I’ll Be Waiting

Dina

Last week I had to meet with my thesis advisor, who insists I call her Sage, which ran later than I expected. Translation, I spent my afternoon having work I poured blood, sweat, and tears into—maybe just tears—ripped to shreds by a faculty member I admire. As if having my work critiqued and picked apart wasn’t bad enough, my stupid brain couldn’t stop reminding me I missed my implied library meetup with Holden. With my thesis well on its way to completion, I shouldn’t be worried about arbitrary rendezvous or irritating nerds.

That didn’t stop me from dragging myself to the library at 1pm after staying up all night to finish my latest thriller. I’m sleep-deprived and hungry because I rushed here without eating. Hangry Dina is not a happy Dina.

But even though Holden interrupted my reading, a silly thrill shot through me when he appeared. Nothing happening in this dark mystery novel is capable of reaching the same level of excitement I felt from Holden dropping into the seat beside me. That never happens. Reality has never been more exciting than fiction. Not in my life, anyway.

“Which book should Ed read?” Holden smirks, making it increasingly difficult not to return the gesture.

“The Berenstain Bears Learn About Strangers. Without a doubt. He invited me to live with him and his parents.”

Holden’s brows jump up his forehead. “I thought you just met him.”

I hold in my chuckle because he looks as confused as I felt. “Mm-hmm. I guess he found me interesting.”

Now one lone eyebrow remains raised. “Or maybe he’s a serial killer and was hoping you’d make it easy for him to tie you up in his basement and skin you alive.”

My eyes widen at his theory. “Well, that turned dark quickly. You don’t think…” My words die in my throat as I picture myself tied up in Ed’s basement, listening to him talk endlessly for hours without pause. Shudder. I mean, it’s better than the alternatives, but still a situation I’d rather avoid. Maybe instead of my thought for him to read true crime books, he could be the subject of one.

When I blink and refocus, pushing aside thoughts of listening to Ed’s endless diatribe against rent prices or the rising property taxes, Holden is staring at me with his lips tilted. “Why else would he invite you to come live with him?”

“I may or may not have implied that I was homeless.” I grimace because I never want to make light of an unfortunate situation some people find themselves in. “But I didn’t want to hint at where I actually live because… you know… stranger danger.”

Holden shakes with silent laughter for a few seconds, then leans forward. “I’m glad he didn’t lure you into his basement and skin you alive. That would have made my library time a lot less interesting.”

It’s obvious he’s joking, but I still scoff and clutch Nacho to my chest in mock offense that Holden could be so flippant about my potential disfiguring. “Nacho would never let that happen.”

“You know what? I believe that. He might be in need of an exorcism, but at least he’s protective.”

Again, I feign outrage at his comment. I don’t think Nacho’s behaviour is demonic, by any means. “He’s misunderstood, but I love him.”

He just isn’t afraid to speak his mind when it comes to his hatred of people. If he were a CEO, people would fear and respect him. But because he’s a chihuahua, he was born into a bad reputation that he’s done nothing to change. Sometimes stereotypes are right, but I wouldn’t characterize him as evil. He’s passionate. Determined. Like me.

“I know what it’s like to have people pass judgement on you just because of your appearance or an interaction taken out of context. It’s human nature to base an opinion of someone on their first impression.” My voice trails off as I finish, because that got a lot deeper than I intended it to. That’s my cue to leave. “Anyway, I better get going. I’ve got a lot of work to get done.” I point toward my stack of books, then rush to tuck them into my bookbag.

Holden hasn’t spoken for at least a full minute when he stands and breaks his silence with, “Hey, Dina? Do you… uh… want to take my number?”

Holden has never been anything short of debonair—albeit nerdy, like Tony Stark—even when he’s being irritating. Right now, he’s looking at his feet, rocking back on his heels. If my years of reading about body language and physical cues were moderately accurate, he’s nervous.

His uneasiness compounds mine, which is ridiculous. He asked if I wanted his number. It’s hardly an invasion of my privacy. The problem is, it feels like it comes with expectations. Like we’ll move from beyond library acquaintances to friends. And I’d be lying if I said I thought about Hollis the same way I think about Holden.

Still, he has a way of making me do things I normally wouldn’t. “Okay.”

He pulls a small paper from his wallet, and for a second, I think he has an actual business card. That would be an ultimate nerd move. Thankfully, he flips over a card from a nearby kickboxing gym and writes his number on the back under his cursive Dickens. I study the card when he hands it to me, raising an eyebrow in question over how he ended up with it in the first place.

“They had a demo day in the park and a really muscular guy handed me a card as I walked past. I couldn’t say no.” He shrugs, making me stifle a laugh.

“Ah, the good old-fashioned ambush approach. Been there. One time I was walking through the mall and went past a hair straightener kiosk. The guy asked if he could demonstrate how it worked, and I didn’t want to be rude, so I agreed. The guy straightened a three-inch-wide section of my hair, then sent me on my way. Do you even understand how awful that looked?”

Holden chuckles, which seems to melt the last of his nerves. It also eases mine.

“My sister made fun of me until we went past a skin care kiosk and she ended up with half of her makeup washed off.”

We both laugh at that, which makes me remember we’re in a library.

“I… uh… better go. I’ll text you?” I say it like a question because I’m unsure what he wants from this exchange.

“Yeah. I should go too. I’ll be waiting. Not literally. I’m not…” He pauses a moment, as if he’s searching for the right words.

I try to help by adding, “I’m sure you have better things to be doing than waiting around for me.”

That seems to startle him, which I find concerning. Cozy mysteries tell me I should read into that, because people don’t usually make suspicious gestures without a reason. Lessons from contemporary romance tell me not to put stock in miniscule movements that will lead to misreading situations. I decide not to question it.

“Right. I… yeah. I’ve got plenty of other things to keep me busy.”

I kind of want to ask what else he has going on since he seems to be able to carve out library time consistently on Friday afternoons, but I don’t ask that either. I’ll continue to speculate about what he does with his non-library time. Or maybe it will give me a topic to broach if I text him.

“Anyway, I guess I’ll talk to you later.” I give Holden a tight smile, then turn toward the stairs.

Nacho releases a grumble that tells me he’s tired of being cooped up, so I better get a move on it. A second later, I realize it’s Holden he’s grumbling at, not the confines of his bag. Holden matches his stride with mine as I descend the stairs. We continue to walk toward the reception area, when I indicate I have books to check out.

Holden pauses. “Oh, right. Books.” He snorts a huffy laugh, which seems to surprise us both. “Okay, I guess I’ll talk to you soon.”

For the final time, we say goodbye and part ways.

One thing I take note of regarding our latest encounter is that our silence has become as comfortable as our conversations are entertaining.

It’s terrifying.