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Oh…Hello (A Micro Story)
I couldn’t believe my sister had set me up on a date with her boyfriend’s buddy. It was embarrassing enough to be 27 and single. But to have my baby sister setting me up with some stranger was almost too awkward to handle. I knew in Islamic culture it was common to have an arranged marriage, but as an American revert I was not used to this much family involvement in my personal life.
Yet, there I was: waiting at a booth in the corner of the Thai restaurant for him. I sipped on the ice water the waitress had left on the table with the menu, and pretended to look it over, peeking over the top every few seconds. I wasn’t sure who I was looking for, but I figured I would know him when I saw him.
A few minutes passed, and then he walked in. I couldn’t believe who I saw walking over to my table. I knew him, and my memory of him was not fond. The tall, hipsterly-handsome (but definitely not a stranger) strolled over to the table and took a seat across from me, flashing me a bright white smile through a stubbly beard. He hadn’t had the beard when I had seen him back in high school, but I could definitely tell it was him.
“Hi, I’m Richard Mathis. I’m Keith’s friend.” He offered his hand for me to shake it for a spit second then pulled it back and shifted awkwardly in his seat. “I’m sorry. It was a reflex. I shake hands at work all day.”
“I’m Jenny Miller.”
“I see you wear a hijab,” he said in an almost excited tone.
“I do. I’m a Muslim,” I shrugged, going back to look at the menu.
“Mashallah! Me, too.That must be why Keith and Brittany thought we should meet.”
“Yeah, maybe. And here we are. Meeting for the first time,” I said with a little more sarcasm than I meant it to.
He picked up the menu and started looking it over, his hand shielding his eyes like it was bright in there or something.
“Again, I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t have tried to shake your hand and that we shouldn’t have any physical contact as Muslims. I didn’t mean to offend you. It was just a reflex.”
The waitress swooped over after giving the table beside us their steaming bowls of yellow curry, saving me from the embarrassing and infuriating conversation. The curry smelled wonderful, but my stomach was hurting, and I was afraid I might not have an appetite for dinner anymore.
“So, you know what you want? Do you want something to drink other than water?” She asked.
“Like maybe some fruit punch?” I grumbled under my breath.
“No, the water is fine. Thank you. What would you like to eat, Jenny?” He was still smiling at me, but a little less enthusiastically now.
“Curry noodle soup with tofu please.”
“I’ll try the same,” he nodded in agreement handing the waitress our menu. She hurried away and disappeared into the back.
“So…” I tried to look anywhere but him, but my anxiety got the best of me and my hand slipped off my glass of water, dumping it all over the table and spilling onto his lap. “Oh, crap! I’m so sorry. I swear I didn’t do that on purpose!”
He just laughed, cleaning up what he could with the cloth napkins from our silverware. “I guess we are even now.”
“Wait. You mean you remember?”
“How could I not?” His smile faded, and his gaze returned to me, looking a bit defeated. “I was hoping you didn’t recognize me. I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”
“You mean spilling an entire glass of punch on my light pink prom dress so I had to leave only a few minutes after I got there?”
He cringed, “Yeah, that.”
“You didn’t even apologize. You just ran away. What the heck was that about?”
“You want the truth? I was bringing you a glass and was going to ask you to dance with me. I knew neither of us had a date, and I had like the biggest crush on you. When I spilled the drink on you I was so mortified I ran away, hid in my car, and left shortly after.”
“Really?” I asked, my mouth agape. The water was still dripping a bit off the table.
“Yes,” he muttered, looking back down at the table and finishing soaking up the water with his napkin. His clothes were wet down the front, but he didn’t bother much with them.
He put his face in his hands, and we were both silent for a moment. I felt like such a jerk. I couldn’t believe I’d held onto that anger for so long. But now I had the truth. And it was time to share mine.
“You know what?”
“What?” he lifted his head up to look at me.
“I would have said yes.”
“Yes to what?”
“Dancing with you. I would have said yes.”
A bright smile spread across his face, and his deep dark eyes glistened at me. “Really?”
I nodded and held my hand out for a handshake. At first, he resisted with a raised eyebrow.
“Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Jenny. I’m okay with handshakes. Just don’t try anything else.” I chuckled.
“Nice to meet you, Jenny. I’m Richard.”
The waitress returned with our food, which we both ate with goofy grins on our faces. Starting over was a blessing. And this time, he got up the courage to ask me his question: Would I like to go on another date with him?
And I said yes.
Train Tracks
The fog had stayed for days, and I was afraid I might never get home. The roads were impossible to drive, and my mother would kill me if I missed the holiday dinner again this year.
“You work too much,” she would grumble into the phone, “You know, back in my day a pretty girl like you would find a man and settle down. Why do you waste your time with all this work?”
My heart sank as I heard her call me a “pretty girl.” I’d been out as non-binary for a year now; since last New Years. Maybe she forgot…but it was more likely she wanted to remind me of who she wished I was: her perfect little girl with long golden hair.
That hair had been chopped into a super short pixie cut, and my Catholic schoolgirl skirt was replaced by slacks. Then her praise had been replaced by discomfort that I was indeed…her child.
The truth was that I did find a man, and I was going to settle down. But we had only been dating for 6 months, and she would definitely not approve of him. He wasn’t exactly the clean cut doctor or lawyer I was sure she expected for me to marry. He was more of the blue collar worker with a scruffy beard who I met when he helped me with a flat tire on the side of the highway one day.
He was my hero. My knight in shining armor. But I asked him not to come with me, and as I waited for the train, standing in a thick fog, I couldn’t help but feel more alone than ever.
My father would have liked him, if he were here. Who knew where he was. He took a train one day, too.
I could hear the clack clack clack of the train as it approached with a shrill scream from its whistle. I wanted to scream, too. But I didn’t.
The train came to a halt in front of me, and as the doors opened with a screech, I held my breath. I was frozen in the fog. I couldn’t move from the platform. My heart was too heavy, and it held me in place.
The silence stopped time, and inside I was crying for help.
Then, there was a hand on my back and the familiar scent of bourbon and cologne wafted through me. As he stepped around in front of me, the fog parted and I could see him clearly: my knight.
“I thought you might be missing me already. I was missing you.”
I wrapped my arms around him, his beard tickling my face and asking me to smile.
“Let’s get on the train and get you home for dinner,” he whispered.
“I’m already home,” I smiled, looking up at his twinkling eyes.
The train doors closed and it clanged off out of sight, and we walked back to our place and had dinner. Just the two of us.
There was no need to ride a train that night.
I would wait until the fog lifted.
Replanted Love
Tell me what you want, but Florida is not Hawaii. I’ve had months now to get over the shock of moving to a new place. And yes, Florida was also the kind of beautiful beach destination that tourists would come to in order to “get away from it all.” But Florida is a big state, and we didn’t live in a place with the kind of name that made you think of a getaway or a honeymoon. No. We lived in a place with the nickname The Boggy Bayou. Complete with big trucks covered in “Mud Life” stickers and restaurants that sold fried shark on a stick.
But I moved here for a reason. I moved here for him. As a wedding designer I was usually stuck watching bridezillas live a fairytale life while I went back to my tiny apartment and tabby cat. However, one lucky night when I decided to stay for the entire three-hour long afterparty instead of handling the rest over to my assistant. I wasn’t the only one hiding in the corner and people watching that night. Mark, the charismatic-looking best man, was also trying to hide from the crowds. It turned out he was there for his friend, but otherwise didn’t really know anyone there. We got talking, and the three hours passed by in what felt like minutes.
Fast forward a few months and I am taking a huge leap across the ocean from Kauai to Mark’s hometown in the Florida panhandle. There is plenty of work for me here, too. The beach brings people from all over to the area for weddings. But there is something here I just can’t put my finger on that just doesn’t feel right.
……………………………………………………………………………………………………….
“Hey, babe! Whatcha up to?” Mark chirped coming through the door to our townhome with much more excitement than was his style recently.
“Hi?” I answered, looking him over for a sign as to why he might be acting so weird, “I was just about to start making some spaghetti for dinner.”
“Sounds wonderful! So, anything special happen today? Any big news?”
“Not that I’ve heard,” I got up from the sofa, giving him a little squeeze before ducking into the kitchen. He was definitely starting to freak me out. I pulled out a pot from the cupboard, filling it was water, salt, and oil and clanked it down on the gas stove to boil.
“No wedding you are excited about that might be coming up?”
“Not that I have as a client right now. Why?”
“Oh, I just have it on good authority there would be an upcoming wedding and I thought you would be excited about it.”
“How can I be excited about something I have no idea about?” I snapped a little frustrated. Why was the water not boiling already?! “Anyway,” I took a breath, “How was work?”
“Couldn’t wait to get home,” he winked. He still had that goofy grin on his face.
I sighed, walking over to him, and he immediately enveloped me in his arms and kissed the top of my head.
“I’m sorry, babe,” he whispered, “I know it hasn’t been easy for you here. I was hoping you would settle in and feel more at home here.”
“I know. I’m trying. I promise.” I was on the verge of tears, but that felt a little dramatic so I tried to keep them in as I listened to his heartbeat. He was much taller than me, and he always made me feel like a child when he held me like that.
“Speaking of which, have you checked on your coconut today, babe? Maybe it is sprouting.”
He had ordered me a real coconut from the island so I could plant a piece of home in the yard. “Not today.”
The water was starting to bubble, but before I could break from his grasp to pour some dry noodles in the pot, he was pulling me from the kitchen towards the sliding glass door that led to our backyard.
“Let’s check it, maybe that will cheer you up!” He pulled us both out into the yard, not even bothering to close the door and stopped us in front of the coconut sitting next to our holly bushes. “Look! I think it might be sprouting.”
“It is,” I smiled, and looked back up at him, “Thank you for this, babe. It is nice to have a piece of home.”
“Did you see where it is sprouting out? I mean, really see it?”
“Okay, I’ll indulge you,” I laughed, “But then I really need to finish making dinner before we forget the pot on the stove and burn down the house.”
His smile was even bigger and goofier than before as I knelt down beside the coconut. There, on the green stalk that coming from the cracked husk was a shiny piece of metal. I reached down to touch it, glittered as the light hit it. It was a diamond ring.
I turned to face Mark, my mouth was probably hanging open like an idiot but I didn’t care. He was on his knee.
“I thought we could both try and make a home here. Together. Will you marry me, Audrey?”
Of course I said yes. And he picked me up and swung me around like in the movies, kissing me like he did back in Hawaii.
And no, Florida is not Hawaii. But Florida is home.
Elizabeth Penn 