Get It Right

Holden

That question takes me by surprise. I’ve learned so much about Dina on this atypical first date, but for some reason, her allowing me to see where she lives feels like she’s breaking down a wall. One she’s carefully crafted that she doesn’t often allow people to see behind.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

Dina’s smile is small, but so pure and definitely welcomed. The way the apples of her cheeks glow under the late afternoon sun gives her natural beauty a whole new dimension. She nods in the opposite direction, then starts walking south.

“Do you normally take guys home on the first date?” The words spill from my mouth without giving my brain a chance to catch up.

Before I can clarify the fact I’m joking, Dina retorts, “No. No one has ever… never mind. I can find my way from here.” She strides a few feet in front of me, not sparing me a glance. Fury is a good alternative to stilts, because her legs seem to increase in length and tempo, making her walk at a pace I can’t keep up with.

Why can’t I get anything right today? Misinterpreted bad jokes. Inappropriate lines of questioning. One awkward conversation after the next. Yet, this has still been the most enjoyable date I’ve ever been on. She can’t leave like this.

“Dina, wait. That’s not what I meant. It was just a terrible joke. Not that I’d have an issue if you brought anyone home on a first date. That’s totally your prerogative. I mean…” I scrub my hands over my face as I try to keep up, giving me pause to find the right words. “Please, let me start over.”

She halts her steps before turning to face me. Her serious scowl is as intimidating as it is adorable. “Dickens, maybe this was a mistake. Obviously, we both have a lot going on and should stay focused on our studies. This…” She sighs, pulling her shoulders back to straighten her posture. “I can’t let anything get in my way. This has been my only goal for the past nine years. I need to do this to prove…”

I wait for her to finish her thought, but she doesn’t, so I prompt her. “Prove what?”

“That I can. That I’m not the damaged girl… No, you know what? Forget it. I just… this was a bad idea. Good luck with your PhD, Dickens. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

Instead of chasing after her, encouraging her to finish what she was saying, make peace before she walks away, or anything I should do, I stand on the sidewalk and watch her back retreat down the pathway that connects to Fort York Boulevard. A minute later, she’s disappeared and I’m left holding onto a bag with half a dog cookie and a stuffed tree stump.

My walk home, navigating through late-afternoon traffic, feels like it’s ten times farther than it is. I don’t know why. It could be the disappointment of how our day ended. It could be my injured pride.

Instead of facing my own life, I dive into research on the cultural development of Eastern Europe in the seventeenth century, hoping to distract myself.

But as interesting as history can be, right now, it can’t compete with the reality of my present, or the unknown of my future.

My thumbs hover over the glowing screen, itching to send Dina a message. I want to apologize for my stupid joke, but I don’t think that was the entire problem. She’s always been one to dish out colourful comments and insults before, always taking them in jest. There’s something more to what happened on Friday, leaving me equal parts wanting to get answers and wanting to honour her wishes.

I resign myself to respecting her space, but if I don’t hear from her within the next few days, I’ll find a way to talk to her.

“What’s wrong with your face?” my dear brother asks as he walks through the living room.

“Genetics. You’re one to talk.”

He stops behind the sofa, untying the apron he wears as part of his work uniform. “No. Why do you look like you just sat on a toilet seat that someone else warmed up?”

“That’s… oddly specific.”

“You know what I mean. You look like you’re trying to decide between two uncomfortable situations.”

I stare at Boyd as he starts to unbutton his white shirt, hoping he’ll lose interest in my face and walk away. He doesn’t. He continues until he’s standing in front of me with his button-up undone, then tosses his apron over the back of the couch and takes a seat beside me.

“I know things have been a little weird between us, but I’m still your brother. I still care.”

That’s news to me. I thought we barely qualified as roommates, and even then, we make it work because we’re both busy enough to limit our waking hours at home together. Even if I had gotten the impression in any of the last seven years that my brother wanted anything to do with me, there’s nothing he can do to fix a failed first date.

“It’s nothing. I’m just brain fried from studying and stressed about these exams. So I guess you’re right. I have to choose between studying more, or staying here for this conversation.” As soon as the words are out and I see Boyd’s shoulders droop, I have a flash of remorse, but not enough to vocalize an apology. I walk toward the stairs, only glancing back to see my big brother lean back on the couch and cover his face with his hands.

I’m a jerk. But years of little brother shaming made me more resistant to guilt trips. Plus, it’s not an untruth. My exams are next month, so it’s understandable I’d be worried about them.

My familial relationships are just one other thing I can’t seem to get right lately. So I’m better off focusing on something I can.

As I reach the top of the stairs, my phone chimes, and it wouldn’t surprise me if it’s my sister texting me to tell me Boyd tattled, and now she’s angry with me. The walls between our houses are far too thin. Word travels fast.

The photo of a decimated stuffed squirrel brightens up my mood as much as the phone screen.

Minnie: I have a sad boy on my hands.

Holden: You’d think he’d be happy. Mission accomplished.

I turn right for my bedroom, rather than left toward my office, and throw myself on my unmade bed, awaiting a reply.

Minnie: He’s been moping around for hours. I don’t think he’s going to recover from this.

Something about that message feels like maybe she’s talking about more than just her dog. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part. If Boyd’s reaction is anything to go by, I’ve been moping around, too, but that doesn’t mean she has.

A photo of Nacho lying on a bed with a ratty-looking quilt and mismatched pillowcases makes me feel bad for the guy. He does look like his entire world has fallen apart.

Minnie: Have you ever seen a sadder face?

I contemplate how to respond, but ultimately decide to go for it.

Holden: Yes. When I look in the mirror.

I screwed up.

Once the words are sent, I tap the screen, wanting to take them back, but it’s too late. For five minutes, I stare at the phone, wondering if service in the city has gone down or if I forgot to pay my phone bill and it’s suddenly been shut off. I can’t take it anymore, so I go to the bathroom to brush my teeth, leaving my phone on the counter.

What’s the saying? A watched pot never boils? I think the principle applies to text messages, too.

Finally.

Minnie: You didn’t screw up. Promise. It’s me.

That’s something I hadn’t considered—the possibility that she thought any of our disaster date was her fault. I was under the impression it was pretty obvious the entire debacle was on me. But maybe she feels the same way.

Holden: Can we try again?

I rush to add, No pressure.

What is it about the words “no pressure” that seem to ratchet up the amount of pressure? The sentiment is the antithesis of its intention.

I brush my teeth with an intensity that will whittle them back down to baby teeth if I keep going, so I spit, rinse, set aside my toothbrush. Then I lean back on the counter, waiting for a response.

Minnie: Meet me at the library on Friday?

I reply quickly, agreeing to meet in our usual spot at 1pm. As I hit send, my pearly whites are on display in a way they haven’t been since Friday—minus when Grace had a diaper blowout while Phoebe was holding her and my sister screamed like she’d been shot. I don’t care how old I get; poop humour will always be funny. But this smile is genuine and long lasting. Right until I doze off to sleep.