remembered, and I wasn’t sorry I’d acted impulsively. It was the first physical contact I’d had with him in two months. My body was crying for more.
Aaron gently pushed me away, his expression telling me he wasn’t sorry either. I knew it didn’t mean he was ready to move beyond friendship yet, but I made it clear that I was. Time to rein it in, Matt.
“So, I’m sorry. What time did you say?”
Aaron looked at me a little suspiciously but gave me instructions for Thursday, adding that I should dress nicely, but not too nice. I had no idea what that meant, but I would figure it out.
5
W E TALKED a couple times during the week before our Thursday “date” at the gallery. I took advantage of my wardrobe uncertainty, figuring he’d be the right guy to ask for fashion advice. We were on the phone for a good hour until his battery ran out on his cell and I had to admit to having a paper due the following day.
The next time, it was Aaron calling me. He said he was wondering about a restaurant suggestion for after the show. He warned me they would try to stuff us full of canapés, but we would probably still be hungry. Did I fancy Indian food? I had no idea what a canapé was, and I hadn’t had much Indian food but assured him I was game to give it a try. The conversation began while I was making my way home from my internship, through the mass of traffic getting back to Georgetown, and then through a short hike to the market to pick up something quick for dinner. I hung up with him once I was back at my apartment, finishing the conversation as I put away a few groceries. And yeah, I had a big stupid smile on my face.
“Who was that?” Dave had wandered into the small kitchen, chomping on what looked like reheated Chinese.
“Oh, my friend Aaron.”
“Aaron. Sweet. When did you meet her?” I gave him a second glance but realized he truly thought I’d met a girl named Erin and wasn’t deliberately being a dick. I had no reason to think my friends would know about Aaron, though. I’d kept this, whatever it was, between us quiet. I wasn’t sure I was ready to share him, but not because I was ashamed. It had more to do with wanting something real to happen and not wanting to jinx my chances by speaking of it prematurely. Superstitious. Yes, I admit it.
“A while ago, and we’re just friends,” I explained while I folded my recycle bags.
“Oh. You sounded kinda funny. You know, like you were talking to a hot date, maybe a new chick.”
“Mmm. No, not a chick. Who says ‘chick’ anyway?” Dave just shrugged good-naturedly and plopped down in front of the television.
T HURSDAY finally arrived. I whistled my way through two classes and worked three hours at the firm before racing back to my apartment to get ready for my date—correction, my art gallery and dinner outing with my friend, Aaron. He had strongly suggested a nice pair of dark slacks, a sharp oxford shirt (“I know you own one, Matty.”), and a dark blazer (“Really optional, but you’d look great in one.”). He assured me a tie wasn’t necessary. Good. I showered, shaved, and dressed as instructed before swiping my keys off the table on my way back out the door.
Curt and Dave were just coming in as I was about to step out. Dave was carrying a twelve pack of beer, and Curt had what looked like a bag of munchies in his hand.
“Dude! You look nice. Where you going? Hot date?” Dave pushed past me on his way to the kitchen to deposit his goods.
“Um, well actually, I’m going to an art gallery show with a friend of mine.” I was tucking my scarf into my nicest coat when I caught the look my buddies gave each other and then me. “What?”
“Who is she, Matt? Come on… you’re holding out on us!” Great. Now Curt was curious. That was more worrisome than Dave’s questioning. Curt was tenacious. If he wanted answers, he wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied. Well, he’d have to wait, I decided. I didn’t
Aaron gently pushed me away, his expression telling me he wasn’t sorry either. I knew it didn’t mean he was ready to move beyond friendship yet, but I made it clear that I was. Time to rein it in, Matt.
“So, I’m sorry. What time did you say?”
Aaron looked at me a little suspiciously but gave me instructions for Thursday, adding that I should dress nicely, but not too nice. I had no idea what that meant, but I would figure it out.
5
W E TALKED a couple times during the week before our Thursday “date” at the gallery. I took advantage of my wardrobe uncertainty, figuring he’d be the right guy to ask for fashion advice. We were on the phone for a good hour until his battery ran out on his cell and I had to admit to having a paper due the following day.
The next time, it was Aaron calling me. He said he was wondering about a restaurant suggestion for after the show. He warned me they would try to stuff us full of canapés, but we would probably still be hungry. Did I fancy Indian food? I had no idea what a canapé was, and I hadn’t had much Indian food but assured him I was game to give it a try. The conversation began while I was making my way home from my internship, through the mass of traffic getting back to Georgetown, and then through a short hike to the market to pick up something quick for dinner. I hung up with him once I was back at my apartment, finishing the conversation as I put away a few groceries. And yeah, I had a big stupid smile on my face.
“Who was that?” Dave had wandered into the small kitchen, chomping on what looked like reheated Chinese.
“Oh, my friend Aaron.”
“Aaron. Sweet. When did you meet her?” I gave him a second glance but realized he truly thought I’d met a girl named Erin and wasn’t deliberately being a dick. I had no reason to think my friends would know about Aaron, though. I’d kept this, whatever it was, between us quiet. I wasn’t sure I was ready to share him, but not because I was ashamed. It had more to do with wanting something real to happen and not wanting to jinx my chances by speaking of it prematurely. Superstitious. Yes, I admit it.
“A while ago, and we’re just friends,” I explained while I folded my recycle bags.
“Oh. You sounded kinda funny. You know, like you were talking to a hot date, maybe a new chick.”
“Mmm. No, not a chick. Who says ‘chick’ anyway?” Dave just shrugged good-naturedly and plopped down in front of the television.
T HURSDAY finally arrived. I whistled my way through two classes and worked three hours at the firm before racing back to my apartment to get ready for my date—correction, my art gallery and dinner outing with my friend, Aaron. He had strongly suggested a nice pair of dark slacks, a sharp oxford shirt (“I know you own one, Matty.”), and a dark blazer (“Really optional, but you’d look great in one.”). He assured me a tie wasn’t necessary. Good. I showered, shaved, and dressed as instructed before swiping my keys off the table on my way back out the door.
Curt and Dave were just coming in as I was about to step out. Dave was carrying a twelve pack of beer, and Curt had what looked like a bag of munchies in his hand.
“Dude! You look nice. Where you going? Hot date?” Dave pushed past me on his way to the kitchen to deposit his goods.
“Um, well actually, I’m going to an art gallery show with a friend of mine.” I was tucking my scarf into my nicest coat when I caught the look my buddies gave each other and then me. “What?”
“Who is she, Matt? Come on… you’re holding out on us!” Great. Now Curt was curious. That was more worrisome than Dave’s questioning. Curt was tenacious. If he wanted answers, he wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied. Well, he’d have to wait, I decided. I didn’t
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