After Rose left (making sure I verified the time of my date), I cleaned up lunch and took a shower. Confession: I hate taking showers. They’re just so much time and effort. I have the thickest hair on the planet, and it takes hours to dry.
Once I was dressed, I swiped on some eyeliner—making a cat eye with a little swoop at the end. Then I grabbed a glittery teal eyeshadow and extended the end of the swoop. I blinked and looked in the mirror. There. Properly fancy.
I heard my dad’s voice echo through the hallway. “Clara! He’s here!”
Why my dad had to get home in time for my date was beyond me. Cosmic timing. I grabbed my mini black leather backpack and headed downstairs.
I stopped in my tracks. Oh boy. There was Hamlet at the front door, grasping yet another bouquet of flowers. My dad was holding the door open, and they both looked up at me at the same time.
“What is this, some teen movie?” I cracked, suddenly feeling so nervous that I almost tripped down the stairs. I saved it with a little jig, but their weird expressions confirmed that it was not a smooth move.
I stopped in front of my dad and pointed at him. “No speeches, no warnings, no anything. None of that paternalistic stuff.”
My dad grinned and leaned against the doorway. “I’m paternal by biology, Shorty.”
“You know what I mean,” I said while pulling on my sandals, avoiding Hamlet.
Suddenly a bunch of flowers were in my line of vision and I sprang up, knocking them out of Hamlet’s hands. “Sorry!” I bent over to pick them up at the same time he did, and we bonked heads. Ugh. What was happening to me? I was never this flustered! Hamlet managed to re-create the bouquet and held it out to me again, a lock of hair falling into his eyes.
They were a spray of white snapdragons. “Thank you. They’re pretty,” I said as I took them from him.
He flushed deeply, red creeping up from the collar of his crisp, white button-down shirt. The sleeves were rolled up, and the shirt fit him perfectly, paired with dark blue shorts that hit his knees. He looked like he was about to make an Asian cameo in a Nicholas Sparks movie. (Did they have Asian cameos?)
After I got the flowers in a vase, I rushed out the door with Hamlet, waving at my dad. “See you, Pai.”
Before the door shut, I heard him holler, “Come home in time for breakfast!”
Now it was my turn to blush. What even. I couldn’t make eye contact with Hamlet. I just flew down the apartment stairs.
When we reached the sidewalk, I stopped abruptly. “Did you drive?” I asked.
A car beeped in the street. “Yup,” Hamlet said as he walked briskly toward the sound.
When we reached his car, I held up my hands. “Whoa, mama.” The car in front of us was a slick white Lexus. “This is your car?!”
He held the passenger door open, pressing his lips together. “Yeah. Um, my parents overcompensate for not spending enough time with me.”
As I slipped into the leather interior, I thought about how at odds Coffee Kiosk Hamlet was with this car. Who knew he was some rich kid? It annoyed me, and I felt uneasier with each passing second until he got into the driver’s seat. I was never comfortable with people who had a lot of money. I knew I shouldn’t care, but it was just one of those things.
“So, um, I didn’t want to assume you would eat where I picked, so I made a few different reservations,” Hamlet said, placing his hands on the wheel but not yet starting the car. “They are Three Leaf, Café Lola, or Hawkins & Post.”
My lips curved up into a little smile. The trifecta of hipster restaurants. Hamlet trying his hardest. “Um, I guess we could try Café Lola? I haven’t been to Highland Park in a while.”
“All right, Café Lola it is!” he announced cheerfully as he headed toward the 110. Highland Park was north of us, between here and Pasadena, where the office park was. He tapped the steering wheel. “I’ve heard good things about this place.”
“From who?”
“From … people.”
I opened my window, letting in a gust of warm summer evening air. “Like real people you know or the Internet?”
He laughed, all ease. “Okay. I just read the Yelp reviews.” Then I saw him shut off the AC with a near-imperceptible flick of his wrist.
“Oh, I didn’t know you had the AC on, sorry,” I said, rolling up the window.
“That’s okay! The night air feels good!” Hamlet said, rolling down his own window.
Discomfited by his niceness, I opened my window halfway as some kind of awkward compromise. We passed the next couple of minutes in strained silence. Then Hamlet picked up his phone and swiped a few times and music blasted, startling me.
“Sorry!” He immediately lowered the volume.
After a few seconds, I felt this irritation creeping in as I watched Arroyo Park flash by my window. What in the world was annoying me so much? Then a male voice screeched.
I cringed. “Are we listening to IMAGINE DRAGONS?”
Hamlet grinned, glancing over at me. “Yeah! Aren’t they great?”
“Um, yes.” I tried my best to keep my voice neutral.
His smile faltered. “Well, I can change it,” he said, fumbling for the phone while he kept his eyes on the road.
You are a butt, Clara. I took the phone from him. “Here, it’s fine. You should concentrate on driving. Sorry, I’ve got the worst poker face.” I snuck a glance at Hamlet, his profile lit from the side in two-second intervals by the streetlamps. His eyelashes were short but insanely thick, his nose straight, his mouth kind of perfect. And at the moment, he was chewing on his bottom lip, brow furrowed.
Pretty sure I was already ruining this date. “So, um, where do you live again?”
“San Gabriel.” His eyes stayed on the road—the wild curves of the 110 were barely lit by the headlights.
I raised my eyebrows. “Whoa. The SGV. Pretty far out there.”
“Yup.”
Monosyllabic and Sullen Hamlet was unnerving. “I guess there’s a lot of good Chinese food, though.” No duh, Clara. The San Gabriel Valley had a big Asian population.
His expression basically relayed the same thing.
“We could use better Chinese food in Echo Park.” The desperation was palpable. “Also Korean food. Actually, that’s kind of my dad’s dream—opening up a good Korean place in our neighborhood. Although, yeah, we’re so close to K-Town that it seems ridiculous. But, it’ll be like the KoBra, Korean with Brazilian influences.” I found myself unable to stop speaking, wanting to fix the jerkiness of my behavior. Again, something I didn’t usually care about, but suddenly did with Hamlet nearby.
My rambling worked.
“That sounds like a really good idea,” Hamlet said, a little cautiously. “Your dad’s a great cook; he could do it.”
And while I knew my dad was good at what he did, hearing Hamlet say it out loud warmed me up from the inside. “Thanks,” I said. Then flushed. “I mean, not that you were complimenting me, but you know what I mean…”
Hamlet laughed. “I love how you always have to point out awkward moments.”
Jeez. “Wow, and you like to point out stuff in general.”
“Yeah, I do!”
I couldn’t help laughing, and he looked over at me with the biggest, most genuine grin I have ever seen on another human. Sheesh, this guy. We got to the restaurant and were greeted by the hottest woman I have ever seen in my life. I am a straight girl, and my jaw dropped as she led us to our table, her long black hair swishing above a tiny leather miniskirt. I glanced at Hamlet, expecting a drop of drool to be hanging from his mouth, but he was looking around the restaurant, oblivious to the supermodel in front of us.
Point one.
Hot Hostess sat us down at a tiny marble table, like one you’d find in a Parisian café or something. Our knees were touching. Hamlet made a few not-so-subtle attempts to space us out a bit more, but he hit the back of his chair on the one behind him—which was unfortunate because the woman in it was wearing a giant hat, which toppled off.
“Sorry!” he said, reaching down to pick it up. She yanked it out of his hands and turned around with a terse little “God!”
Hamlet flushed.
Yeah, I don’t think so. The nervousness of this date melted away when faced with an opportunity to annoy someone who deserved it. I pulled a little leaf off the succulent on our table and tossed it over Hamlet’s head so it landed on the brim of the woman’s hat. Hamlet’s eyes widened. I grabbed a small handful of leaves off the plant (sorry, guy, but you’re tough, you’ll recover) and tossed them one by one onto her hat. It was dark enough in there that neither she nor her friends noticed.
“Can I take your drink order?” A server popped up next to us, and I tucked my handful of leaves under the table. Hamlet let out a snort of laughter, and the server was unamused.
Hamlet fumbled for the menu. “Oh, let me see if…”
“I’m assuming no alcohol?” Unamused Server interrupted.
“Actually, lots of it,” I said with a wink.
Still unamused. “Do you have an ID?”
“Yes, I do. I am a citizen of the United States.”
Hamlet stammered, “Ah, ha-ha. Um, we’ll start with water, thank you.”
The server shot me a dirty look before leaving our table.
When I looked over at Hamlet, his head was dropped into his hands. I cleared my throat. “Sorry, this is what I’m like in public.”
But when he looked up, I was surprised to see he was smiling. “You’re so funny.”
Again, just … announcing thoughts here. I reached for the menu so that I didn’t have to respond. As I strained my eyes to read in the dimly lit room (a tiny tea candle was the only light at our table), Hamlet’s phone rang.
He glanced down at it and looked up at me apologetically. “One sec, it’s my grandmother.”
Oh, a casual grandma call during a date. No biggie. He talked in a low voice, but I caught snippets of worried conversation.
I glanced back down at the menu. Everything was kind of expensive. I checked out the appetizers to see if they were any cheaper. Hm, the citrus salad or literally anything else for dinner? Choices, choices.
“Hey.”
I glanced up to see Hamlet with an actual frown on his face. “What’s up?” I asked uneasily.
“Sorry, but would you mind changing the date to … dinner at my grandparents’?”
Would I mind doing what? My face must have said it all, because he looked down. “Ah, never mind. Sorry, I think we’ll have to do this another time. I’ve gotta get over there right now.”
“Is everything all right?” I asked.
He sighed. “Probably. I don’t know. My grandpa’s grumpy because he’s been sick a few days and insists on going out when he shouldn’t. My grandma wants me home to distract him.”
And I don’t know whether it was the little smile or the worry in his eyes at odds with that smile that made me say, “Sure. Let’s go there, then.”
He gaped at me. “Really?”
“Yeah. This place gives me hives, anyway.”
He laughed and scooted his chair out so quickly that he bonked into the lady again. Before she could say anything, he tucked his chair back in and said, “Sorry. Nice hat.”
We rushed out of there, laughing.