Kaleidoscope (13 page)

I cleared my throat, opting to cooperate with caution. “Well...uh, he's nineteen, and he's from St. Louis,” I began, almost as a question. I was unsure if this general information would be acceptable to her.  “He has two sisters, no dad...he's a very talented painter, and he's very kind.” I paused again. “He was really determined to get to know me, which was different...and refreshing. He seems really outgoing and like he has his life together.”
Not anything like me.

“He sounds lovely! Why would you say it seems he has his life together?”

I sighed in exasperation. “I don't know...he works as a restaurant cook and he wants to be a chef...he already knows what he wants to do with his life. I know adults who've never known what they wanted to do. I guess it's admirable.”

I was becoming frustrated for some reason. I hadn't really even said that much, but I still felt like I was being interrogated. Ms. Orowitz's interest in Austin didn't come from wanting to know about his radiant personality, but from wanting to know how he would affect my “condition,” and whether or not it would be “therapeutic” for me to be friends with him. I, on the other hand, wasn't concerned with any of that.

“It is admirable,” she commented. “He sounds like he would be a great role model for his age. Is he the oldest of his siblings?”

“Actually, he's the youngest.”

We talked a bit more about Austin. Ms. Orowitz continued asking questions that weren't quite invasive enough for me to really be upset about, but that upset me anyway. I continued answering them somewhat reluctantly, distrusting of the intentions behind her questioning.

The more we talked about him, the more I realized how much I really liked him, and the more I realized how happy I was around him. I told Ms. Orowitz about our finished paintings, and how Mr. Pearson wanted to display them as a set in the recreation center's lobby. She seemed less amazed about the coincidental outcome of our projects than I had been, but I also knew she had put on her professional face so I wouldn't be so keen on her analyses of me. I knew this because she had very little to say about Austin, or about any of my responses for that matter, and seemed to be pretending to be that “listening ear” she had parroted to me earlier.

Finally, my patience for this one-sided interview had depleted. I felt like a lab rat again. “Well,” I demanded, “aren't you supposed to tell me something about what this all means, or tell me why you're asking...something?”

“Oh, I'm sorry if I seem a little quiet Jade, I'm just observing. The reason I want to know about Austin is because this person is obviously a new, important part of your life. As your therapist, it's my job to understand the relationships you have with other people in your life, especially at this crucial point in your healing, to consider how they may impact your life.” Her smile was dainty and could hardly pass for a real one.

“It sounds like this friend of yours is making quite a positive impact on your life, and I think that's delightful. Of course I'm curious to know more about him! Aside from the painting classes you've been taking and his visit with you on Halloween, do you get a lot of opportunities to see him?”

I slunk back into the red suede sofa warily. I was satisfied enough by the answer she'd given me, for now, to continue. “Well...not really. But he did ask if I wanted to hang out with him tomorrow evening after he gets off work.” I smiled again, recalling the conversation from Sunday evening, where Austin had actually called me for the first time.

***

“Hey there,” he'd said after I'd shakily answered the phone. “I know you said you hated texting, so I tried to call you this time. What are you up to?”

“Oh, thanks,” I said with a chuckle. It was much less awkward talking to him than relating impersonal messages back and forth. “Oh, not much...we just finished eating dinner, so I'm just relaxing.”

“Oh good, I'm glad I didn't interrupt. So uh...hey, I was wondering, are you usually busy on Wednesday nights?”

I raised my eyebrow hesitantly, but the butterflies were back in my stomach again.
Why did this keep happening...was there something wrong with me?

“No,” I said, slow and drawn out.”Why do you ask?”

There was a pause, as if Austin was summoning the courage to continue speaking—as if I could ever imagine him feeling unconfident enough to need a courage boost.

“Well, I was wondering if you might want to go have dinner?” He began talking faster, almost nervously. No, he was definitely nervous. “There's a place that has this great deal on Wednesdays on entrees, and it's really good. Uh...I can pick you up if you want? Or I mean, we could do something else..”

I myself blustered, caught off-guard by his request. “Oh...oh! No. I mean, yes. No, dinner sounds great! It'd be great to get out of the house for a while...” I faltered, then decided to inject some humor to lighten this  awkward moment. “I trust that Mr. Master Chef has good taste in eateries, right?”

On the other end of the line, Austin laughed with a note of relief. “Well, I like to think so at least. Awesome! Does 7 sound about right? That way I have some time to de-grunge after work.”

I nodded, realizing that he couldn't see it. It was a good thing no one was around. “Yes, that would work great. I'll let Mom know not to make dinner that night, and uh...yeah.”

“Sounds like a date!”

***

It was the second time Austin had used the word “date,” only this time, it actually kind of sounded like a date. Isn't that what adults did when they wanted to get to know each other intimately—they spent a lot of money on a fancy meal at a restaurant, dressed in their best and swooned over each other in a dimly lit atmosphere? I didn't know if the atmosphere of this place we were going was dimly lit, but it still sounded like my idea of a date.

I calmed the butterflies that danced in my stomach at the anticipation of such an event. Then the realization hit me like a lead weight dropping into the pit of my stomach and dispelling the butterflies into a chaotic mob.

Was I falling in love with him?

It was impossible for me to answer my own question, of course, because I had very little to base the notion of
love
upon.

Ms. Orowitz must have read the look on my face like a classified ad; her expression changed from the knowing smile of a therapist who tried to read my mind to the wise one of a woman who
did
know what love was, and who must have recognized it at once. I looked away, feeling the embarrassment flushing my cheeks. I had absolutely no desire to discuss these feelings with her.

“I'm glad to see you socializing—going out and doing things, you know, with others your own age. I would certainly say that your willingness to step out of your box and try all these new things is affected by the same force that's driving you to succeed so valiantly here with our sessions!”

Then, her ample bottom shifted in its chair as she eyed me preemptively. “But,” she cautioned. “I also want you to be careful tomorrow.”

“What are you now, my mom?” I asked. My voice dripped sarcasm, but the blood still boiled in my veins from too much time spent with this woman for the day.

She trilled a high-pitched chortle. “Oh you...I just mean to be careful not to jump in with too much reckless abandon as your mental state improves. Your mind is going through some changes right now, and it might be tempting to trust too easily. You've been guarded for a very long time—Heaven knows you still are with me after so long! I just...” she pursed her lips, folding her hands over her crossed legs. “I don't want you to look to others to fill the gaps that we're trying to work on here. You're a smart girl, Jade, and I don't foresee that being a problem for you, but you know it's just my job to advise you on such things.”

Sometimes, Ms. Orowitz was so contradictory.
She wants me to go out and make friends, but not TOO close of friends, or it might somehow ruin me. Right.

I snorted and did my best to cover my disdain. I nodded to her with what I was sure was a very unconvincing smile.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

I inhaled deeply and slowly in a desperate attempt to soothe my frazzled nerves.

As I looked into the mirror at myself, I only began to panic further. I'd put on makeup and, this time, actually tried to make it look decent, and I'd even used a little of Mom's hair spray on my hair to give it a little more “oomph” than usual. Pale pink gloss shimmered on my lips, matching the glittery blitz of the silver eyeshadow that I'd worn under my brow bones, to complement some black eyeliner that I'd painstakingly applied.

Though many would say that the face who looked back at me was pretty, it felt fake to me. I often felt like I was looking at someone else when I looked in the mirror, which made it hard to look myself in the eye--but now that I looked like someone else too, the dissociation was even more apparent.

It was just fake.

I wasn't a sparkly, pretty girl...what was I thinking? My heart beaded into ice within my chest. It was too late to smear it off now though—Austin would be arriving any minute to pick me up for dinner.

I sighed and made my way downstairs. It wasn't just the way I looked that was making me anxious as much as it was the whirlwind feelings blasting through me like a harsh winter storm. It had been a long time since I'd so deeply wanted to impress someone, for someone to like me. It had been a long time, in fact, that I'd cared at all what
anyone
thought of me, except for my mother of course. She was absolutely thrilled that I was going on a “date” with the young gentleman she'd seen the week before. She had even offered to help me get ready by doing my makeup and helping me choose a suitable outfit, but I politely refused. She'd done enough for me. I had to feel at least capable enough of making the most basic decisions about what I looked like, or I would absolutely fall apart tonight. And yet, it felt like I couldn't even manage that.

Maybe I'm not ready for this,
I told myself. But...ready for what? Ready to fall in love, ready to trust someone enough to get close to them...ready to meet my craziness head-on by revealing it to someone who could very well just drop me out of their lives forever over it?
No pressure though, right?

In a unusually comforting way, however, I told myself that those things weren't for me to decide. At least from what I'd seen in the movies, love was something that just happened to someone; there was absolutely nothing that you could do to control that. Ice gripped my chest at the uncertainty of it all.
What if things become different now that I feel this way? Or...is it possible that I've felt this way all along?

I trudged down the stairs, so nervous that I didn't even watch to miss the earth-shattering squeak of the sixth step. No doubt, it alerted my entrance to Mom, who shuffled into the room just before I made it completely into the dining room. She stood there, arms folded excitedly, pretending that she'd been standing there the entire time.

I tried to avoid her gaze as she flowered into a beaming aura of joy, and her hands flew to her throat. I thought for sure that she was going to burst into tears of happiness at any time, but I knew that I wouldn't be able to handle that right now.
It's not like I'm going to prom or something—way too late for that. It's just dinner with a friend.

My mom, however, couldn't take her own gaze off of me, as she looked at me from top to bottom, the lopsided grin never once showing signs of wavering. “Jade! You look absolutely stunning! Your makeup...and where did you get those pants? They fit you so well!”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said, pushing past her in embarrassment. I glanced down at my pleated grey slacks, paired with a maroon sweater with an almost low-plunging neckline , as I filled a glass with water from the kitchen sink. “I found these in the back of my closet.” I downed the water in seconds.

“They look like they might be the ones that I bought you for your sixteenth birthday, when your grandparents decided it was finally worth the trek over to celebrate with us,” she replied, with more than just a little bit of bitterness.

As I thought about it, I recalled a very, very inconsistent image of the day, as if I was looking at a screen veiled by muddy water. I tried my best to focus through the fog, and recalled my mother giving them to me in a small, pink gift bag just a couple hours before a birthday dinner that they had all planned for me at one of my favorite restaurants.

I halted where I stood as the memory gained some clarity. “That was the time that we went to Olive Garden, and I had the tiramisu cake with the candle on it...right?” I asked for confirmation. I would really, really need to remember to write that down. It seemed that it was becoming so much easier to recall things!

Instead of responding, Mom just floated towards me like a fairy and took me in her arms for an extraordinarily awkward hug.

“Ugh, thanks Mom,” I said, patting her back warmly before pushing her away from me. A polite knock sounded at the door—there was no time for embarrassing shows of motherly affection!

I clambered towards the door, hoping that I did look “stunning,” but also hoping that I wasn't completely overdressed and looking like a fool. I smoothed my sweater over my stomach and took one more deep, slow breath as I opened the door.

***

Austin Fletcher stood before me on the front step, dressed in a  flattering black, long-sleeved button-up shirt, with the top two buttons undone. It was paired with set of jeans that were nice enough, but not so nice as to suggest that maybe I should have worn a dress or something fancier. In fact, he was dressed in much the same level of sophistication as I was, which was a huge relief. His hair was done up again, smoothed down in the back and on the nape of his neck, but styled into a casual, purposefully messy look that rested handsomely over his forehead in the front.

“Wow, you look fantastic!” he gushed. He looked like he didn't know what to do with his hands, and shoved them somewhat awkwardly into his pockets.

I smiled at him. “Thank you.” And then, at the same time--“I was hoping I didn't overdress--” We laughed at the irony, and Austin scratched the back of his neck. I stood there awkwardly, shuffling my feet on the ground.
Boy, I hope I don't mess this up.

I inhaled the late autumn air; it was starting to smell and feel like winter, but it was a beautiful night tonight. Austin motioned towards the silver sedan parked behind him in the driveway.

              “Well, your chariot awaits,” he said, making the same low, mock bow that he had when I'd first given him a tour of the house. He looked over my shoulder and waved at Mom, who was lingering behind me in the doorway, carrying a black jacket. “Hi Allison!”

She chuckled warmly. “Hello Austin. My, you look so handsome tonight!”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

“Now,” she warned, mustering up her best serious tone while offering me the jacket, “Make sure you're careful driving out there tonight. This is my only one, so bring her back in one piece for me, will you?”

“Mom,” I said through clenched teeth. I tore the jacket from her hands and slipped it on. “I'm seventeen years old. I've made it this entire time in one piece, but thanks.”

Everything about my tone suggested I couldn't stand my mother's well-intentioned nags, just like any typical teen. On the inside though, I couldn't help but feel slightly elated. I was having a typical teen conversation with my mother. There was no mention of my “mental state,” or if I could handle things—it was just my mother warning a boy to drive carefully and get me home, a normal parental concern and nothing else.

I couldn't help but smile at her; I could tell by the warm glow in her hazel eyes that she felt the same way.

“Don't you worry, I'm always careful with precious cargo in the car,” Austin replied, giving her a wink. Smiling and seeming satisfied with this answer, Mom nodded. She backed away from the doorway with her hands folded in front of her as if granting me leave from the house. Austin nodded towards the sedan, and I took my cue.

“We won't be gone more than a couple hours,” I called back to her as I walked with this very handsome boy, who tonight was looking more like a man. I looked to him for confirmation of this, and he nodded to me, then to my mother.

“Have fun honey...bring me leftovers!”

I shook my head and hid a smile as I took a seat in the car. It was in nearly new condition--its black leather interior even smelled like there was a “just off the lot” air freshener hanging around somewhere. I gave a sidelong glance to Austin, who plopped in the driver's seat beside me. He took a moment to flash a white smile at me as he buckled his seatbelt. I followed suit, my heart fluttering as though it might stop at any moment.

“You aren't secretly a terrible driver, are you?” I joked. “I don't think I've ever seen you driving.”

“Yeah,” he said, shifting the automatic car into reverse and pulling out of the driveway. “My mom works almost the same hours as I do, so I can only use it if she's around and doesn't need it. Otherwise, I'm stuck bussin' it.” He glanced over his shoulder as we backed into the street, his strong jawline prominent against the collar of his shirt. “But I promise, I won't kill us!”

“That's comforting,” I told him with a smirk. He caught the reference to his own response to our squeaky problem stair and suppressed a smile, looking at the road in front of us with concentration. I did the same, though it was difficult. Austin did look very handsome tonight, and it was hard for me to notice much else. Inwardly, I grimaced, wondering to myself why people actually craved this uncontrollable, unfocused feeling of becoming attached to another person. It was awkward and distracting at best. Didn't I have enough problems with both of those things as it were?

Eventually, my eyes drifted towards the passenger window as I took in the scenery around me. Carefully spaced trees, lining the space between lanes on maintained suburban roads, peppered off and gave way to small clusters of buildings. Yellowing grass turned into a mesh of concrete sidewalks, and the buildings got taller and taller.

              Before long, we were downtown.

              The familiar skyline I'd always seen as the backdrop behind waving mountains and against wide skies was so much different in person. In the winter night, its lights shone around me as if I were on a Broadway stage, showcasing the splendor of the city. I pressed my face against the window, craning my neck to see the top of a brightly lit skyscraper. Even looking up as far as I could, I couldn't see it. Old, Roman-inspired architecture mingled with contemporary, geometric building designs to create an artistically captivating landscape that took my breath away.

“I'm guessing you don't come downtown very often?” Austin mused, watching me out of the corner of his eye. Mortified, I pulled myself away from the window and stared ahead in an effort to look “normal.”

“Er...not much,” I admitted. “Especially not at night. There's too many places to get lost or kidnapped or killed down here...too many people, and too much going on. It's honestly a little scary.”

              “You really are distrusting, aren't you? We're gonna have to work on that.”

              I knew he was only trying to be funny, but I averted my gaze nonetheless, focusing absently on a stray thread on my sweater sleeve. He was right.

The only way to keep my crushing sense of failure away was by keeping up the conversation. “Where are we going?”

Austin glanced at me again. He looked very debonair as the glow of the city lights illuminated his face. “It's just up the way here actually, I just need to find parking. That's the worst part about being down here—way worse than getting kidnapped.”

He pointed towards an illuminated sign, hanging from a charming, old-fashioned brick building. An iron-wrought fence outside of it encased a variety of empty bistro tables, seated intimately with only two chairs at each one. A steady stream of people walked past it, and a few followed the soft glow of the lights from within and made their way inside.

“Damn downtown parking,” Austin muttered, slowly steering the vehicle around the block. Finally, he found a spot not too far from our destination and squeezed into it, almost effortlessly.

“I guess you aren't a terrible driver after all,” I commented. Mom's parallel parking skills were dismal, and I'd never learned how to do it myself.

We finally exited the vehicle, and while Austin quickly fed the parking meter a variety of coins from his pocket, I could hear loud, electrifying music coming from somewhere. At least it probably would be electrifying to a normal girl who loved being part of the big city—to me, it was a little unnerving.

“I hope it isn't as busy on the inside as it seems to be from out here.”

Austin smoothed his hand through his hair and stood beside me reassuringly. “Trust me, it's much quieter. You don't seem like much of a partier...and neither am I. I can't stand crowds—there's always too many stupid people. Come on!” He gently tugged on my arm at the elbow, leading me beside him as we entered the building.

***

He was right—the inside of this restaurant was much cozier than it appeared. The seating arrangements were just as intimate as they had been on the outside patio. The brick exterior also flooded to the inside as a main décor focal point—they were swathed in thick, red cloth that were draped around each window. Classic-looking art pieces, many made by local artists, were hung in great numbers on the walls, and soft jazz music swooned in the background, setting the tone within the restaurant that dropped the voice of every patron to just above a whisper. It was the kind of restaurant that could be either romantic or casually intimate, depending on the company.