Chapter 13 James

James thought class would never end. He'd given up looking at his watch after checking it at least two dozen times. Had time miraculously slowed down? Had he fallen into some sort of black hole where time didn't move at a normal pace? Why couldn't class just be over?

Finally, class ended, and James sprinted home for the world's fastest shower. A short time later, he parked in front of Liana's mom's townhouse and knocked on the door. James realized that somehow, in the walk from his car to the front door, he had sweated through his new shirt. God, it wasn't even that hot out. He was just nervous. Why hadn't he accounted for his nerves when he'd come up with his plan? Now he'd have to drive Liana in his car, which he'd probably stink up. Did he have time to run to his car to grab the stick of deodorant he always kept in his gym bag?

After waffling for several seconds, he decided he'd quickly sprint back to the car. He ran to the trunk, popped it open, emptied his gym bag contents all over the trunk, and finally found his deodorant. He frantically swiped on the deodorant and then pulled on a hoodie. Surely that combo would mask the odor? He gave his armpit a sniff. Not bad. When he finished, he found Liana standing in front of him with a bemused look on her face.

"Ready?" she asked.

James forced himself back into James mode. He would not be defeated by stink.

"You bet your pickle I'm ready."

"That was weak, Alonso."

He cringed. "Yeah, not my best work."

Okay, so she had probably seen him throwing things all over his car and putting on deodorant. This date was not off to the best start. He quickly tried to gather up the contents of his gym bag. By the time he was done, he'd missed the opportunity to open her car door for her. Obviously he'd already failed to think through all contingencies. He had to clear his mind now so he wouldn't spiral into anxiety.

Climbing into the driver's seat, he indicated a metal water bottle in the cup holder. "For you. The finest Miami-Dade County tap water, filtered by hand, served with just a hint of ice." She smiled. God, her smile was distracting.

"Thank you," she said. "So, where are we headed, Alonso?"

"Nope," he replied. "Still not telling you."

They drove southwest on the highway for a bit, their conversation about nothing in particular but still somehow natural. After 20 minutes, they ended up in a neighborhood that looked to be half suburb, half farm country. They pulled into an unassuming strip mall across from an open field. He grabbed a small bag from the backseat, then raced around to open Liana's car door, only to find that he'd been too slow again and she'd already gotten out. He settled for closing the door behind her.

They both stood in front of the strip mall, noting the "Printing and Notary Public" sign and the flickering white "Comet Bar" sign next door. "Okay," James said, "I've never been here before, but I've heard amazing things."

"What is it?" Liana asked. He knew she was eyeing the sign, wondering if James was really taking her to some shoddy strip-mall bar. Eyeing the large notary public sign, she said, "Did you want me to accompany you on some sort of notary adventure? Co-signing a mortgage, perhaps? Or taking out a loan to buy a fishing boat?"

"As fun as that would be," James said, and he meant it, "we're actually going to a bar. But, before you react, I know you can't drink alcohol. I have a plan, I promise. And it involves more than a glass of ice water. Trust me?" He held out his hand.

She looked slightly wary, which made James sick to his stomach, but he couldn't back out now. After the longest second of his life, he saw the decision in her eyes as she took his hand. "I trust you." He'd make sure she didn't regret it.

James held open the door for her and watched her eyes go wide as she took in the funky, mid-century outer space-themed decor. Miniature planets made up the dim light fixtures hanging from the navy blue ceiling, which also sported plastic glow-in-the-dark stars like the ones James had in his childhood bedroom. A lone disco ball completed the ceilingscape.

The B-52s blared loudly from the speakers, and there was not a table or chair to be seen. Instead, pinball machines lined both sides of the narrow space, their lights blinking, their metallic tunes competing obnoxiously with the sound system. The pinball machines led invitingly to a small bar at the back end of the room, with a stone pizza oven built into the wall behind it. 1950s-style horn-rimmed glasses seemed to be some sort of uniform for the bartenders. There was a ping-pong table somehow stuffed into the other back corner, in front of a door with a neon-arrow sign that read "Patio This Way." The entire effect was chaotic in the best way. He hoped Liana would like it.

Liana actually clapped her hands in delight. "So kitschy!" she cried happily.

James finally relaxed his shoulders. "I thought you'd like it. So I actually brought you here —" He stopped when Liana pulled him closer. He knew it was because she couldn't hear him well and was trying to get him to lean in while he was talking, but the touch was still electric.

He gladly leaned in close to her ear, absorbing some sort of faintly floral scent. Lavender, maybe? He resisted the urge to sniff her. Be normal, James.

"I brought you here," he started again, "because I couldn't stop thinking about that idiot who convinced you that you couldn't go out. Sure, maybe on your flare days you wouldn't want to go somewhere like this, but I just hated the idea of you thinking you can't be any fun because you can't drink. So I wanted you to have fun at a bar. I brought you to a bar where you can fully participate in a ton of activities.

"I had a tentative agenda, but if you don't want to do any of it, it's totally cool. I thought that first, we could play pinball and ping-pong and hang out just the two of us. Then, if you're down, they have bar trivia later tonight on the back patio. A couple of my friends come here every week, and they swear it's the best trivia they've ever done. They're planning to show up in about an hour and a half. But if that's not your jam, or if you're not feeling the group thing, we can totally skip it —"

"I love bar trivia," she said, and he could hear in her voice that she meant it. "And that plan sounds great."

Thank God. "And I know bar food might not be something you can normally eat," he continued, his confidence rising now that she seemed into the plan, "but I checked the menu, and they serve a pretty wide variety of food, including a plain roast chicken, roasted potatoes, and focaccia that they cook in that pizza oven. I called and asked, and you can order their focaccia or pizza dough plain, with no toppings, just olive oil and salt. And if none of that appeals, I snuck in some other food." He held up a small bag. "I've got a shit ton of snacks in here. Bananas. Soda crackers. I forget everything I put in here — I may have gone a little overboard." He glanced at her hopefully. Was it enough? Too much?

Alarmingly, she looked as though she might cry. Shit. Had he fucked up before they'd even started? Finally, she said, "You did all of this for me? You packed a snack bag, and — you called ahead to the restaurant and asked if I could make modifications to the menu?"

He nodded. "Was that a mistake?"

"No, no!" she said, and he exhaled the breath he was holding. "It's just that… that was so thoughtful. You totally didn't have to do any of that, but I really appreciate it. I don't think anybody has ever been that thoughtful to me before. Thank you."

"Really?" he asked skeptically. "It's cool?"

"Yeah," she said, trying and failing to hide a tear growing in the corner of her eye. She was crying… over someone being nice to her? What kind of assholes had she been with? This date had taken James all of five minutes to prepare. One phone call, and then three minutes of loading his bag with every possibly Crohn's-friendly snack he could find in his kitchen. Nobody else could be bothered to spend five minutes on her?

She nodded emphatically. "You're really a good guy, James."

He smirked and felt the sudden need to make a joke. "Wait until I beat your ass at every single pinball game here. Then see if you think I'm such a nice guy."

She smiled. "You're on."