Miss Walker hasn’t even looked in my direction for the last 3 minutes, so when the waiter comes by I ask for the check.

The only thing that kept me from waving the waiter over myself was the fear that I might offend her - if she does care what I think even slightly - and make her think I was in a hurry to leave.

I’d hate to make her feel like I wanted to get rid of her…

Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s a combination of both of us, but I really really need to get out of here.

So, is this conjured casualness a lie or just good manners?

Many parts of ‘common courtesy’ have felt like lies at times, but we were raised to be respectful and diffident.

I don't know how to be anything else.

The waiter glances at Miss Walker to see if she has anything to say before he leaves for the check, but she doesn’t say a word, even as she sits a little more upright to shake her head in his direction.

 Okay, you’re killing me, Miss Walker...

This time the waiter doesn’t even try to hide his disgust, glaring at me like I did something to her.

Maybe I did. I don’t know. 

I don’t even have the energy to feel defensive as long as this doesn’t spiral out of control. I just want to go home.

As soon as the waiter’s gone Essence reaches into her purse to pull out her wallet.

And…I know I could control my feelings a little better, but I guess I’m just worn out from trying to keep them in check all night.

For some reason, the second she reaches for her wallet, I feel angry, trying my best to stay calm as the color rushes to my face, and I hold up my hand to stop her.

“I asked you out on this date, Miss Walker. I’ll pay for the meal.”

She looks at me with an expression I’m not going to pretend I can decipher, but immediately puts her wallet back in the bag.

Not a word of argument, but that doesn’t make me feel a whole lot better.

Is she testing me, or what?

I don’t need to be tested.

But I’m not even going to pretend I know what’s going on in her head.

It takes longer than I prefer for the meal to be finished and paid for and for me and Ms. Walker to get outside onto the sidewalk.

It’s stopped snowing at least, but it’s gonna be a long walk back to her apartment and a longer walk back to mine.

I’d just take a taxi, but the environment. The environment. You can walk. Nicky Giang…

I try my best to rekindle something like a conversation even if it’s just its most rudimentary form, as Miss Walker glances down the dark street in the direction we came from two hours ago.

“I’ll walk you back to your apartment if that's okay with you. It’s pretty late to be walking home alone.”

Though she may not feel any safer with me. I might as well offer.

“I’ll take an Uber.”

That…works too, I guess.

I want to stop talking, but ‘uncomfortable and quiet’ is not one of my settings.

“I’ll just wait with you until your ride arrives then.”

It’s really too late for a woman to wait around alone anywhere.

But she doesn’t say anything else, or give any response but a subtle nod, so neither do I. 

This has been what we call a dismal failure. 

I literally didn’t even know a date could go this poorly. My shoulders are raised almost to my ears and I have to make a point to relax so I look a little less like a toy soldier standing at attention.

Yup. I am the king of suave…

Glancing up at Miss Walker, I see that she’s pulled out her phone again, presumably to contact the Uber, but her left hand is fidgeting abstractedly with her hair. Coiling it around her slender fingers and then uncoiling it again.

It doesn’t matter. Your chance is gone if you ever even had one.

But that doesn’t change the fact that she looks like an angel under the streetlight, with the faint glow around her, playing off the shimmery places in her dress’s lace embroidery.

Hah, I remembered the word this time, Cocoa.

Maybe it’s just the shadows mixing into the black of her hands and her hair that make her seem larger than life right now.

But I’m just glad she can’t see my face. 

It would make everything worse.

Her own expression almost looks drowsy, though otherwise still as blank and emotionless.

I guess she is pretty tired.

Still, it’s a little different than the expression she’s worn all night up to this point, in between her fake smiles in response to my horrible jokes and the sort of frowning turn of her eyebrows and that statue-esque deadpan…

For some reason, my mind goes back to her question about her sister.

“She’s prettier, right?”

Seems kind of out of character for the disinterest she showed me the rest of the night. Not that you can judge anyone’s character from one date, I guess.

But all I keep finding myself thinking is how…

How could she possibly not know how beautiful she is?

Jeez…

We’ll get over it, Dominic.

But I kinda just wish I could convince her, or at least tell her. Even if she’s not interested in me.

Honey would say it was a tragedy for anyone to live their whole life and never realize it.

But that’s not the sort of thing I should 'throw out there,' after the evening we just had.

I couldn’t even get a genuine smile out of her one time, let alone a laugh, and horrible as that is for me, it must have been a million times worse for her.

Seems a little…heavy? Maybe?

Maybe…

…if we ever talk again…

Next time I’ll make you smile, if nothing else.

Whooo.

I blow into my chilly hands as Miss Walker’s Uber arrives and wave mildly once she’s gotten into the car before turning to make my own way home.

Get home safe.

Fingers crossed. 

By the time I get to the apartment, Cocoa is washing the dishes from some sort of new buckwheat flour brownie she was baking. The kitchen still smells like browned butter, toasted flour, and raw sugar, and Cocoa’s hoodie, i.e. my hoodie, looks like it’s been liberally dusted with a number of those things.

Thank goodness not butter…

Since she has her earbuds in, it takes her about 20 seconds to notice me, but the instant she does her face lights up like fireworks, only for the expression to diverge just as quickly.

Her eyes vacillate between curiosity and confusion, as I give her an unsteady smile.

“How did the date go?” She frowns slightly, trying to assess my expression.

“Eh,” I kind of shrug, kicking my shoes off and heading straight for my room.

Cocoa follows me from the kitchen, wiping her wet hands off on her jeans, still asking questions.

“Eh? What is ‘eh?’ Since when is ‘eh’ an answer? Was it good or bad? What did you two talk about?”

“Eh,” I mutter again and she rolls her eyes, grabbing my shoulders to make me look at her. I roll my eyes.

“Okay...if your brain was somewhere else so you can’t remember a word of dialog that was exchanged between the two of you then what did she look like? An angel that strayed too far from heaven? Was she ravishing?”

I frown at her even as my ears redden, and I break free from her deceptively strong grip to throw myself onto my bed.

“Eh.”

“Is that a yes?” She teases plopping down onto my desk chair and sliding it up to the edge of my bed so she can poke my leg with her foot.

“It’s an ‘eh,’” I roll my eyes again holding my hands up toward the ceiling, “It confirms and denies nothing.”

“Your face confirms it, Nicky,” Cocoa laughs, starting to poke my face now with two fingers, one on either cheek until I grab her hands. “What was she wearing? How did she do her hair?”

My mind rolls back over vague impressions of some sort of embroidery and lace…but I don’t know what the dress shape, cut, whatever, is called and I’m not about to try to describe it. I’m miserable enough right now.

“She looked nice,” I just sigh a little heavily, before glancing over at Cocoa, wondering if she’ll tease me for the sigh too.

“What? Now you're answering the questions I asked earlier?” she raises her eyebrows, “I already got my answer to that one when you blushed. I asked what she was wearing. And isn’t ‘nice’ kind of an understatement?”

“You’ve never even met her, how could you know whether it was an understatement or not?”

I’m a little more exasperated than I want to be, but as I glance up at her, I can see the worry behind her teasing laugh.

Ah, there’s a reason Honey says we’re two versions of the same person...

It’s like her eyes are asking, “You were so happy when you left. Why aren’t you happy now?”

Do I have any justification for being unhappy? 

It’s not like Miss Walker owed me anything, I guess.

Sitting up quickly, I cross my legs, with a brief sigh, and stretch my arms out. Cocoa watches all my actions with her eyebrows knit together, just a tad, like she’s expecting to find…something in my appearance that hints at something having gone wrong.

I know. I know.

They’d be furious if I told them this chick was toxic. They’ve always gotten so angry at me whenever I hurt myself. 

It’s a bad habit.

But honestly, I don’t even know what this girl was or is.

I just sigh again, and try to pick the words that will be the most honest while still putting her mind at ease.

"It wasn’t exactly ideal..."

Cocoa raises her eyebrows, so I talk faster, “She wasn’t mean or anything, but she seemed kind of…out of it. She was probably just burned out. Apparently, her neighbor is loud.”

Cocoa nods slowly but she seems to relax a little at that, laughing exhaustedly, “Well, we can relate to that, for sure.” 

She looks like she’s going to say something else, absentmindedly rolling down the sleeve of her hoodie until it covers her hands, but then she changes her mind and just smiles brightly.

“The brownie trifles are ready. Honey’s coming over to eat all our food again, so we have to eat fast. You’re still hungry, right?”

“Ugh, when am I not?” I laugh, sliding on my slippers and following Cocoa back to the kitchen where she wraps her hand in a dish towel to pull two icy-cold trifles out of the freezer.

“Oh, don’t be a wuss, grab it with your bare hands. Like yeti woman,” I tease in what I consider a cave-manish voice.

“Mm, I think I’ll pass,” she frown-smiles, “I know this was after your time, but we have these miracle inventions called towels. They keep us from having to grow up into bears-Nicky!”

She almost shrieks as I put my ice-cold hand on the side of her face, and I take advantage of the moment to steal the chocolate-covered strawberry off the top of her trifle.

“Dominic, that one was mine!” She fusses, shoving me sideways with a force that almost makes me choke.

“Please, heaven knows you ate a dozen of these while you were baking, and these were all that survived to the end.”

She rolls her eyes, but she can’t deny it and doesn’t even try to argue when I eat her chocolate-covered pretzel stick too.

Still, we’ve both only gotten in a spoonful when we hear Honey walking down the hall.

“She’s here,” Cocoa whispers, mischievously, “Eat faster and she’ll flip.”

I roll my eyes and take another large mouthful, but in an instant, Honey has unlocked the door and bursts in with an accusing “A-ha!”