Inviting her here tonight was random, very unlike me.  Since Tory and I split five years ago, I’ve had exactly three dates, all of which went very badly.  In fact, I know how bad tonight could go too, so I’ve decided to keep things simple, basic.  I’m leaving the end of next week, and can’t afford any regrets.  I should have called her, told her this whole thing was a bad idea, that I can’t afford to get close to anybody right now.

But as many times as I picked up the phone to call the store, I just couldn’t do it.  Something wouldn’t let me.

I guess it’s because I like her.  I can’t help myself, can’t shake the feeling off.  Something just hit me, the very first time I laid eyes on her.  It was a sign, telling me that it was okay to lose myself in her every Friday afternoon.  That it was safe, because she was different.

It’s the only reason I’ve decided to go through with tonight, because I can see us being friends, if nothing else.  

It would be nice to have an email friend, outside of the dozens of people awaiting me back home.  There’s my family of course, but then there’s all my friends too.  There’s a whole group of us, eight in total.  Out of everybody, I’m the only one who got out of Wytheville and tried to make something out of himself.  The rest of the them went to state college, and most of them work on their families farm now, or in town.  I know they’re excited to see me, especially Lacey.  She’s gotta understand though, that what we had was a high school romance and nothing more.

But I guess you never forget the first person you ever loved, and I admit, I still think about her every now and then.  She’s been engaged twice since she graduated college, and for some reason those relationships never worked out for her.

I guess we have that one thing in common.  We suck at holding a relationship together.

Our families are close.  I wonder how long it will take before they’ll all start plotting to get us back together.

I’m going to run and hide the minute that starts happening.  I have no interest in her.  None.

This is about Ben, after all.  I’m making this move for him.  There’s no room for a relationship.  I’m going to concentrate all of my efforts on working hard, saving money, so we can get back on our feet.  Maybe, one day, we’ll be able to get a place of our own, and I won’t have to break my back doing farm work forever.

My father and I have always had a good relationship, but he’s a lot different when it comes to working for him, even if I am his son.  I already know how it’s going to work.  He’ll let me settle in for a few days, get Ben situated, but after that he’ll expect me to get up at 4:30 every morning to start work.  We spoke on the phone briefly the day after I broke down and called my mom.  He says he wants me to do the tractor runs in the fields after the morning routine.  That means six or seven hours in the hot sun, every day over the summer, on a hot piece of machinery, with nobody to talk to.  It’s one of the things I hated the most when I was in high school, and he’s forcing me into it again because he knows I don’t have a choice.  Arguing would only force him to point out that he’s doing me a favor.

I’ll just have to suck it up, for the good of my son.

“Da...da-ad.”

They’ve been helping him with some of his words at school.  I’m concerned at the new school they won’t work as well with him.  He’ll go back to incomplete phrases and babbled mumblings that nobody can understand.  I don’t let it show on my face though.  Since my breakdown at the diner, I’ve forced myself to get it together, to be stronger for my son.  I smile and pull him into my arms when he runs up to me with that proud smile of his, not hesitating to kiss him on the forehead and cheek.  

Then the doorbuzzer goes off, telling me there’s somebody downstairs waiting to be let up by me.

It’s gotta be her.

I put my son down, and sign out ‘our guest is here.’  He gets excited, goes to his chair at the table and patiently waits for dinner to begin.  It’s new and different for him, because we never have company over here.  It’s good that I’m doing it.  It will get him used to life in Wytheville, where there are always people coming and going from the house.  

“Hello?” I call through the intercom.

“Is this Justin? I don’t know if I have the right apartment.”

I laugh.  “No, I’m the serial killer a floor down.  Come on up.”

I hear her giggle as I buzz her in, and a few minutes later she’s knocking on my door.

When I open it, I see a woman I barely recognize.  She’s not in her usual get up.  I’ve always seen her in jeans and a casual top.  Tonight she’s in a skirt and a cute little tank.  She’s curled her usually straight, ponytailed hair.

And she looks amazing, even though I can’t tell her that.

“Hi.”  

I’m sure my expression is giving those feelings away.  I feel the color in my cheeks, and I can’t seem to stop staring.

“Hey.”  

We stand there for a moment, smiling stupidly at each other.  This feeling rushes through me, telling me that...that this is right.  That she’s right.

But I can’t stay here.  Ben has to come first.

“Sorry, come on in.” I laugh slightly and step aside, allowing her into the apartment.  “It’s not much.”

She looks around the studio quickly, before spotting my son sitting at the small dinner table, and signs out a hello to him.  “It’s good enough for what it is, Justin.  You don’t need to impress me.”

I just shrug.  “Must be those instincts that my parents drilled into me.  My father always says, if you don’t think your place is suitable for a lady, man up and take her out.”

I sound like a doofus.

“Sounds like a good guy.”  She takes a seat at the table next to my son.  “But in this city, you’re lucky to be able to afford rent at all.”

“You’re right.”  I nod and go over to the counter, so I can fix her a plate.  “Ben already ate, he’ll go down soon, but I waited for you.”

“Well thank you,” she laughs.  

I smile slightly at her when I finish putting together the two dinner plates, and carry them over to the table, placing one in front of her.  “All I have is water.  Sorry.”

“That’s fine.”

I pour us both glasses from the pitcher in the fridge, and finally, get a couple of cookies from the small jar and give them to Ben for his dessert before presenting her with her glass of water.  We all eat in silence for several moments.  Well, it’s more like I’m watching her eat.  Watching as her tongue glides over her lipsticked lips as she savors my meatloaf.  It really is the only thing I can cook well, thanks to my mother.  

“So um...”  Esmerelda begins awkwardly after a long sip of her water.  “When are you leaving?”

“End of next week.”  I pop some food into my mouth.  “We’re flying.”

She nods.  “I’m sure the move will be for the best.”

I shrug, look down at my food and push it around with my fork.  “It’s not like I have a choice.  Anyway...enough about my situation.  What about you?  All I know is your name,” I chuckle.  “Your first name.”

“Oh...” The color rises to her cheeks, and she smiles.  “Well, my last name is Warton.  I grew up in Boston.  My dad teaches English at Boston College, and my mom is a poet.  I went to NYU for Library Science, even though my parents wanted me to do something else.  I could have done anything, but I wanted to help people.  My senior year of high school I did a lot of volunteer work, and felt it was my calling.”

“That’s noble.  Nobody should hold it against you.”

“Well, my parents don’t really but...they always throw those subtle little hints at me, about their slight disappointment.  I let it roll off my shoulders though, especially now that I’ve gotten this job.  If I stay with the library long enough, my salary will grow.  I’d like to be director of a library one day.”

“Great.  So when I write my Pulitzer you’ll have me in for a reading or something, right?”

“Naturally.  I’ll put a big sign out front like they have for my mothers book signings.  Justin....oh...wait, I don’t know your last name either,” she laughs.

“It’s Timberlake,” I smile.  

“Justin Timberlake,” she sighs out.  “It has book cover potential.”

“I don’t know,” I smirk.  “Maybe one day, when he can take care of himself, I’ll be able to write that novel that’s been on the back burner for a couple of years.”

“You shouldn’t stop writing,” she says seriously.  “My mom almost did that after I was born, but she kept at it.  If she hadn’t, I doubt she would have a career right now.”
r32;“Your mom is a poet?” I ask her, the last name suddenly ringing a bell.  

“Tabitha Warton.  She’s written a couple of dozen poetry books.  A few of them have made the best sellers list.”

I slide my chair out excitedly, go to the bookcase across the studio where I keep all the books I own, running my fingers over the bindings until I find what I’m looking for.  I stare at the thing in disbelief.  I’m not big on poetry, but I picked this up one day and I couldn’t put it down.  Now I’m sitting here with the authors daughter, and realize what makes her so different.  “This book is probably in my top two.”  I sit back down and put it face up on the table top.  “This is your mothers work?”

She slides it closer to her and laughs slightly.  “It is.  Wow.  Here I was thinking only little old ladies read this stuff.”  She flips through the pages and stops on one randomly.  “Come to my door, call my name.  Come to my bed, shake me awake.  As the morning sky yawns, as the birds chirp away, as you’ve done, a countless times before.  Stand still, please don’t leave.  Let me have my fill of your face.”

She closes the book and takes a small breath.

“That’s a good one.  I read that one a lot,” I tell her.

She laughs slightly.  “Want to know what it’s about?”

“Sure.”

“Well you’ve read it all the way through, I suppose.”

“Of course.”

“It’s about the way she feels every time my father goes away on his business trips.  We’ve both known for years that they’re not for business, but for some reason she’s still with him.  The funniest thing is, she won a ton of awards for that one poem.”

Her life isn’t so picture perfect either.  Again, it’s one more thing we have in common.  “Why does she put up with it?”

She shrugs.  “I guess she loves him too much to leave him.”

It’s silent again.  She goes back to eating, and I push my food around the plate, my appetite suddenly gone.  I look over at Ben, and see the chocolate all over his face from the cookies.  “Messy boy.” I smile for him and sign it out as I say it.  “Sorry let me just get him cleaned up.”

Esmerelda finally looks up and notices what’s happened.  She smiles and laughs.  “He certainly knows how to put it away.”

“He’s got his fathers appetite,” I call back to her, as I take him over to the sink.  I wet a cloth and wipe his face as he scrunches up his nose.

“When did you know...that he was completely deaf?”

“They told us right after he was born.”

“His mother didn’t take it well, I guess?”

I finish wiping Ben’s mouth and sign for him to go get his pajamas on, which he does without a fight tonight, and I’m thankful.  Normally, he hates being told that he has to go to bed, but with a guest his mood is a little different.

 “Tory was never into working hard, at anything.  We met my freshman year at NYU, and I liked her because she was that typical party girl I could mess around with on the weekends.” I smirk, and take my seat at the table again.  “Then we found out she was pregnant.  We tried to make it work, but she was making me miserable, so I said I would move out, and give them money to live on so she could stay with Ben.  I had to drop out of school, and get a job in the mailroom at the Daily News.  It wasn‘t the journalist job I wanted, but I was still exposed to the industry, so I wasn’t completely let down.  It worked up until this year.  She got tired of missing out on her social agenda for Ben’s sake, and decided to give him to me for good.  I signed the custody papers a few days ago, and...I guess that’s the end of Tory in his life.”

“That’s....horrible.” She says sadly, looking me in the eyes.  

I shrug.  “I was upset for a couple of days, but you know...this is for the best.  He won’t be exposed to her, and she won’t be able to rub off on him, you know?  I’d rather him have the same values instilled in him that were instilled in me, and my parents can help with that.”

“You’re a great dad to him, Justin,” she says softly.

I shrug.  “Thanks, but if it weren’t for my parents, I wouldn’t be all that great.  He’d have to start going to public deaf education, and those are always overcrowded.  I wish I could have been a little more successful, gotten a better job, so we could stay.”

“It’s New York City.  Everything is too expensive.”

“Yeah. I guess so.  It’s not just the money...I mean, I just met you...now I’m leaving.”

She stares at me with that disbelief in her eyes that she’s so famous for.  I don’t get it.  She’s a pretty girl, who has a good head on her shoulders.  Why aren’t guys lined up around the block to date her?  

“We should keep in touch then,” she finally decides.  “Emails and...maybe phone calls.  I still feel like we barely know each other.”

“That’s because we don’t,” I smile.  “But long distance things almost never work out.”

She shrugs.  “We’re friends.”

“Yeah.”

We stare at each other, and suddenly, I’m walking towards her, forgetting to listen out for Ben, not concerned that he might catch the two of us in the moment.  Then I reach her, she seems frozen in place, and when I extend my arm, touch her face, I can feel her tremble a little.  “When’s the last time you did this?” I whisper.

“Did what?”

“Enjoyed somebody else’s company?”

“I can’t remember,” she croaks.

“Me either.”

Our lips touch.  I taste a hint of vanilla on her lips, savor the feeling of her smooth, silky skin under my finger tips.  A warm, comforting feeling fills me up inside as her hands pull my face down closer to hers, allowing the kiss to deepen.  This isn’t playful fun, something to keep us occupied.  This is more.  There’s emotion behind this kiss.  So much emotion, even though we’ve only just met.

And I’m leaving.

I pull back, and when I glance to the side, I see my son standing there in his striped footed pajamas, holding his prized teddy under his arm, staring at us like he doesn’t know what to think.

Idiot. You’re an idiot.

“I’m um...”  She trails off and runs a hand through her curly hair.  “I...I should go.”

“You don’t have to go.  I shouldn’t have...I mean...”

“You’re leaving.  It’s a bad idea.”

She’s right.  If we let this escalate tonight, somebody will get hurt, I’m sure.  Neither of us can afford that right now, either.

I know I have to let her go.

This just sucks, all around.

“Here...”  She goes back to the table quickly and picks up her mothers poetry book.  “Do you have a pen?”
r32;

I scramble for one, and give it to her with a trembling hand before I go pick my son up from the floor.  He stares at me as if to say ‘what are you doing, daddy?’

Daddy doesn’t know.

“I’m leaving you my email and phone number,” she tells me, as she writes on the inside cover of the book.  “Let’s write, okay?  And you can call me whenever you get a chance.”

I smile for her, but I know the reality.  It will hurt me too much to keep in contact with her like she wants.  We’ll be too far away, and I won’t be able to afford to come see her.  I also know hell would probably freeze over before she came to visit a town like Wytheville.

“Yeah, okay.” I nod.

“Thanks for dinner.”  She puts the book down once she’s finished, and picks up her purse from the place she left it.  Then she opens the door, ready to let herself out.  “Good luck, Justin,” she says, before signing the same thing to Ben, who signs out a thank you.

I can barely look at her.  “Good luck.”

The door closes, and I feel my heart sink down into the bowels of my soul.  It’s strange but I feel like I’ve just had something important ripped away from me.  Like I let an opportunity pass me by, an amazing one.  I’ve only felt this way one other time in my life...when I dropped out of school.  But what can I do?  I have a child to take care of, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.

Just like my writing, Esmerelda the Librarian will have to be put on the back burner now.

Probably forever.

“Da-ad.”

I smile, and kiss him.  

Back to reality.