Page 19 of In a Pickle

James held open the door for her and watched her eyes go wide as she took in the funky, mid-century outer space-themed decor. Miniature planets made up the dim light fixtures hanging from the navy blue ceiling, which also sported plastic glow-in-the-dark stars like the ones James had in his childhood bedroom. A lone disco ball completed the ceilingscape.

The B-52s blared loudly from the speakers, and there was not a table or chair to be seen. Instead, pinball machines lined both sides of the narrow space, their lights blinking, their metallic tunes competing obnoxiously with the sound system. The pinball machines led invitingly to a small bar at the back end of the room, with a stone pizza oven built into the wallbehind it. 1950s-style horn-rimmed glasses seemed to be some sort of uniform for the bartenders. There was a ping-pong table somehow stuffed into the other back corner, in front of a door with a neon-arrow sign that read “Patio This Way.” The entire effect was chaotic in the best way. He hoped Liana would like it.

Liana actually clapped her hands in delight. “So kitschy!” she cried happily.

James finally relaxed his shoulders. “I thought you’d like it. So I actually brought you here —” He stopped when Liana pulled him closer. He knew it was because she couldn’t hear him well and was trying to get him to lean in while he was talking, but the touch was still electric.

He gladly leaned in close to her ear, absorbing some sort of faintly floral scent. Lavender, maybe? He resisted the urge to sniff her.Be normal, James.

“I brought you here,” he started again, “because I couldn’t stop thinking about that idiot who convinced you that you couldn’t go out. Sure, maybe on your flare days you wouldn’t want to go somewhere like this, but I just hated the idea of you thinking you can’t be any fun because you can’t drink. So I wanted you to have fun at a bar. I brought you to a bar where you can fully participate in a ton of activities.

“I had a tentative agenda, but if you don’t want to do any of it, it’s totally cool. I thought that first, we could play pinball and ping-pong and hang out just the two of us. Then, if you’re down, they have bar trivia later tonight on the back patio. A couple of my friends come here every week, and they swear it’s the best trivia they’ve ever done. They’re planning to show up in about an hour and a half. But if that’s not your jam, or if you’re not feeling the group thing, we can totally skip it —”

“I love bar trivia,” she said, and he could hear in her voice that she meant it. “And that plan sounds great.”

Thank God. “And I know bar food might not be something you can normally eat,” he continued, his confidence rising now that she seemed into the plan, “but I checked the menu, and they serve a pretty wide variety of food, including a plain roast chicken, roasted potatoes, and focaccia that they cook in that pizza oven. I called and asked, and you can order their focaccia or pizza dough plain, with no toppings, just olive oil and salt. And if none of that appeals, I snuck in some other food.” He held up a small bag. “I’ve got a shit ton of snacks in here. Bananas. Soda crackers. I forget everything I put in here — I may have gone a little overboard.” He glanced at her hopefully. Was it enough? Too much?

Alarmingly, she looked as though she might cry. Shit. Had he fucked up before they’d even started? Finally, she said, “You did all of this for me? You packed a snack bag, and — you called ahead to the restaurant and asked if I could make modifications to the menu?”

He nodded. “Was that a mistake?”

“No, no!” she said, and he exhaled the breath he was holding. “It’s just that… that was so thoughtful. You totally didn’t have to do any of that, but I really appreciate it. I don’t think anybody has ever been that thoughtful to me before. Thank you.”

“Really?” he asked skeptically. “It’s cool?”

“Yeah,” she said, trying and failing to hide a tear growing in the corner of her eye. She was crying… over someone being nice to her? What kind of assholes had she been with? This date had taken James all of five minutes to prepare. One phone call,and then three minutes of loading his bag with every possibly Crohn’s-friendly snack he could find in his kitchen. Nobody else could be bothered to spend five minutes on her?

She nodded emphatically. “You’re really a good guy, James.”

He smirked and felt the sudden need to make a joke. “Wait until I beat your ass at every single pinball game here. Then see if you think I’m such a nice guy.”

She smiled. “You’re on.”

Chapter 14: Liana

There was no competition; this was the best date of Liana’s life. She and James had indeed played nearly every pinball game in the bar, and James’ prediction that he’d beat her at every game was only slightly exaggerated. Liana had always been terrible at video games, and it seemed that lack of skill translated to pinball. Still, she had fun, and she also thought she could chalk up some of her losses to the distraction of James standing so close behind her, his hand on the small of her back, his low voice murmuring encouraging words in her ear.

Next, they played ping-pong. Unsurprisingly, James was incredible at ping-pong, and after beating her, he offered to play doubles. They’d won every doubles game they’d played against random challengers.

Now, they were settled at a table in the back patio under rows of twinkling lights, sitting with three of James’ friends whom Liana had met at the synagogue event: Isaac; another guy who had been super drunk at the sports bar, whose name turned out to be Will; and a woman with long curly hair named Zoe. Every so often, Will would play with Zoe’s hair, wrapping a strand around his finger until she swatted it away. “Will and Zoe are kind of maybe a thing,” James whispered to Liana. “They say they’re just friends, but…” he shrugged.

“Definitely more than friends,” Liana whispered back.

James had insisted on naming their trivia team The Pickle Brains, against Will’s loud protests. “It doesn’t even make sense!” Will argued. “What’s a pickle brain?”

“A pickle brain is an actual thing,” James countered. “Scientists used to put genius people’s brains in jars when they died. For future research. Like Albert Einstein.”

“Oh, great,” Will groaned. “So we’re named after brains in pickle jars? That’s some Hannibal Lecter shit.”

“I’ve already written our name down,” James said smugly, pointing to their submission form. “Can’t change it now.”

“You wrote it in pencil,” Will pointed out. “Give it here. I’ll erase it.”

“Too late,” laughed James, standing up and using his considerable height and armspan to hold the paper high above his head. Will grabbed for it but couldn’t reach.

“No fair,” Will grumbled. “I hate being friends with you. No one should be as tall as you and also as smart as you.”

“Hey, I’m saying it’s a team name,” James lobbed over his shoulder as he passed the paper to the middle-aged bartender in red cat-eye glasses who was emceeing the bar trivia. “As in, Will, you're also a genius. You’re so smart that you’ll get your brain pickled.”

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