Survive tornado season

I spent the afternoon celebrating the fifth birthday of the youngest in the family. The party was out of town at a fun center. The kids had a blast running around, shouting, bouncing and then filling up on pizza and ice cream. The adults reminisced about the days when Pin the Tail on the Donkey was big entertainment.

When I arrived back to town I drove to [Sports Bar] where Eve and Paul had arranged for a group of their friends to gather. I found them seated along the railing of an elevated section on the far side of the bar. I said a general hello to everyone, and Eve introduced me to two couples I hadn’t met before and reintroduced one couple—John and Kim—that I’d met the night I was introduced to Blaine. Blaine was seated on the railing side between John and Paul. Our eyes caught briefly and we exchanged a quick smile as a hello.

They had pulled three high-top tables together. Eve had saved a seat for me by turning a stool on its side and shoving it beneath the tables where no one else could grab it. She and Kim pulled it out and righted it between the two of them. As I was about to sit down, Eve leaned in. “I’ll get Paul to move over here.” I told her not to. I didn’t know if anyone else was aware that Blaine and I know each other. It seemed best not to call attention to it. Besides, there were advantages to being across from him, such as having a chance to look at him.

The day he and I met I was so thrown once I realized he was the guy Eve had been wanting to fix me up with that very little about him registered. After I left that day, all I could recall was that he was on the tall side. The next time I saw him was at Eve and Paul’s the night he and Paul built the loft blockade. I wasn’t expecting to see him that night either but the unexpectedness of it didn’t bother me as much. I remember sitting at the dining room table during dinner and glancing over at him once. All of a sudden I realized he’s attractive, and I remember thinking How did I miss this? Tonight, sneaking looks at him every now and then, I was struck again. I like it when it happens this way.

“How was the birthday party?” Eve asked, returning my attention to everyone else. I mentioned something about the energy level of five year olds, and someone asked if I was talking about a grandchild, and someone else asked if I were married. A waitress stopped to get drink orders, for which I was grateful. When my attention returned to the table, the conversation had moved on. I settled into listening, a mode I enjoy.

A woman breezed up to the group on the guys’ side. She said her hellos to everyone she knew, and Eve introduced her—Natalie—to me. She’s one of those people who would be noted for her energy, someone who draws attention simply by existing. She stood beside Paul until she stepped out of the way of a waitress and repositioned into the small space between him and Blaine.

Her group hadn’t arrived yet, she said. “Do you have room for one more for a little while?” Paul was about to free up space by scooting his stool closer to Eve, but she stopped him. “You’re fine. I only need a place to set my glass.” As if demonstrating, she reached between the two guys and left a wine glass on the table. When she pulled her arm back, she rested her hand on Blaine’s shoulder and asked how he’s been, remarked that she hasn’t seen him in a while, checked on how his daughter is doing.

I didn’t want to get caught watching but I was curious. Here was someone from Blaine’s world, someone he evidently knew well. And she was no insecure introvert, that was certain.

Naturally I conducted a quick compare and contrast of styles, although I turned my head away from them and looked at one of the TVs on the wall while I did it.

I’d say she is regularly scheduled mani-pedis, while I’m a no-color manicure and rich-red pedicure every few months. She’s Sephora devoted; I wear only enough makeup to remind the world I have eyes and, sometimes, lips. Her clothing is bright patterns, trendy low cuts and fashionable heels. Mine is dark hues, structured, softly flirty or slightly edgy when I can manage it. Shoes fall way short because I have hard-to-fit feet and like to be comfortable. Her jewelry is noticeable, complicated and coordinated. I wear diamond studs with everything, occasionally white gold drop earrings if I want to change it up; bracelets and necklaces are a rarity. Her hair is short and shaped, blonde, styled perfectly. Mine is short, too, but long on top with pieces that fall across my eyes sometimes. The color is medium dark with copper tones at the roots, a few lowlights and caramel highlights. (I think I win on hair.)

The waitress returned with a round of drinks. I heard Natalie ask Blaine, “Did you get the postcard about [a wine shop’s] spring tasting? Why don’t we go?”

How awkward. I took a long drink of beer and looked back at the television as if I were interested in the basketball game. I hoped to appear oblivious to the conversation while I prepared a neutral expression for whatever came next. Blaine and I have not been going out long enough to prevent him from seeing other women, so if he thought her suggestion was a good one, it would have to be OK.

Blaine answered, “I appreciate that, Natalie, but I’m seeing someone.” I took another long, cover-up swallow of beer.

Kim, with what sounded like friendly, genuine interest, asked, “Who is it, Blaine?”

I turned my attention back to the table, avoiding eye contact at first, then sliding my gaze upward, meeting Blaine’s. I smiled because I have the poker face of a dog who’s spotted a tennis ball. He smiled back, nodded toward me and told her.

Kim put her hand on my arm. “That’s wonderful. How long?”

“Since the first of the year,” I replied.

“Oh, still new,” Natalie observed, not unkindly but I still thought I detected the between-the-lines thought: won’t survive tornado season.

Kim hopped off her stool. “You should be sitting over here, Blaine.” She handed her drink across to John and grabbed her jacket and purse. Eve reached across the table for Blaine’s glass and relocated it. He was moving whether he wanted to or not.

I felt everyone’s eyes on me, probably wondering who I was again, trying to figure out how this happened.

Conversations resumed quickly, and the next hour or so flew by. For awhile there was a side discussion about a local political situation that Paul pulled me into because our thing has become talking about current events.

As that conversation died down, Blaine leaned over and asked if I felt like leaving. It surprised me that he wanted to go so soon, but I had no trouble agreeing. While it’s always fun to hang out with Eve and Paul, and the others too, I look forward all week to having time alone with Blaine.

We met at his house. There was a little mist in the air, and he had me pull into the garage so if it turned to rain by the time I left I wouldn’t get wet.

After drinks were poured and we connected my phone and Spotify account to his bluetooth speakers, we settled on the couch. We listened to a Van Morrison album—"Poetic Champions Compose"—that I’ve loved for a long time but was new to Blaine. He liked it instantly. For the first tracks we didn’t talk but touched hands, not holding but slipping palms across one another, running fingertips together, sliding fingers over, through and around, done mindlessly but with absolute attention.

Blaine asked softly, “Do you mind that I announced to everyone you’re--that we’re seeing each other?”

“No,” I answered. “I think you surprised the table though.”

“I’ll be asked about you tomorrow.” Every Sunday after church the same group gets together. At one time they had all belonged to the same church but over time a few changed churches. They started the lunches to keep in touch.

“How uncomfortable will that be?”

“It shouldn’t be too bad.” He shifted slightly and our hands fell apart. “There’s something I’d like us to address. It’s about,” he paused as if needing to find the next word, “us.” He waggled a finger from him to me to eliminate any ambiguity about the parties involved. “When it comes up tomorrow, will it be fair—accurate—to tell them you’re my girlfriend or should I leave it at we’re dating or going out?”

“Is that how you think of me?” Outwardly I was casual; inwardly it was the Fourth of July.

He looked at me for a few moments. “I think of you as someone I want to know much better and I don’t want some other guy to slip in and get your attention. I believe it’s your decision whether you want to be my girlfriend.”

“Then it is both fair and accurate to tell whomever you wish that I’m your girlfriend.”