Page 101 of Fun Together
We get dressed and decide that he’ll drive us to breakfast and then back here so I can get my car.
The further weget away from his parents’ house, the more nervous I begin to feel. That giddiness I felt after reading his note is becoming blacked out by an impending sense of uncertainty.
It feels like I’m leaving a fantasy world.
“Where are we going, anyway?” I ask him.
“It’s a surprise.”
“You know I hate surprises.”
“You’ll like it, I promise.”
I glance over at him and he’s happily tapping his thumbs against the steering wheel in tune to the music. Not a care in the world.
Meanwhile, I am freaking out over last night. Over the past twenty-four hours, really. I knew that my list had nothing to do with why we wanted to have sex with each other, but I didn’t think it would be this . . . transformational for me.
I feel vulnerable, like he’s seen a part of me I can’t take back. Not that I want to take last night back, but there’s this longing now for something that I can’t have. I try to silence the voice in my head that says,You don’t even know what you want.You’re going to hurt him, too.
I look out the window and watch the scenery pass us by. It’s still early but already hot, and the asphalt shimmers on the highway as we drive.
“Do you want me to ask what’s wrong, or would you like to stew a little longer?”
“Nothing is wrong. I’m just tired.” It’s true. We didn’t exactly get much sleep last night.
He leaves it alone at that. And then he pulls into a parking lot, and I see where he’s taking me.
My spirits lift a little when I see the familiar yellow sign. I smile over at him. “IloveWaffle House.”
“I know you do.” He opens his car door. “Come on, cranky, there’s nothing a little sausage grease won’t solve.”
It’s not busy at all, and we take a booth by the window. I stare down at the laminated menu and the words and images run together into a mass of imaginary text that promises, “Waffles first, worries later.”
It’s hard to be in a weird mood when you’re seated beneath big, globed lights with a plate of syrup-drenched waffles in front of you.
The waiter comes by to take our order, filling our mugs up to the brim with coffee.
Eli immediately takes a sip, slurping loudly to avoid burning his mouth. “Ah, I love diner coffee.”
“You like all coffee.” I smile at him, hoping to dispel the tension I created because I can’t just exist and enjoy a moment. I have to chew on it like a piece of gum that went stale hours ago.
He leans back in the booth. “So . . . let’s have at it.”
“Have at what?”
“Our first argument. I feel like it’s about to happen.” He rubs his hands together like he’s excited at the prospect.
“What are you talking about?”
“You spent the whole drive here looking out the window like I was driving you to the gallows. Something is bothering you.” He tilts his head. “Or annoying you.”
“I’m not annoyed.” I take a gulp of coffee, and it burns the roof of my mouth. “Ouch. I’m . . . confused.”
“Okay,” he says patiently. “What are you confused about?”
“Us!” That comes out way louder than I mean it to. A bit softer, I add, “How are we supposed to be around each other now?” We were supposed to talk all this through before having sex, but clearly we got derailed.
“Look, I’m just gonna say it. The sex we had last night was the best I’ve ever had.”
