaniel texted yet again. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I don't know what I was thinking."
He didn't…mean it? He doesn't want to 'show me around town' after all? Was his last text meant for someone else? Had he sent it to me by accident? I thought I'd gotten my hopes up way too high way too fast…
But then I realized what he said. He said 'sounds good.'
I started laughing like an idiot, overcome with relief. Poor Nathaniel was trying way too hard! "You don't have to be sorry! I understood what you meant." I ended the message with a reassuring smiley face.
"Thanks," came his reply seconds later. "I really am sorry. Want me to come by around five?"
I cringed and looked up from my cell phone. Before I could tell Nathaniel yes, I had to get Dad on board.
Dad noticed I'd abandoned my roller brush in its wet paint tray on the old bedsheet we were using as a drop cloth. He looked over his shoulder at me with raised eyebrows; he evidently thought I'd been standing around texting (and therefore not helping him paint the last living room wall) for entirely too long.
Daddy, can I go out? I asked.
He set his own brush down next to mine. Out? He counter-asked suspiciously. Where? With whom? And when will you be back?
Ugh. The Three Questions. I was never allowed to go anywhere until I'd given satisfactory answers to the Three Questions. And this time around, I figured I'd better be honest. Around town, I said carefully. With the neighbor kid. And…nine, maybe ten at the very latest? Sweet Amoris was small, and Nathaniel said himself that there wasn't much to see. I honestly didn't think I'd be gone for five hours, but I wanted to allow for extra time—just in case he wanted to show me something…off the beaten path.
Where is around town, exactly? Dad interrogated me, still not fully convinced.
I don't know yet, do I? I pretty much haven't left this house since we got here!
What did I say about that attitude, Jo? Dad snipped. Even though he was annoyed, I could tell he thought I made a valid point. He had to let me do something sometime, or I'd go insane. Is this the same neighbor kid from yesterday? From the roof?
Yes. His name is N-A-T-H-A-N-I-E-L. He lives two doors down. I hoped giving Dad more details would make him comfortable enough to give in and say yes.
He sighed. It's okay with me if it's okay with your mother. But you have to agree to come home when she tells you, and not a minute later.
Thanks, Dadddy! I stood on my tiptoes to peck him on the cheek.
Not. One. Minute. Later, he repeated. Or there will be consequences. He resumed painting, slowly and ominously rolling the brush up and down over the bare wall.
It was a start; a green light from Dad was like a half-yes. I zoomed across the drop cloths in my bare feet to go find Mom.
I was lucky to catch her just as she was headed out the door, her cell phone tucked in the crook of her neck. She saw me approaching and ended her conversation with whoever was on the other line with an okay, thank you, bye. Hey, Kiddo, she signed once her hands were free. Are you and Dad finished painting the living room yet?
Almost. I thought it best to take a casual approach. I was actually wondering if I could take a break from painting for a little bit.
She nodded understandingly. I'm going to the hardware store to get new light switch plates. She could think of no sign for 'light switch plates'; she showed me what she meant by tapping the one on the wall beside her with her fingernail. Want to come with me?
As fun as that sounds, I said with a sarcastic scowl on my face, I was thinking of taking a walk around town—you know, to see what there is to see. When I presented it that way, the idea was not unreasonable.
Sure you can, she agreed. Are you taking Dad with you? He might want to snap some pictures.
Yeah, that's just what I needed: to be followed around by my goofy Dad while he took artful pictures of the hydrangea bushes with a needlessly long zoom lens. He and Mom were both photographers. They chose Sweet Amoris because it seemed like the ideal place to open their own studio like they'd always dreamed.
Well, no, I wasn't going to go with Dad. Delivery of the next line was crucial. I tried my best at sincerity with a hint of shyness, tilting my head down and looking at Mom through my eyelashes. I was going to go with N-A-T-H-A-N-I-E-L…if it's okay with you.
Thankfully, her reaction wasn't as hesitant as Dad's had been. I thought it would be at least a month before you started collecting boyfriends again, she teased.
Mother! If I remember correctly, you're the one who sent him up to the roof outside my window, I reminded her. It was her own fault. She might as well have gift-wrapped him for me!
Her chuckle spread into a wider laugh. Well, since I've met this boy and I think he seems nice—and I know his mom and I know where he lives, she emphasized, I suppose it's okay with me as long as it's okay with your fath—
Yeah, yeah, Dad already said it was fine, I signed frantically as I backed away. Bye! See you later! Love you!
Mom tisked and shook her head, looping her arm through the handles of her purse as she lurched through the door.
I bounded up the stairs two at a time as I dug my cell phone out of my pocket to respond to Nathaniel's last text. "Sounds good to me," I goaded him. "See you at five."
"See you then," he acknowledged.
I was left with plenty of time to change out of my paint-splattered clothes and clean myself up. I wanted Nathaniel to see what I was supposed to look like when I was wide awake, clean, and properly clothed.
As far as looks go, I have a lot going for me—except perhaps my awkward height. I always thought five-nine was too tall for a seventeen-year-old girl. That, and my thousands and thousands of freckles; I have especially large clusters on my shoulders, my cheeks, and my forehead. I wish they would dissipate and leave me with an even, tan complexion, but of course I wouldn't be so lucky. My eyes can't decide if they would rather be brown or green, so I just call them hazel. And my hair can't decide if it would rather be dirty blonde or a light orange-ish red, so I just call it strawberry blonde—at least, that's what Dad calls it, and I've always liked the term.
After grappling with a roller brush most of the day, said strawberry blonde hair was a mess of tangles flecked with Sherwin Williams Curio Gray. It took copious amounts of green apple scented shampoo to finally rid my hair of all the paint and sweat.
Blowing it dry takes forever since it's so thick and I prefer to keep it fairly long. I used this time to mentally prepare myself for my first non-accidental encounter with Nathaniel.
I wondered... This isn't really a date…is it?
No, of course not. He's just showing me around. He didn't say we were going out to dinner or a movie or something. Then it would be more like a date.
…Then again, he didn't say where we were going. Maybe this is a date, and I just don't know it yet.
I shook my head at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Johanna, you're delusional. You think every boy who so much as looks at you wants to take you out. You let your imagination get the best of you.
Now for the hard part: finding something to wear.
I've never been a girly-girl. I didn't even own a skirt. Cute, frilly things looked weird on such a tall, lanky girl, so I opt for a sportier clothes for my wardrobe. I had a pair of hip-hugging capris in mind for my afternoon with Nathaniel, but the still-unpacked box they were in was at the bottom of a precarious stack, so I had to work with whatever I could scavenge from the boxes on top. I ended up in a pair of dark denim shorts, a solid tangerine-colored tank top, and slip-on Vans—nothing too elaborate. I slipped the handle of my clutch wallet over my wrist, tossed my hair over my shoulder, and headed for the door—until I remembered Nathaniel couldn't sign, so I grabbed the composition notebook and pen from where they still rested on the windowsill.
Another glance in the mirror on my way out made me second-guess myself. Were the shorts too short? The pajama bottoms Nathaniel had already seen me in were shorter, but still. I didn't want to give him the wrong impression.
Boys don't care about crap like that, I told myself as I stomped down the stairs. It wasn't like he would turn me away if I didn't pick the right outfit.
There was already a male figure on the other side of the tempered glass of the front door; Nathaniel had arrived a few minutes early. It looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to ring the doorbell, knowing I wouldn't be able to hear it. He was relieved to see me pull the door open. At least, the smile on his face looked relieved. And shy. And allover adorable.
Nathaniel cleaned up nice, even if he was just wearing casual summer clothes: knee-length khaki shorts with holey cargo pockets, a navy blue t-shirt, and athletic sneakers. My instincts about the walk around town not being a big deal must have been dead on.
His eyes strayed from my face, all the way down to my shoes, then back up. It was so subtle, he probably didn't even realize he was doing it.
Oh yes. He just checked me out.
Any remaining doubts about the shorts I'd chosen to wear suddenly vanished.
Hey, I waved, returning his smile.
Hey, he waved back.
Come in for a minute? I suggested, inviting him in with a tilt of my head.
Nathaniel hesitantly followed behind me as I led him to the living room where Dad was finishing painting. He still didn't see us in his periphery; I had to tug at his arm to get his attention. Dad! This is N-A-T-H-A-N-I-E-L. He came in to introduce himself. Whether he wanted to or not.
Dad reached for Nathaniel's hand and gave it a firm, fatherly shake and a friendly smile. From my point of view, the handshake seemed too firm, the smile too forced. To me, at least, it was obvious Dad still had reservations.
Nathaniel made an attempt at what was probably polite chatter, but Dad wasn't wearing his glasses, and I knew he wouldn't be able to make out what he was saying.
I tapped Nathaniel's shoulder. He's deaf, too. I held an upright index finger to my lips then to my ear.
Nathaniel nodded apologetically at both Dad and me.
You said no later than ten, right, Jo? Dad signed to me as though Nathaniel wasn't even there.
I'll be back sooner than that if he's no fun, I answered, hoping he would appreciate the joke.
Okay, get out of here. He shooed us away, cracking a genuine smile. I think I've scared him enough. I love you! Be careful!
Dad must have caught on to how uncomfortable Nathaniel was, too. I never considered Dad to be an intimidating man, even though he was six-two—but Nathaniel certainly did, for reasons that probably had nothing to do with his height.
I thought we would be going wherever we were going on foot, but Nathaniel had a GMC truck parked on the street at the end of our front walk. He even stepped in front of me to pull open the passenger door before I could reach for it myself.
I scrunched my face into a giggly smile. Maybe this was a date.
"What's the first stop on the official tour?" I scribbled quickly while he fumbled with his seatbelt.
"How do you feel about carnivals?" he wrote back.
"There's a carnival in town?" What were we doing sitting here parked outside my house? Why weren't we there right now? "I love carnivals!" I rarely ever went to carnivals because Dad hated them as much as I loved them. I think he was distrustful of carnival barkers, even though he couldn't hear them. Something about being yelled at by strangers made him feel uneasy.
As Nathaniel started the truck, vibrations shot through the seat beneath me. He drove us out of the subdivision of brick houses, beyond the shopping center I'd been to a few times, and into a part of the town I hadn't seen yet. He maneuvered the truck around a fussily landscaped roundabout and slowed down to pull into the parking lot of a bank that had already closed for the night. He pointed out the window on my side.
The carnival was set up in the courtyard of the high school—a tall, white building with a roofed gymnasium addition. There were already several clusters of people playing the midway games—kids, mostly, who looked to be high school-aged. Even inside the truck, I could detect the faint sweet-and-salty smells of popcorn and funnel cake. The red, white, and blue bulbs that lined the metallic skeletons of the larger rides all blinked on at once, making the whole thing come to life in the lazily dimming evening light.
Thank you, I signed, turning back to him. For making my day, I meant. For reaching out to me. For being so nice.
He must have thought I'd blown him a kiss; admittedly, the way I signed 'thank you' did sort of look like blowing a kiss. Confused, he reached out and caught the alleged kiss midair.
"That was a 'thank you,' not a kiss," I clarified on paper.
Nathaniel smacked himself in the forehead with the composition notebook. I'm such an idiot, said his wincing lips.
It would be hard to control myself if Nathaniel was going to be this unbearably cute the whole time. He might end up getting a kiss after all—a real one.