Taking a Chance
As I turned into the parking lot, I spotted him standing outside of the Japanese restaurant. My heart made its presence known inside of my chest, beating in a panic. I made sure to park a little ways away so that he wouldn't see me.
One look at the clock told me what I already knew. 4:45. I was supposed to meet him here fifteen minutes ago. But I spent a little too long deciding what to wear. I didn't know how long he'd been waiting. Although I felt bad for running late, I had to take a moment to recompose myself.
Everything suddenly felt way too real. I texted, spoken to him over the phone and on Zoom. While those interactions were nerve-wracking in their own right, this was different. I couldn't see him over text or during a phone call, unless it was on Zoom in which case, there was a screen in between us. Now there was nothing for me to hide behind. No wall of text or laptop screen. I was out in the open, exposed. It was overwhelming.
Part of me wanted to speed on out of there, go home, lock myself up in my room and never come out again. To be honest, I was still relatively new to the dating scene. I'd only really been on one date before and that was years ago.
I was scared of the uncertainty. Nothing was set in stone. There was no telling where this relationship would go or even if it'd go anywhere at all.
More than anything, I was afraid of being hurt. I was afraid of making mistakes, falling short and ultimately getting rejected.
This fear has kept me from really trying or putting effort into anything for my entire life. I half-assed everything in school, even creative writing assignments. I didn't try much for myself, either. Not in my writing or my personal life. Sure, I sought help for my mental illnesses, but I hadn't done much to get out of my comfort zone. I didn't try to make new friends or put myself out there. Not until recently, anyway.
Now that I thought about it, I guess what I was truly afraid of was putting in the effort, giving it my best and then being told that my best wasn't good enough. That I wasn't good enough.
As much as I wanted to run and hide, it wouldn't feel right to turn back now. I wouldn't just be letting him down. I'd be letting myself down, too. If I gave up because of this fear, I'd only be feeding into it. That'd make it bigger, that much more of a beast than it already was. It'd be that much more difficult to face down the road. That was why I had to face it now. I had to start working on making it smaller, more manageable to deal with.
I owed it to myself to see this through. Come what may.
I produced a stick of gum from my purse, glad that I carried a pack of Trident with me. I could use something to soothe my nerves. Besides that, I could use something to keep my mouth from going dry while I spoke with him. One bite and there was a burst of flavor. A strong taste of peppermint spread through my mouth.
I took some deep breaths then met the determined sky blue eyes of my reflection in the rearview mirror. "You got this," I encouraged myself.
With that, I stepped out of the car and made my way through the parking lot towards him. He looked so handsome. I mean, he always looked handsome. He was an attractive guy. He was tall, dark-skinned, had a slim build. He looked especially handsome today in his red, plaid, short-sleeved button-up top, black slacks and matching dress shoes. It was reassuring to see that I hadn't overdressed or underdressed, for that matter. The extra time I took picking out this little black dress, matching stockings and heels was worth it.
When he saw me, he beamed, flashing his pearly whites. "Hey, Jess," he greeted.
"Hi, Roy." I greeted back with a smile.
He held out his arms a bit and I met him halfway in a hug.
"You look beautiful," he complimented as we pulled back.
My face grew warm with a blush. "Thank you," I replied, tucking some hair behind my ear. "You look handsome."
"I try." He shrugged.
"And you succeed." I added before I remembered to apologize. "I'm sorry for being late, by the way. Were you waiting long?"
He shook his head. "Nah, it's all good," he assured. "I wasn't waiting that long."
He moved to open the door for me. As I walked past him, I complimented him again, pleased. "What a gentleman."
"Milady," he responded, tipping his imaginary fedora at me.
I couldn't help but giggle.
Inside, the restaurant had a posh style with colored lights and kanji writing in places. The staff certainly dressed the part in their monochrome formal wear. The only nonelegant aspect about the atmosphere was the Top 40s music playing in the background. But it was just that: background music. It wasn't too loud or anything so it didn't detract from the experience any.
The hostess led us to a table for two and handed us our menus. Since we both drove here, we started off with two glasses of water. Having something to quench my thirst, I put the chewed gum back into its wrapper and into my bag. It wasn't long before we gave the waitress our orders.
As she left, he leaned forward and asked, "So, what have you been up to lately?"
"Well," I began. "I actually started writing again recently."
"Oh, really?" He asked, his hazel eyes lighting up with interest. "So, you're a writer?"
"I guess you could say that."
He wasn't wrong. I have been a writer for half of my life. Most of that time has been spent on fanfiction, though. It wasn't until recently that I truly began to focus on writing my own original stories.
"That's cool. What do you write? Poetry? Stories?"
"I like to write stories. I've written some nonfiction pieces, if you could even call them that. They're a bit on the short side, only a few hundred words. What I really want to focus on is writing fiction stories."
"What kind of fiction stories do you write?"
"I've gravitated towards writing some slice of life stuff about mental illness. I'd like to spread more awareness and help people who are suffering feel less alone. More heard, really. More seen."
"Based."
"I have some ideas for family dramas and tragedies that I'd like to write." I continued, encouraged by his approval. "I also have some romance ideas. I'm all-inclusive so I'd like to write more LGBTQIA+ romance stories, too. I do have a supernatural and fantasy story in mind. I just need to get them down on paper. Honestly, I just want to write about real, genuine, healthy connections between characters that people could root for."
"That's all kinds of based."
I chuckled.
"Let me know whenever you're finished with any of 'em. I'd like to read your stories. If you're comfortable with sharing, that is."
I smiled. "I'd be happy to share. I'd definitely like to hear your feedback."
"I don't know how much help I'd be." He grimaced with self-deprecation. "But I'll help in any way that I can. I'm not much of a writer myself. Art is more my area of expertise, as you already know."
I nodded. Roy did commissions online for manga art and he has shown me some of his work. The way he drew his characters and backgrounds were so detailed and expressive. He was well on his way towards becoming the professional comic book artist he strived to be.
"You don't have to show me anything now, of course, but what is your writing like? I mean, how would you describe your writing? I know that there's a term for it, but I can't remember what it's called."
"You mean writing style?"
"Yeah! That's it."
"Well, hmm..." I hummed in thought. "If I had to put it in a word, I'd say emotional. I always do my best to convey how the characters are feeling. I want the reader to be able to resonate, really relate and connect with the characters."
"Nice."
This was nice. Talking with him, being with him felt so natural. It was like I'd known him my whole life.
Our food arrived and in true weeb, otaku fashion, we talked about anime and manga over sushi. We had an equal (or equivalent, for those who get it) exchange of praise and criticism for multiple series that we liked and disliked. Both the meal and conversation were satisfying in their own way.
Roy insisted on paying for the bill. I gave him some resistance at first, saying that I'd feel bad if he paid for me. But then, he argued back by telling me not to feel bad. He was having such a good time and he wanted nothing more than to pay for the woman he was falling for. Besides, he asked, what kind of gentleman would he be if he didnt? I swooned so hard. How could I possibly refute that?
By the time he paid for everything (tip included, of course), it was dark outside. I held his hand as he walked me to my car.
"We'll have to do this again soon," he suggested, taking my other hand as he turned to face me.
"Definitely," I agreed, giving his hands a squeeze.
"I had a good time tonight."
"Me, too."
For a second, I was worried that it might be too soon. This was just our first date, after all. But it wasn't like we didn't know each other and I really liked this guy. He was kind, considerate, funny, creative. We had a lot in common, but we had our differences, too, which wasn't a bad thing in the slightest. That just made everything all the more interesting. It didn't hurt that he was a looker, either. In that moment, more than anything, I wanted him to know just how much I liked him. That I was falling for him, too. So I showed him.
He must've thought something similar because he met me halfway in a kiss. It was a simple brushing of lips, but there was a spark, a warmth that stayed with me for the rest of the night.
"Good night," he murmured, pulling back.
"Good night," I replied, breathless.
Roy gave me another hug before he left.
I got back into my car with a big, goofy smile on my face.
There was no telling what the future held, but I had a good feeling about this. About him. About us. About myself.
High on this newfound optimism, I sang a cheerful song as I drove home.