The next Friday I practically ran to the bar again.
Jake and Alice are here, Miranda texted me.
I had read plenty of times about butterflies in the stomach but had always regarded it as fiction—something that existed only on the pages of novels. As I walked the path to the bar, I felt my skin prickling, the air around me crackling with anticipation.
Jake texted me a few times after we met in the park. He asked how my day was, he wished me good night. That was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me, and my heart sang with unfamiliar songs.
When I entered the bar I saw Alice and Jake sitting at the usual table, though none of the usual faces currently joined them.
I walked slowly toward them.
“Hey,” I said.
Alice looked at me with her huge eyes and a warm smile lit up her face.
Jake just stood, and a few moments later I was in his arms again. He hugged me, murmuring a greeting into my hair.
That was a most peculiar way of saying hello. And I felt my cheeks turning crimson as I leaned into him.
He released me and without saying a word pulled out a chair for me, next to him.
“Excuse my brother,” Alice said, “he becomes too comfortable too fast with a person he likes. And I keep telling him that it’s not always returned.”
My face was burning already, but after her words, I think even the tips of my hair blushed.
“It’s okay,” I said, my voice trembling a bit.
Miranda and Brian stood in the far corner of the bar talking to a group of people. When I noticed them, Miranda gave me the dirtiest smile I had ever seen and a wink. A nervous laugh escaped me.
Brian motioned to our table, and the group made their way across the bar to us. In a blur of names that I immediately forgot, they seated themselves around us.
“Emily, come help me at the bar, please,” Miranda said.
I stood and walked with her.
“How’s your boyfriend?” she asked.
“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, blushing again.
Miranda winked. “What was about that hug? Just so you know, you look sexy together.”
“It’s just his way of saying hello,” I tried to justify.
“Just lift your head next time he says, hello, and it’ll be a perfect kiss. God, I am so happy for you. All these firsts, so exciting.”
“You say that as though you and Brian have been together for fifty years.”
“Sometimes it feels like it, and I love that about us. But the firsts, will you tell me everything? I’m going to live my fantasies through you,” her voice pitched up in excitement and she looked to me with a cheeky smile.
“Is it me or is everyone trying to embarrass me today?” I asked.
“It’s you,” Miranda replied and laughed.
Back at the table, Brian was talking to Jake, a determined look on his face as he waved his hands trying to explain one of his mad theories. Alice was cornered by the two men who had joined us, the raw hunger evident in their eyes. Miranda landed between them when we went back, like a mothering hen, and almost shooed the men away. Alice looked relieved.
I imagined how difficult it was to be so beautiful, always attracting attention for your looks, not the person behind them. Even when she was wearing a plain black shirt and jeans, her long silky hair wafted down her shoulders and her gray eyes flashed like a stormy sky.
“Jake told me you speak Ukrainian,” I said as I sat across from her, by Jake’s side.
Alice turned to me and something flickered in her eyes, her features relaxing almost immediately.
“Yes, and I’m learning Polish too,” she said. “I even try writing in Ukrainian, mostly poems.”
Finally. Somebody but me was blushing.
Miranda scooted over to us.
“You’re like an onion,” Miranda blurted.
I burst out laughing.
“You write poems in a different language, and Miranda hasn’t even learned how to express herself in her mother tongue,” I said.
“Oh sorry, I didn’t mean the smell. I just meant, I bet you’ve made many men cry,” Miranda continued.
“You see, she’s awful with words,” I said to Alice who blushed even more.
“I mean that every time I meet you, more and more layers of you appear,” Miranda said quickly. “Like studying design is the first one, then still art and those beautiful photos, and now Ukrainian poems. What will be the next revelation?”
“I’m not that layered,” Alice said, pushing a lock of hair out of her face.
“Can you read one of your poems to us? I’m sure no one here will understand a word you say, but I’m curious how it sounds,” Miranda said.
Alice looked at me for a second.
“Please?” I begged.
She nodded and retrieved her phone, tapping on the Notes app. Alice cleared her throat and started to read, softly, so only Miranda and I could hear. But in a few moments, the whole crowd gathered around us, hushed, looking at Alice. Her voice lulled in unfamiliar flow, the words I had no idea the meaning of, rhymed, her quiet voice growing stronger. I looked at her, the impossible beauty of the woman, full lips forming the words in a foreign language and everything around dimmed, as I listened to the spell.
When she finished, the air boomed into a roar of applause. And when Alice looked up, she looked directly at me. I clapped hard as a warm feeling pumped in my veins.