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THINGS ARE HOT FOR a Wednesday, but for some reason, my gaze keeps traveling to Annabelle in her booth, absorbed in a book. Nobody else seems to even notice that she’s here.
There are a couple business suits that come in after work, but the majority of tonight’s clients are neighborhood people. And hipsters. Always the hipsters. But they’re all neighborhood too.
The women tonight are mid-twenties and the kind of girl you might find at Starbucks or REI. The northwest vibe is strong tonight—and they are all fresh faced and pretty. The kind of girl you take hiking or home to mom. The kind of girl my mother would love me to bring home. I’m beginning to worry that I might never want to bring anyone home to meet Mom. I’m busy, yeah. And I’m over the being someone’s boy toy phase. But that doesn’t mean I can’t date. I’m just not feeling it.
My eyes travel to the invisible woman in the booth. I don’t know why. She hasn’t moved. I hope she’s breathing.
There’s something very soft about her face. She’s restful. And she can concentrate like I’ve never seen. Tanaya says she’s on academic scholarship and makes Dean’s List every semester. It doesn’t surprise me. I wonder what it would be like to have someone pay that kind of concentration to you.
Why does it bother me that she never looks at me? Am I vain? Shallow? I spend most nights trying to avoid being looked at but bristle when she doesn’t notice me. It makes no sense.
I’m surrounded by pretty women my age who smile at me and ask me how I am and lean into me when they’re talking, and I can’t stop looking at the girl who hardly says two words to me a night despite the fact that I walk her home every evening. She’s got no interest in me or any other dude at the bar, and maybe that’s what I find so interesting. She’s not seeking anything. She’s just doing her thing.
Tanaya draws a draft next to me, so I ask her, “What’s she reading?”
“Huh?”
“Annabelle. What’s she reading?”
Tanaya shrugs. “I don’t know. School stuff probably. She should be in better shape considering how heavy her books are. I tried picking up her backpack once and threw my shoulder out.”
I laugh, and she moves along. I immediately start worrying about Annabelle hurting herself with her backpack and have to stop myself. What the fuck is even wrong with me? She’s a grown woman. Not my responsibility. I’m already feeling weird every night I leave her in that apartment, now I’m worried about whether or not she’s lifting with her knees?
Not. My. Problem.
“Hi, Anker.”
I blink as the face in front of me comes into view. “Hi, Harmony.”
I get her normal order up while she engages me in conversation. She’s nice. Pretty. She remembers that I’m taking business classes and even asks about Mr. Costanza’s dog. She’s the kind of girl who laughs a lot, but not as a deflect. She’s just happy. Got a smile for everyone. She’d be a great date. An even better girlfriend.
But I look past her and notice the way the low lighting in the bar sort of attaches to Annabelle in an unexpected way. Like a sparkle almost.