Page 99 of In the Middle of Somewhere (Middle of Somewhere 1)
Last night, Rex came over carrying something that looked like the beautiful piece of wood I’d seen him working on in his woodshop a few days before.
“What’s this?” I asked him.
“You needed a new kitchen table,” he said. His posture was comfortable and commanding like usual, but I could see uncertainty in his face, no doubt because of my totally ungrateful response to his previous efforts regarding my table.
I took a deep breath. No one had ever made anything for me before, and I couldn’t even imagine how many hours it must have taken Rex to craft this piece. Rex doing that—showing up like that—was a test. Not that Rex engineered it as one; he’s not manipulative like that. But it was a test of whether or not this could be okay between us and I knew it. This was Rex showing me that he cared.
I smiled and stepped aside. Rex fitted in the legs and skimmed the wood with a tender hand. The table reminded me of him: sturdy and comfortable and welcoming.
“It’s amazing,” I said, and Rex’s smile told me I’d passed the test for sure.
So, now, here I am at Mr. Zoo’s because I wanted to get Rex a record or something to say thank you.
“He made me a new kitchen table,” I say. “Mine broke.”
“Whoa! That’s amazing.”
Yeah, it really is. Leo looks at me and then down at Emmylou and gets a weird look on his face.
“What?”
“Um, no offense or anything,” he says, “and I’m sure it’s a good album and all, but that’s kind of a lame present for someone who, like, carved you something out of a tree with his bare hands.”
Shit. Shit, he’s totally right.
“Sorry!” he says.
“No, you’re fucking right,” I say, letting out a breath.
“You swear a lot.”
“Yeah, I guess I do. Sorry.” He just smiles. “So, you got any better ideas?” I ask. “And if you insinuate anything to do with sexual favors, so help me….”
“Well, what have you already done for him?”
“Done?”
“Yeah, like, what nice things, so I don’t repeat them.”
Nice things. What nice things have I done for Rex? Fuck all, that’s what. Better question: what nice things has Rex done for me? Rescued me after a car accident and given me a place to stay for the night even though I was a total stranger. Saved the dog I hit with my car. Fixed the desk in my office when he barely even knew me. Warned me about the weather. Come to pick me up in the middle of a snowstorm when my car died. Cooked for me. Taken me to dinner. Given me a massage. Gotten the Internet at his house for me even though he doesn’t use it himself. Made me a kitchen table even after I yelled at him the last time he brought it up.
And me? I took his fucking dog for a walk when he had a debilitating fucking migraine. I fucking disgust myself.
I drop my head down onto my arms on the counter and groan.
“Shit, Leo!” I say.
“What? What’s wrong?” Now I’ve scared the kid.
“What’s wrong is that I’m a shit boyfriend. Absolute shit. I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no fucking clue.”
Leo is wide-eyed, staring at me with his mouth half open. God knows why he liked me in the first place, but whatever hero worship he had is, I’m sure, dying a writhing death on the counter between us as we speak. I’m a grown man and I have no idea how to date someone. No idea at all.
“Um,” Leo starts, with a mommy-and-daddy-are-fighting expression. “Well, my sister always says she’ll forgive a guy anything if he buys her flowers.”
“Uh-huh, and how old is your sister?”
“Sixteen.”
“Yeah. Well, you should tell your sister that’s a crap policy.”
“Okay, well, why don’t you take him on a really nice date? My sister says—”
“No offense, Leo, but I’m going to go ahead and say I don’t care what your little sister thinks about dating.”
“No, no, this is a good one. She says a well-conceived date shows that you pay attention to the person. That you know what they like to do and you want to show them a good time.”
That makes sense. I was probably supposed to ask Rex out on a date after he took me to dinner, so things were equal. I’ve never asked someone on a date before. Never planned one. But I know what Rex likes. Old movies and good food. This will be fine.
“Right, okay.” I tell Leo. “A date. I can do that.”
But he doesn’t look totally convinced.
ON FRIDAY, I pick Rex up at his house because it seems a date-like thing to do. He looks amazing in tight black jeans that mold to his muscular thighs and round ass and one of those thick oatmeal-colored sweaters that I associate with ski lodges and Irish whiskey ads. The thick sweater makes him look even larger than usual, like if he held me I’d be warm and safe forever.