tree of life

@garrettshepherds​

As she sighed, the reflection moved with her. It matched the unusual frown that she found herself wearing.

Miriam had been staring in the mirror for the past ten minutes, unsatisfied with how she looked. Her face was adorned in makeup. Pink eyeshadow to match the pink flowers doting her white top. Tight jeans to show off her best features. White platform sneakers that would be easy to take off at a moment’s notice. Her hair pulled up into a high ponytail. She couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong with how she looked, but it didn’t seem perfect in the way she wanted. Unaware, she was channeling her nerves about the upcoming date towards her outfit. With another sigh, she grabbed her purse and her jacket, still unsatisfied, but left her room to meet Garrett anyway.

It was surreal – the two of them hanging out in a planned setting. It was what she was thinking about, leaning back in the chair at the bowling alley as she watched him take his turn. She was certainly enjoying the view. It had been years and years since she’d been bowling, but she didn’t want to turn him down, having been so caught up in him actually asking her on a date.

She tapped her feet, clad in bowling shoes, on the floor, pretending she was performing a mini tap dance. But she stood up when he came back over. She breezed past him, giving him only a small smile in acknowledgment. Grabbing a red and blue tie-dyed bowling ball, she stepped up to the mouth of the lane, eyeing the gutters with a sense of fear. Miriam held the bowling ball with two hands, and swinging it almost between her legs, she let it go and watched it roll before hitting two pins on the side. Her second try didn’t fare much better. 

Sullenly, she walked back to Garrett and stood close to him with her arms crossed over her chest and her lower lip jutting out. “It’s not fun when you’re good and I’m not. Is that why we’re here? For you to show off your bowling skills and impress me?” 

                    A first date. He’d wanted to put his best foot forward. He’d showered, he’d put on his best cologne, shaved his nearly unkempt beard down to a stubble, and had spent an hour or so getting ready— a century, in his case. He was a man without tender thought in his appearance, and though he took care of himself more than a lot did, sure, his detail was not always finely tuned. He used two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, for instance, something apparently scornful, or at least scornful enough to elicit a scoff from his sister across the dining room table. His thoughts were more elaborate, and in the midst of putting on his clothes he began to wonder what she exactly liked about him. Did she like the cologne that he wore? Did she like some facial hair or none at all? Did she care that he used two-in-one shampoo? He hadn’t been on a date in a while, something he wasn’t exactly transparent with. No, he hadn’t been on a date, but he wasn’t necessarily worried either. It would just be like every other time they’d spent together, except now it was simply ornate. Now, at least, there resolved some clarity. 

                    She’d looked beautiful, he’d told her this, after she’d descended down the stairs, and she looked beautiful now. His eyes graced her figure again, a near guilty amount, but he could not help himself. She was looking like an angel, dressed in white, hugged snuggly by jeans, hair pulled back, and he wondered if she knew how much he’d liked a ponytail on women. He couldn’t recall ever mentioning it, but he’d certainly make it aware by the end of the night. ‘Baby’. Was she the type that liked to be called that? He was doing decently with his bowling, clearly not a professional by any means, but naturally athletic enough to perhaps deceive another into thinking he was something of a fluent amateur. Eight pins. He’d managed knocking down eight on his first roll, and then another on his second, his strong, sculpted arms steady, his light eyes, narrowed with focused. For a time after, he’d sat down, two over from her, a game of their own as they took turns with patient looks and smart caper, and eventually he’d begun taking his seat directly beside her own. This time he watched her stand up before he could even make his way past the ball dispenser, proud almost, a specific look on her face that he hadn’t seen before, but it was one he already liked. A smirk, he noticed. So, she was competitive. He instantly he returned the sliver of a gesture, although while she remained nonchalant, his eyes, once again dressed her with their attention. Up, down, up— he brushed past her with minor friction, “Alright then,” He pivoted, watching her walk away, and she looked just as good walking from as she did to, “Show me what you got.” 

                    He sat, an arm lifting to the chair next to him, resting atop the back, a small smile reaching his lips. He was now in a position that granted him eye-level to her waist. His gaze moved down to her hands, watching her as she, again, held the ball with the both of them— not one, but two, and basically granny-rolled it down the lane. His jaw had cocked to the side, his hand had lifted to his mouth and his grin had found his bright eyes. He didn’t want to laugh. He didn’t. He couldn’t. But a muted chuckle left him, helpless, and he tried to clean himself up as she made her way over to him, standing close. Now he was looking up at her. Garrett settled into his chair, back pressed to the curved plastic, slumped nearly as he looked up at her with a wide smile. Was she pouting? This felt like a break in their rhythm, a moment for him to slow it down; to put the bowling on the back burner and to pull them to the front. A brow cocked, and his head tilted to the side, amused, the tease he was about to say already emitting out of him, oozing, “Well... Are you impressed?” He extended a hand to her folded arms, deciding to stand, shrinking their proximity to mere inches. Here, he stooped over her, his jaw hover near the top of her head until he looked down, “You’re not bad, Mir, you’re knockin’ the pins down. That’s bowling.” He spoke more hopefully, granting some optimism as he gave her arm a slight shake, teasing, as he lightly pulled them undone from across her chest. His smile was boyish, and then it became dutiful, “–I can try to help you, or show you how I do it, or something,” He offered, looking past her briefly, “We could take a break, if you want. I am kinda hungry.”

***

It was all worth it just to see him smile, happy to see him happy. She was never mad in the first place; she had just been disappointed. But it was reassuring that they had cleared the air, and everything was back to the way it once was. Perfect harmony. “Did you see your dog?” She asked, alluding to their previous conversation, cementing the knowledge that she listened when he spoke, that she remembered. Her eyes were glued to him, watching for any reactions, searching for signs that she wanted to see. Now, she felt secure, the knowledge that he was sorry wrapping around her like her favorite blanket. “It makes sense.” She liked that he valued family and he valued his home. “We can forget about it. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” Pleased that they had it figured out, she was now glad that he approached her.

Her brow furrowed as she watched him shake his head, confused as she thought they’d gotten to the root of the problem. She sunk into her chair, sulking and waiting for an explanation. Despite the compliment, that didn’t please her either. “I can study another time. I still have a few days until my exam. It’s not a big deal.” Now, this was all she wanted. She wanted him to sit down and to talk. She wanted to get to know him, regardless of if she had to study. She closed the textbook in an act of defiance, trying to prove that she wouldn’t study unless he sat down. It was a petty move, but she was determined to make up for brushing him off when he first approached the table.

Miriam’s mouth fell open ever so slightly, shocked he’d text her and tell her not to respond. Finally, she tore her eyes from him as they drifted to where her phone buzzed on the table. She picked up the green pencil next to it, and began twirling the eraser between her fingers. It was a form of distraction to restrain her from responding right away, worried she might be the one to forget to reply this time. Eyes moving back up to the phone, a genuine smile formed. It was small, subtle, but it was unlike any other she had given him before. She was impressed he was making a conscious effort to right his wrongs and that was unlike anything she had ever seen before. “What will you do if I respond right away?” A genuine question. A chance to see if she should tempt fate and reply anyway. 

Saturday. He was taking it a step forward and making plans. She could have sworn her head was spinning. She leaned forward, pressed against the table and clinging to his question with a wider smile than before. The text already long forgotten. “I was going to get coffee with a friend in the morning, but I’m free Saturday evening.” Bowling. She couldn’t remember the last time she went bowling. But that sounded more fun than the classic dinner and movie. “I think that would be fun, Garrett. It’s a date.” The last word said intentionally, leaving no room to question what it was. Plain and simple to avoid any more miscommunication.

                    “No,” He protested, brows lifting though he wore a large smile, one becoming wider by the second. She’d closed her textbook, but he hadn’t paid any mind, although, how could he be expected to with those eyes on him? He couldn’t. She may have been trying to elicit a little game, but he’d already decided that wasn’t how it was going to be, “You gotta study,” Garrett pressed lightly, though his eyes moved over her in a manner that was anything but subtle, “Miriam Kaufmann,” He called, and what a lovely name to call, finally, “—I am not gonna be the reason you don’t know the answer to a question,” He told her, settling the conversation and any loose ends it may have had. It dawned upon him then that maybe he was coming across as indirectly flakey, or that he just didn’t want to talk to her, but that wasn’t the case. He hoped she could see that. He too needed to study, never having been one to be able to walk into a testing room with no prior practice and ace it. No, even with studying he still seemed to struggle for a reason beyond him— a lack of retention, perhaps the price to pay just not being quite as quick-witted as the others around him had always seemed to be. But he tried. He really tried, and he still would until his very last exam. 

                    Her question certainly felt more like a tease. He smirked initially in response, looking to the side, and leaning forward with his hands still on the chair. He almost wanted to make some comment— half-directed towards the kind of punishment that she might indeed favor, but he refrained. He didn’t know if that was appropriate. They’d been together once, sure, but they weren’t together, and there was a difference. His eyes alluded to his thoughts nevertheless, windows, transparent, blue as the tropics, as they dragged back over to her, induced by a bedroom mindset. He tried to find a real response, but all he could muster was a faint eye roll and the shake of his head, “Well, we’re not gonna find out, are we?” He smiled, a mirrored response to her taunt, though his words were slowed, drawn out, eased, like honey. He grew more earnest then, quickly, their conversation taking a more earnest course, naturally. It felt good to have a game plan now. It felt really good. He considered actually staying for a moment, feeling her pull that she had extended out to him fully as she smiled and pressed against the table.

                    A date. She’d said it, exactly. A ‘date’. Unintentionally, he’d begged for it in a way, he supposed now, although he’d already known in his mind that, indeed, that is what it was. He leaned back then, returning his phone to his pocket finally and letting his hands go to his backpack straps. A little proud he looked and was, his chest puffed in that moment, a slow, easy smirk on his lips, “A date,” He clarified, “and, uh– Saturday it is,” And with that he began to retract, taking a step back, his eyes still on her in the next few suspended moments of a final inspection. He dragged his tongue over his lips, and he nodded upwards slightly, his last words sweet as they were sincere, “Don’t forget to text me when you’re done.”

***

She leaned forward again, her head was down as if in prayer, and she was determined to keep it that way. She picked away at an invisible hangnail on her thumb, careful not to chip the dark red polish she put on to prepare for the Christmas season. If she looked into his eyes, all would be forgiven in a heartbeat. There was some regret that came with giving him a hard time. He didn’t owe her anything. It had been one night, but once it had been drawn out with the texts, Miriam could have sworn it was more than that. But she had to keep her resolve to uphold some standards in her life, even if a part of her felt like she was punishing him for something that was entirely her fault. 

The cracks started spreading at his apology. It was simple, but it was earnest. Since it sounded like he meant it, and that was enough to appease her. Finally, she turned her head up to look at him, still not quite smiling. She looked at him long and hard, as if searching his face for some kind of clue if he was telling the truth or not. Satisfied with what she saw, she said, “I get that. It is really nice spending time with family, but it can be really distracting.” If anyone could get her to peel her eyes away from her phone, it was her aunt. That hadn’t been the case in high school, but now that they didn’t see each other every day, Miriam wanted to make the most of the time they did spend together. So she couldn’t fault Garrett for doing something she was guilty of herself. In a sign of surrender, she began cleaning up the table, pushing her notebooks and pencils to her side of the table to make room for him to sit down.

Gesturing to the now empty space, she offered him an answer to his initial question. “No, it’s okay. You can  join me, Garrett.” She probably should have said no, but that was something she’d never been good at. There was no way she’d get any studying done now, but that thought didn’t bother her. She’d never been good at getting her priorities straight, and in this moment, hanging out with him seemed much more important than passing her finals. 

She sucked in a breath, relieved it wasn’t one-sided, and he wanted to see her again. It was a constant worry of hers. That she was more invested in a relationship than the other person. She was guided by her heart, full of love and full of longing. Sometimes, most of the time, she cared too much, desperate to be liked by everyone around her, and willing to do anything to please him. It was just a sentence, a small affirmation, but it lit her face up with an excitement that hadn’t been there before. “You can see me anytime you want. All you have to do is ask.” 

                    ‘I get that’. He smiled back, softly, and then surer about it, sinking into his mirth. He couldn’t help but feel like he’d made it to this point only by the skin of his teeth, and he felt as though he’d only hobbled, limply back into her good graces. Well, if he’d ever left them at all. Regardless, she didn’t have to be that nice— that forgiving, as a lot of others would not have been, but she was. In an instant she simply was, and he was left standing there, smiling. He grappled for a few moments, trying to find words, his face still depicting the remedy her words applied, “Yeah, they are,” Garrett agreed simply, and then turning his words back to his own simmering conscience, “—I mean, it’s not an excuse, but it’s a reason,” He told her, wondering for a moment if his words made sense, and then deciding quickly that they did. It was a slippery sentence, one that had left him in hasty thought, one that he hoped solidified his sincerity. Not an excuse. He didn’t very much take to them; he hadn’t growing up with a frame of discipline and a coach for a father. An excuse was a cop out. An excuse got you nowhere, and ultimately, he didn’t want to be excused. 

                    He wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. He would do better though— that was his part of the ‘deal’ stacking between them now, he could see that much. He was interested. He really didn’t like that he’d made her feel like he wasn’t, he just needed to know her more; he needed to spend more time with her. Miriam Kauffmann: the girl in the sparkling dress, shining, the one at the bar in blue jeans, still lucent. He could definitely see himself really getting to know her. He smiled and began shaking his head as she offered that he stay. She was studying, and he felt that their deal came not only with him doing better, but perhaps also being something better for her, no matter how the cards fell between them, “No, it’s–” He began, looking from her textbook to her, and he couldn’t help the smirk that found his lips, “–it’s not okay. I want you to pass your test, and that’s... Just not gonna happen with me sitting here across from you, not able to take my eyes off of you.” He admitted rather boyishly, gaze moving over her, and he thought maybe— maybe tonight, after the cafe closed and the library became even quieter than usual and the campus lights came on, aglow, he’d venture to asking her over to his room. He’d been thinking about the night of the bar, mostly of her, partly and rather painfully, how he wished he’d been a little more sober.

                    Garrett pulled his phone from his pocket and leaned down, his elbows resting on the back of the chair, “Listen now,” He began, pulling up their conversation, realizing, yes, she was the last one to message, and changing it, all within a few simple seconds, “–don’t even think of responding until you get done,” He wore a widening smile, his voice calm and contented, small, cautious caper in his timbre. Briefly, he turned his phone to her in a gesture, and though his text message was just a mere ‘hey’, he felt it enough for a restart. The impending notice of winter break, a break, far longer than Thanksgiving had been loomed over his head, but he’d come to it when it came. He remembered then: the urge to ask her, and though it felt a little blocky to do, he had made a silent, subtle vow to just do it. Garrett brought his hand to his backpack strap, adjusting. ‘All you have to do is ask’. She’d said it herself, hadn’t she? And that felt like enough motivation to fuel the gumption he was reaching to pull to the surface, “So, what are you doing this Saturday, by the way?” He asked, glancing away briefly from her blue, blue gaze, “There’s a bowling alley now far from here. We could go check it out, if you want.”

***

She hadn’t been planning on going home for Thanksgiving. Having visited her aunt a few weeks ago, it seemed pointless to go for the weekend only to return to school for three weeks before flying back home. That was before she got to talking with her aunt on the phone, and Miriam realized how much she missed her. So she bought a ticket and found herself in California for the weekend. She never realized how much she longed for home until she was back in the living room with her aunt. There was a sort of consolation from being so far from home in her studies and in the friends she had made while she was at school. 

One such friend had been Garrett. They had been texting, something she hadn’t seen coming after the night they had spent together. She figured they wouldn’t see each other again. They hadn’t, because of the break, but they had been in constant contact. Until they weren’t. She didn’t think much of it, busy cooking and cleaning and sleeping in while she had the chance. Before she could even blink, she was back at school and prepping for finals. Everywhere she went, she found herself searching to find him standing a head above everyone else. She didn’t put her phone on do not disturb before bed, waiting for some kind of late-night text from him. Because, despite her best efforts, she’d gotten her hopes up that he actually liked her, and the fear that he didn’t left her feeling raw. 

Miriam thought the café would be abandoned around this time at night. Easily distracted, she didn’t want to be where her friends could find her. The textbook was open, and her binders were spread across the table as she tried to catch up on readings she hadn’t done the first time they were assigned. She’d slung her olive puffer jacket across the back of the chair a while ago as the café was much warmer inside than the snowy outdoors. 

She forced her eyes to stay on the textbook when the door open because she doubted she’d be able to go back to reading if she stopped. When she sensed someone nearby, she had to look up, thinking someone wanted to grab the chair for their table. Unconsciously, a smile began to inch up her lips, but it stopped in its tracks, and she forced the corners of her mouth to turn down. He couldn’t be let off the hook that easily. “You can do whatever you want,” she said, fiddling with one of the pencils she had scattered around the table. She pursed her lips at the joke, blocking any sort of laughter. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit somewhere by yourself?” It was the harshest thing she could come up with. Being rude had never come easy to her. She sat and stewed, thinking of something worse to say. After a long pause, she finally said, “I’m studying in complete silence. I’m sure not talking to me won’t be that hard for you.” Leaning back in her chair, she crossed her arms over her chest with a proud look over her face.

                    She was smiling at him. She was smiling— this meant only good things; it had to mean only good things, although, at this point in his life he knew better than to be completely sold on a smile. Especially with a girl who he knew he’d done wrong to some extent, but the very viable question still remained: did she think he was in the wrong? His grip his hands had around the back of the chair tightened as his answer began to float down in front of him, softly and distinctly, like a stained feather. Her words immobilized him, unable to decode her tone fast enough in a way that could be translated into a language he himself understood. So, he just watched her, waiting for her to set her bridge. All he could give her was his attentive, scanning eyes, a tilted head, and lips parted, as if on the brink of speech. Although, it was obvious by his expression that he didn’t believe any words would actually be practical. He had questions, naturally, but they would’ve held no elegance. Garrett Shepherd was stumped. Her pursed, askew mouth called upon his gaze— she wore it with the same unevenness she inherently seemed to possess when she smiled as well. Except now, hold the dimples he’d become so enamored by, sub with a feeling that he’d gotten caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

                    Her question was meek, but only because it appeared so compelled and strained. In a reaction to his own uneasiness he smiled wider, puzzled eyes pulling from her to glance away at anything— anything at all, “Yeah– I’m sure,” He responded honestly, looking back at her, only then realizing that it may have been a trick question. This was a verbal front. This was a confrontation with words, and she was going to have all the power. He surrendered to this, and wished for a moment that he hadn’t approached with such impertinence. That must’ve been how she was viewing him now, wasn’t it? As a kid, or something, immature. His girlfriend before was always good with her words. She’d have him in a bind before he could even think of an appropriate response, frivolous or not. Miriam appeared to finally clear the air with her last prod. ‘I’m sure not talking to me won’t be that hard for you’. So there it was, spelled out for him. He watched her lean back, a clear winner, and he exhaled deeply through his nose, smirking with contempt solely for himself. His shoulders dropped, and then his head, and as he looked at his knuckles, whitened with his own force, he finally loosened his grip. Garrett’s head rose after a few moments, his expression malleable as he gave her a single nod, and then his brow rose, “I’m sorry.”

                   It hadn’t been pleasant for him, departing from the frigid climate of northern Vermont to home, only to return to a foot of snow. He’d been out in shorts just a few days ago, but now he had returned to a bare essential pair of jeans. If someone were to ask him if his plans after graduation were to return to his home city, he would deny it. And, it would be the truth, but, he did want to return to sunnier weather, wherever that may be. The cold didn’t suit him. This was evident as he walked with a clenched jaw and with his hands in his pockets. He thought he’d seen the worst of it in Connecticut, but Vermont was just taunting him at this point. Just a few more weeks, a few finals, and he’d be nearing the finish line. He did enjoy the school here. A lot of people took it seriously— a lot of them were smart, and they’d go on to be great. He’d made friends, he’d gotten to speak to quite a few girls, half of them evidently endeared by the persona they thought his voice would come with, the others, seemingly surprised to find his assumed image to come with such a dialect. 

                    There had been at least one that hadn’t presented herself as either. One, a week ago whose bedroom he’d woken up in, all pastel sheets and decorated walls— initially stirred by an unfamiliar scent. Something floral and clean. Fresh laundry and girl. He’d been texting her up until Thanksgiving, and then fifteen minutes without a response became an hour, and an hour became five, and five became a day. Not for any reason really— he’d enjoyed that night with her, but he’d just gotten busy. He’d never been good with responding to messages. He wanted to be better. What he wanted was to talk to her in person. Now, settled back into a routine, and with the wispy wind carrying snow looming over the small town, he decided to put it on the back burner. At least until he got some studying done. 

                    Impossible, though, it would be as he entered the small campus cafe to see her sitting there. Evidently with the same idea, nonetheless. Although, everyone in the vicinity seemed to have a similar goal. Her hair had fallen against her cheek and her eyes were down. He faintly smiled, and he felt the desire to go speak to her just as he felt the one to reach for his phone and to check to see if he’d been the last to message. He did the latter first, though only getting to his lock screen. 8pm. An unorthodox hour to spend at a coffee shop. He returned the device to his coat. Maybe she’d be cool with it all. Maybe, he could pick up right where they left off at the bar. Maybe. And soon maybe became the word that propelled him to her table. He set his hands on the back of the empty chair that was across from her, his eyes down on her, eager to find playfulness. Garrett dragged the tip of his tongue over his own lips as she looked up, and he smiled, pretending to glance around with inspection at barren tables directly in her vicinity, “You, uh– you mind if I sit here?” He asked, his southern drawl nearly dragging his words across her textbook, and then looking back at her with a boyish smirk, “—All these other seats are taken.” A caper. A joke. Surely, this would alleviate any awkwardness.

***

His laugh. It was a special sound. One she wanted to play on repeat forever. And she knew she had to keep talking to him if only to make him laugh again. “Does it bother you that I do?” She asked, teasing him with yet another question. She was all too aware of the rise and fall of her chest, the beating of her heart as they stood so near each other. It was a challenge to remain calm, to not come off as too eager. Often, she jumped right into things, rushing it as she was so enthusiastic. It was something she’d tried to change since going to college – but with Garrett, she longed to fall back into old habits. “That’s nice. It’s important to respect your elders.” There was conviction behind her words. Her father hadn’t been close with his family, and she only had vague memories of her grandparents on her mother’s side. But she loved her parents. And she loved her aunt, and she hung onto every word these adults had told her.

She relaxed as his other hand moved, acutely aware of the placement of his fingers laced through her belt loops. She softened her eyes, chewing on her bottom lip as a hand moved his cheek, a finger running along his jawline. She brought her face close to his, a breath away from kissing him. “Yeah, I wanna be kissed right now. I’m surprised you even have to ask.” All the while, her fingers were still dancing along his face. Still, Miriam appreciated that he asked, appreciated that he wanted her consent. “You know, I wanted you to kiss me goodnight when we first met. I thought you would, so imagine my disappointment when you didn’t.” There was no malice behind the words, only a longing that stretched as wide as the grand canyon. Accustomed to getting her way, she sunk like a stone when she was not satisfied. 

Her eyes moved down to his lips, but she didn’t move any closer, seeing it as some kind of divine punishment that he hadn’t kissed her earlier. A sort of retribution for not giving into her desires. She wanted to stand her ground, having been left in the dust enough times that she wanted Garrett to prove that he wanted to kiss her. She knew what she wanted, and she worked toward what she wanted, and she was going to make him work as well. “Do you want to kiss me tonight, Garrett?” She was showing her hand, and she was okay with it.

                    “No,” He responded quickly, decisively, softly, shaking his head with firm rebuttal, as if that had been a ridiculous question to ask. She could ask again, and again, and again, and again, and he’d answer each time. He wondered if she knew that— if she knew how eager to please he really was, and amongst the feeling of longevity that came with a weekend night, he felt at ease with this keenness. He smiled, a little lopsided, and a lot amused with her response. Respect your elders. How earnest she’d said it. She didn’t seem very northern for a girl in the north; she didn’t sound it much either, and he wanted to ask where she was from all of a sudden, but it was she herself that rendered him speechless. His attention lingered on her voice, and his hands tightened around her belt loops. He smirked, and the presence of soft, nimble fingers on his skin felt like sunlight.

                   She was special. She was kind, but she had moxie— a spunk, and her eyes, blue as the sea itself, looked like a terrain that he wanted nothing more than to explore. His face hovered next to hers, invisible strings attached, all that was needed was a tug, “I like to hear you say it,” He admitted, fingers loosening, his thumbs finding the loops now while his fingers rested at the top of her backside, “–It kinda gets me going,” He smiled with his half-caper. Half. There was truth to what he was saying, he did enjoy being told what she wanted him to do to her. He liked it even better when there was begging, but that wouldn’t be an occurrence. Not for tonight, and anyone with eyes that was capable of seeing the pair would know that he wanted what she did, just as much.

                    He was intrigued by her confession, his eyes that had been on her mouth, now moving up to her gaze. Garrett dragged his tongue over his lip, and he considered the night that he’d seen her. He hadn’t been sure what she’d thought of him, first impression alike, and he knew by now that it could feel a certain way with someone but that didn’t make it the case. He’d been interested in her that night too, that was true, but to know now just how she had been. Her question was silly at this point— completely obsolete as he smiled one last time and in a tug, just as taunting as her words, he pulled her in. His eyes closed as he dismissed the space between them, unwarranted at this rate. Through the numbness of intoxication, sparks rose within him, seemingly sprouting at his parted mouth. More. He pulled back, just enough to turn his head and move a hand to her jaw before he kissed her again, the print of her rosebud lips, singeing his own with their print. No doubt he would feel her against him for the rest of the night.

***

His grandfather influenced his life in some way. She tucked this piece of information away along with everything else she’d learned so far. She felt compelled to write it all down like some sort of cheat sheet or study guide, wanting to impress him with everything she remembered about him. “Are you and your grandfather close?” Another moment, another question. She hadn’t picked up on his change of tone or considered it might not be something he wanted to talk about as she was driven by the singular desire to learn as much about him as she possibly could. It might have been the longest she’d gone without talking about herself, but she wanted to make herself memorable to him. She’d already spoken so much about herself the night they first met, and now she employed a different tactic. 

She briefly wondered if she was smiling too much, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Not when he said she could meet his dog. Not when his hand brushed her thigh. Not when his hand moved to her waist. Even if she tried, she couldn’t think of anything but him. She had memories of watching a solar eclipse with her parents, and it seemed like she was seeing one again, except he was the moon and everything else was the sun. “I’m going to hold you to that.” A warning that came out no louder than a whisper. A pointer finger brought to his chest to drive the meaning home. Words strung together much too late to be a real response. She was too overwhelmed to respond quickly, almost surprised he was reciprocating interest in her. She’d been so caught up in figuring out what he wanted, that now that it seemed obvious, she didn’t know how to react to the information. It wasn’t a sense of surprise that he might like her, but his forwardness as he had been shrouded in unclarity just moments before. There was an excitement to it all and anticipation of what could happen next. 

As he pulled her closer, she took it a step further, draping her arms over his shoulders, his gesture having instilled more confidence in her. “There is no way you’re getting out of this. It’s a karaoke bar. You should have expected to sing before you came.” She gave him a pointed look as if questioning why he would come in the first place. “Good,” she said, satisfied he caved. “It’s the only way you’re going to impress me.” She kept her face still, baiting him, watching and waiting patiently to see how he would react, the drink the last of her worries. 

                    Where he had felt compelled to hold his amusement in, capping it at the base of his throat and bottling it, this time he couldn’t seem to practice the same level of self-restraint. He let out a fuller laugh, only sweetened with his evident mirth, and shook his head, “You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”— Miriam. He’d almost wanted to say her name at the end of his moot question. Had he said her name before, out loud, to her? Yes. The night they’d met he’d had, if only just to taste it, and now he felt the desire climbing up his ribcage again. Miriam Kaufmann. He gave her a smile and his face, nuanced with its lust, alluded to desire that didn’t require any talking at all. He looked at her for a moment. He looked, and he turned his head in a small, digressing way, “I kinda am. More than most, I’d say,” Garrett finally answered after his lingering pause, giving her exactly what she wanted. As if he wouldn’t do that and only that. He had a tendency of saying ‘how high?’ whenever a comely woman said ‘jump’. His friends had noticed it, the ones back home at least, and he had landed himself as the butt of many jokes, all in good fun of course.

                    Hold him to that. The small, lithe finger she’d pressed to him. He glanced down and then raised his head with ease, becoming more and more diverted with the way his night was now going. A product of a little liquid courage and a pretty girl willing to reciprocate what he was giving off. This became glaring as she stepped in closer to his chest. He could feel both sides of her hips pressed against the inside of either of his thighs, and as her arms moved to his shoulders he got a little bolder. His other hand, instead of resting beside his glass, moved to her waist. The hold he had on her became firmer, and he resisted a temptation to move them down, closer to her backside. It was a flimsy attempt at resistance, his head saying one thing, the alcohol circulating within him pulling in the opposite direction. His palms settled on the waistband of her jeans, fingers sliding into her belt loops— he gripped, and smirked as she inspected him, and it looked a little like begging. His eyes, the color of tropical water moved to her mouth once more, but this time it was pending, “Do you know how you’re looking at me right now?” He asked, emboldened, voice low, “You’re looking at me like you wanna be kissed.”

***

Her eyes widened as she tried to picture the scene he described. It was difficult to imagine that much land, even more so, him as a small child. She’d never wanted for anything, but having a thousand acres blew her mind. Land and property were in high demand back in California, so while her parents had a big house as did her aunt, they didn’t have anywhere near that much land. “You basically had everything there. Why leave?” Miriam highly doubted that if her parents and sister were still here that she would have gone to college. She would have had no reason to. His home sounded like a scenic place, and she was curious about what spurred his decision to go to college – whether it was his own choice or his parents’ choice.

He didn’t answer her question. Not in the way she wanted him to. Either he was single or he was pretending he was. She’d met her fair share of people who lied about being single, but she figured that if he was going to pretend, he would have explicitly told her he wasn’t dating anyone. He would’ve been clear about it. That was the assumption she chose to operate under, so she took a step closer to him. They weren’t touching, mere millimeters apart as she smiled up at him, batting her eyelashes. “And will you take me to meet him someday?” A question. A promise for the future. It was a bit bold as she didn’t know what he was looking for, but she didn’t care. Life was short; she’d learned that the hard way. She was determined to make the most of things, so she never dwelled on whether or not she should do something or the consequences of it, but she always went for it. She’d never been too broken up if something failed because at least she tried. And Miriam was used to the attention. She liked being the center of attention and had learned early on how to maximize it, to get the most of it. She knew what to say. She knew how to act. She was employing all these skills in the present moment, trying to take advantage of the time they were spending together. He offered a promise of his own. That they would spend the rest of this night together. Her smile changed, holding back laughter. She turned her head away from him but quickly looked back. “What will we do to pass the time? Maybe…sing a song?” There was a hope in her voice that was reflected in her eyes. “Sure, I’ll take a drink. I’ll have a tequila sunrise.” 

                   A brow perked up, his shifted eyes moving back to her as he shook the warmth of his thoughts— warm, like summer honey from his mind. As memories from home slipped away, he smiled, sweet, shifting back to his also pleasant reality. Only as she asked her question again did he realize he’d failed to acknowledge it before, lightly wrapped up in the sentiment of her others. Although, he naturally had a tendency of coming across as aloof, and in that aloofness there also tended to be distance. An unfortunate thing about him, though he had been told before that he appeared to have his head in the clouds. He needed to be better. He’d give her a response now, and in a moment of obvious awareness he straightened his posture, though ultimately and decisively leaning onto the table more, “My grandfather thought it’d be a good idea,” He responded, more formal than how he’d responded to the last ones. It was a tedious matter to him. He was here on someone else’s wishes, frankly, but it was honorable in his opinion, and he wondered for a moment if she were close to her own family. He couldn’t disagree, his degree would be looking spotless when all was said and done, and he’d have his pickings. 

                    Garrett thought about the situation he was in, with her, a game of twenty questions. So many questions, it was coming to be, and as the corners of his mouth curved a laugh left him. He’d glanced away, lightly rolling his eyes, half-expecting her to beg the question of ‘what?’, but his eyes fell back upon her with a seriousness. And then she took a step closer. He didn’t flinch— he didn’t dare flinch, but his mind had begun to link the pieces of the puzzle she’d been giving him: keeping his sweatshirt, coming up to him at the bar, the questions, the asking if he had a girlfriend, the inching near that he could not refute as evidence. She was flirting. He could make a move, he just needed the right time; a means to set it up. She was close— she was into him, and his eyes drifted down, down, to her lips, “Yeah, I can make that happen,” He smiled, his voice low and gravelly with his response, giving her a small series of nods. In his state he likely sounded serious, though at the heart of his intensity was the fact that he was distracted by her. As she began to laugh, turning her head, he too laughed, glancing away and seeking an opportunity. His hand rose, fingers brushing along the side of her thigh before settling on her waist, lulling her closer in-between his legs, “Oh, c’mon,” He protested playfully, boyishly, “I’m really not getting out of this, am I?” His voice was sweetened with mirth, “–Okay, I’ll do it. We’ll get your drink and I’ll go do the thing.” Garrett caved ultimately with a grin on his face, turning to the bartender then to try and get his attention.

She forced herself to meet his eyes, so he knew she was listening, that she was engaged with what he was saying. Though she really was only half focused on the conversation, trying to figure out if he had been flirting with her or was just being friendly. She’d never been good at picking up on other’s intentions, often projecting her own onto the other person. She’d assumed that he had been flirting with her because that’s what she wanted him to do, but now she couldn’t tell if she’d imagined that or not. She tried hard to focus on the words he was currently saying and not get lost in her thoughts. “That explains it. I’ve never heard of West Blocton. Did you like it? Was it nice? Why’d you come here for college?” The questions came flying out of her mouth. Miriam would be unable to stop them even if she tried. Genuinely, she wanted to get to know him more, and she was curious about his life before, his life back in Alabama. “Do you have a special someone back home? Like a girlfriend? Or a boyfriend?” It was a childish question, a thinly-veiled attempt at furthering her personal agenda, figuring she might as well ask and get it over with. She didn’t see the point in worrying about it when she could get an answer now and move on with it however he responded. She was still leaning against the bar, her forearm pressed against it as she tilted her head up, patiently awaiting his answers, finally fully invested in what he was going to say. Her mouth fell open, and she shook her head slightly as he teased her, holding back any sort of laughter. “And how would you define endearing?” Turning his earlier question back around to him, rather than begin a futile argument that she didn’t have an accent. She straightened up, not looking away from Garrett like it was a challenge, and wishing she had a drink. But she didn’t want to break the flow of their conversation to talk to anyone else, even if it was just a bartender. She liked having his full attention, and he had hers. 

                    Her round of questions amused him, but on the contrary they dampened him with incertitude. If he were being honest he usually didn’t talk or surround himself with a lot of women who asked him the questions. He felt a little jarred with his personal life being the subject of her inquires, and though he didn’t mind sharing it was true that this was newer territory. His last girlfriend was like that. She was full of questions. She was a writer and an aspiring journalist— definitely an intellectual, but with a charming drive that had landed him hooked, even through all their back and forth; even with her ultimate possessiveness and displays of jealousy. He smiled nevertheless, rubbing his jaw, “It is nice.” He began, “My family owns an estate. We got about a thousand acres of forest and farm, and just behind the house is a little lake.” He told her, wanting to specifically mention the lake. He loved the house, and he had grown up over countless summers living a dream. Four-wheeling, fishing, climbing trees— all just outside his bedroom window. ‘Do you have a special someone back home?’. Garrett couldn’t help but smirk as he looked down. So, she was curious. 

                    He looked back up, smile becoming a little sharper, brows furrowing as she ventured asking, girlfriend, boyfriend— his brows furrowed, and he lightly laughed. He’d never been asked that, but he knew she was just being open, nonjudgmental, even, and he liked that attitude. Respect was important to him. Respect and equivalence. Garrett smiled and gave her a nod, “Yeah, sure, I got someone special back home. His name’s Marty. He’s an old black lab, I think you’d like him,” He capered, his blue eyes on hers, and they illuminated under the dim lights with something light and favorable. He brought his drink to his lips, taking a sip, and bringing down the glass he wore another smirk. Another question. His own, reverted back onto him, and he decided then that she was playing a game. Of what, he didn’t know, but maybe they just needed more to drink. He looked at her in a comfortable silence, her question dangling, his lips moving as if to speak but nothing came to him. At first. And then he leaned forward, his eyes on the corner of her mouth, watching for a reaction, “I’m not very good with words. Never had been,” He admitted, “I’ll have to think on it. Maybe I’ll have made up my mind by the end of the night,” Garrett leaned back half a foot, still smiling, “–Do you want something to drink for now?”

Her eyes tracked his movements as if looking at him long enough would reveal some kind of secret. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to get too embarrassed, so she was curious as to why he was so reluctant to go up on stage. Even if he was a bad singer like he claimed, she doubted many would remember it by tomorrow. “You need to show me to prove me wrong. I won’t believe you until I hear you sing.” She was stuck on the idea and it was playing like a broken record in her head. She didn’t care how long it took, she was going to get him on stage and get him to sing. Her eyes moved from his when his knee brushed her leg, lingering at the point of contact for a second too long before moving back up to his face. Miriam leaned against the bar, trying to appear as casual as possible. “I didn’t say you’re endearing. I said you’re accent was.” She looked away from him, her whole body turning with her. The fact was, she did think he was endearing. A million compliments wanted to spill out of her mouth like a bathtub that had been left on too long. Still looking away, looking far off into the distance, she said, “endearing.” As if repeating the word would make the meaning clear. “I don’t know. Like charming. Or cute. Or likable. Attention-grabbing maybe. I don’t have a dictionary.” Compliments sandwiched between the words gathered to brush it off. She didn’t want to come off as presumptuous, assuming he was flirting when he just wanted friends because he was new. “I like the way you talk is all. But I don’t know that many people with an accent like yours. Where are you from? I don’t think I asked you that before.” Her fixation on karaoke from just moments ago was fleeting from her mind as she became focused on the idea of getting to know him.

                    She wouldn’t give it up. He knew then that this would and could end only one way: with him on that stage and her watching. But he didn’t mind that predicament, no— and the thought of letting her down suddenly became more devastating than the anticipation of being standing before a crowd embarrassed. It wouldn’t be any different than a class presentation, or playing a school match, a bleacher full of people watching. He’d do it. He’d appease her, and for a moment he felt as though he had to be strategic about it. He didn’t want to get up on stage, sing to the point of being booed, and then have her run off. No, he, in a very amicable and procrastinating way would merely wait until she was begging again. For now, he’d use it as an anchor. As long as he had her here he’d be able to talk to her and get to know her, and she was here, apparently, for one thing: to see him with a mic in hand. Or so he thought. The more she spoke, now, with a little fire under her words, correcting him, he smiled. Endeared, ironically, one that worked in a faint pattern, only tugging at the corner of his mouth. She turned— he took advantage of her sudden aloofness, his eyes moving over her profile, from her eyes to her nose to her lips and then to her chest. They paused for a moment and then moved to her hands, listening. He liked a girl with a little spunk. One that didn’t mind correcting him, no offense taken on his behalf, instead, there being flattery. He was a physically dominant force in the bedroom; outside, he liked a woman that could pervade him with her words. ‘Cute’. She thought it was cute. Not the first adjective he wanted to hear, necessarily, and it dawned upon him that maybe there was another in the picture. His smile had faltered, his head slightly tilted, and after a few moments of thought his languid eyes dragged back up to her face, “Alabama.” He told her, “I’m from a place called West Blocton, just outside of Birmingham.” Garrett continued taking his beer in hand and lifting it to his lips. He stopped before he took a sip, a sliver of a smile appearing behind the glass, promising a tease, “—Did it ever dawn on you that maybe I don’t know many people with an accent like yours either? That maybe I think your accent is ‘endearing’?”

Suddenly, she felt as if a spotlight had been turned on, illuminating the both of them, while the place around them got darker. He lit up completely with his smile and his eyes and his laugh. And he turned his attention on her, and she felt like the most important girl in the room. She was visibly relieved when he said he hadn’t sung a song. Somehow, this felt like the perfect way to get to know him. Through his song choice or how he acted on stage, she felt like she could unlock who he was fundamentally. They only knew each other superficially, and while she certainly liked what she’d had seen so far, she wanted more. “I don’t think you’re telling the truth. I think you can sing, but you’re embarrassed by it.” She wanted to poke and prod him until he got up on stage. Her face changed as a realization came to her, her lips parting slightly and her eyes widening. “Oh, it’s the accent, isn’t it? Worried you’ll sound like an off-brand country singer? It’s endearing when you talk, so I don’t think that’ll be a problem.” When he leaned closer, she tilted her head up, not wanting to miss anything he said. She brought a hand up to her mouth as if to hide her smile behind it, but she still met his eyes as she hoped she wasn’t blushing too badly. “One song. Try one song.” She was almost begging, but her smile turned smug and a mischievous glint entered her eyes. “Would you please try it for me?” She batted her eyelashes at him. It was a trick she’d used to get her way all her life, like when she wanted to spend the night at friends’ houses on important family nights or wanted someone to do her part of a group project.

                    ‘An off-brand country singer’— a smirk and a laugh rose on him, his naturally, deep-set bedroom eyes gleaming with amusement. Truth was, and it surprised those that managed to hear him say it, was that he didn’t even like country. Carrie Underwood had always, of course, been a crush, but in filed through his head thinking of a quip he could return her remark with. A joke, mentioning one, but he found it a little hard to think with Miriam so close and her blue eyes setting upon him like a snare. He looked away, briefly, collecting a thought, “You’re laughin’ now but that's a compliment, considerin’ what I actually sound like,” He mumbled, rubbing his nape, half-caper, and though it probably appeared he was selling himself extremely short, it was only because it was the truth. He could not sing. His blue eyes moved back to her, caught on her wording, specifically about his voice— his dialect, and when he turned to her this time he moved his knees out from under the bar a little more. One brushed against the front of her thigh, and as he watched her hand cover her wide smile and her crescent dimples he looked down to merely witness it, “Hold on now,” He nearly clipped her last question, diverting from her request for him to get up on the stage, “–you think I’m endearing?” He teased, lifting a hand in her direction, sounding out the word, just as she had spoken it. Something smug had found her as well, and it would be evident to anyone watching that they had mirrored each other, “Endearin’ as in...” His eyes moved over her features, half expecting her to jump in and explain the connotation of it on her own, but another word fumbled from his lips with a small, intoxicated laugh, “–What?” He paused, and then adjacently, “What’s that mean?”