One week had passed since that day. Nothing has changed much since then. My routine of not leaving the house unless I needed to get my mail is still the same. The only difference is that my relationship with Wendy upgraded from strangers to acquaintances.

What I find unusual is that despite knowing that I’m Quackgene, she doesn’t follow me on social media. I guess she doesn’t want to show what sort of art she makes. Well, it’s not like I was curious.

I think the best thing that came out of that new experience was getting inspiration for an art piece. Meeting and befriending Gustav was the best feeling in the world. In fact, I spent one week drawing a spectacular digital art piece of Gustav. It’s an intricate art piece of Gustav with a sunny background. I draw this piece with the inspiration that Gustav is like a sunny day.

Ding-dong!

One day, someone rings my doorbell. The noise startled me at first because I’m not used to hearing it. I wonder who it could be. My guest is Wendy who is dressed in a nice casual outfit consisting of a bright pink plaid shirt with black shorts that matched some of the plaid that accompanied the main color. The shirt is obnoxious to the eyes.

“Hey, Eugene, want to get some lunch?”

“Okay…”

She then asks, “Can Jay come too?” Her eyes brighten. This is bad; I think she has a crush on him.

“He’s at work and he already has plans.” That’s a lie, but it’s better than Jay coming in to be annoying.

Wendy pouts. “Bummer.” She sighs and then asks me, “What do you want to eat?”

“Anything’s fine…I guess…” I have no particular food preferences. I like everything.

Wendy groans. “That’s the worst thing you can say to someone who wants to eat with you.”

“Sorry…” I feel bad, but I did give her my answer.

“Do you like Japanese ramen? There’s a new store that opened nearby.”

My familiarity with ramen is limited to Korean instant ramen. Jay would often buy some for me or I’d order them online. I prefer cup noodles compared to the packaged ones that can be found in Korean supermarkets. Cooking them in a pot is such a hassle; I like the convenience of just boiling hot water and waiting for the noodles to cook.

Because of my limited knowledge, I’ve never tried authentic Japanese ramen. I’ve always seen pictures of them and they always made me hungry because of how pretty the bowls looked. I am enticed to try some.

“Sure.”

“Let’s go, then!”

“Can I get changed first?”

“I’ll be waiting in the lobby, then!”

What the fuck do I wear when going out to eat? I’ve never eaten with a woman outside of my family before! I rush to my closet. I don’t own many clothes. The nicest shirt I own right now is this plain black T-shirt that I bought online a few months ago. I think I can wear this with jeans. Her invitation is so abrupt that I don’t have time to take a shower. I think it’s okay to put on cologne?

Why am I behaving like a child? In five years, I’ll be thirty in a few years, yet I am behaving like a teenager going out on his first date. Perhaps, deep down, I had longed for these types of interactions. I don’t remember the last time I went out with a friend—I don’t even have friends at the moment.

Because Wendy and I have something in common, a part of me wants to become her friend. Another part of me hesitates and holds back on her because of the pain and sorrow I had received throughout my childhood. The experiences in my life caused me to distrust people, but Wendy, despite her secrets and personality, seems genuine. I want to trust her. Maybe I am not as distrusting as I assumed to be; maybe I am lonely.

The black shirt and jeans combination looks fine to me. I finish up my outfit grabbing a small backpack that I put my wallet, sketchbook and phone into. I sling it over my shoulders and I believe I am finished.

I put on slippers, grab my keys, and lock my door. I head out towards the lobby where Wendy was talking with the receptionist lady. The receptionist girl is a young lady too, so I assume they are friends.

The receptionist notices me, which causes Wendy to notice me. With a big smile on her face, she greets me again. “Are you ready?” She asks.

I’m a bit uncomfortable speaking to someone outside of my apartment, so I could only nod in response. Wendy did not seem to mind. She turns to the receptionist. “We’ll be going. Bye, Rachel!”

“ Have fun, Wendy!”

We head to the elevator and then the parking lot. Wendy is the first to get out. “Want to take my car or yours?”

“I…don’t have a car.” This is very embarrassing to say, but I need to be honest.

Wendy looks quite exasperated. Not having a car at my age seems like blasphemy, I know. Please don’t condemn me. I just have no need for a car since I don’t go outside much.

“If…it makes you feel better. I have a driver’s license.” I did not say I couldn’t drive; I commuted to school during college, but my need for a vehicle diminished over time.

Her expression reverts back to normal as she smiles. “It’s okay. I can drive, then.”

I follow her to where her car is parked. She has a sedan that’s quite an older model. There is no digital screen that I usually see in modern cars. The  material used for the interior is softer than the smooth leather I am used to in Jay’s car; I can also smell a slight citrus fragrance from the car freshener dangling in the back mirror.

I belt up in the passenger’s seat and wait for Wendy to turn on the engine. Her seat was positioned to where her knees were touching the area around the steering wheel; it looks quite uncomfortable in my eyes.

“Let’s go!” Wendy yells cheerfully as she moves her car out of the parking spot and onto the road.

I roll down the window and take in the air. The sky is clear and blue. The wind gently blows on my face. I think today’s going to be a good day.