All of Her: Chapter Twenty

About a week after the cute Asian guy and the coffee confessions, I wake up in a cold sweat realizing who that cute guy was. Wasn't his name Jae or something like that? I know it was monosyllabic,  I think. He was the one who rescued me from that brute with the bad pick-up lines, the one I vaguely remember dancing with my first time at "Alice's Wonderland." How could I not recognize him? I must have been drunker than I thought I was.

Suddenly I have to go out. I am itching to go to "Alice's Wonderland" and see if he is there. Of course he wouldn't be, this time of day. I have too many things to do today anyway. Like, sit around the house and do nothing. Okay, who am I kidding? I have nothing to really do today. I'll call my boss at "The Wilde" and see if she needs anyone to pick up a shift today. Its not like I have anything else pressing to do. Or any other work that needs done.

If she won't let me work, I could always visit my mother or my sisters. I could even, heaven forbid, call up my brother and see what he is doing. Maybe hang out with Noah or Clark. Do something! Anything, really. I just need out of the house for a little while. I just have to waste enough time so that I can try to "accidentally" bump into Jae or whatever his name was at the bar.

Luckily for me, my boss calls, before I do, asking if I can take a five hour shift. Apparently one of my co-workers had to bail. Good for me, though. I don't even hesitate in my answer. I throw on some suitable "work" clothes, slip into a pair of flip-flops and kiss my cat goodbye. He stands on the counter and meows at me as I close the door.

I don't rush to work, but I don't exactly drive like I'm behind a herd of turtles either.

Once I am settled behind the counter, and boiling water for tea; I begin to think of something I could do after this to kill time. I go through a small list of possibilities. The first being actually paying attention to my cat. The second being visiting my family. My excuse to kill a little more time arrives in the form of a petite young woman with gorgeously hued honey-blonde hair. Not that I actually see her when she comes in. I'm too busy pondering my visit to the bar tonight and an open book in my lap.

"Excuse me, do you happen to have 'Tiger, Tiger' by Margaux Fragoso?" says a soft and lilting voice. I look up, startled from my reading, into her iridescent eyes. They shift subtly from blue-green to emerald to cobalt. For a moment I am mesmerized and she gently repeats the question.

"Fragoso, you say? I think I've seen that name before." I come out from behind the counter and escort the young lady over to the letter F section. After a moment of book shuffling, I discover what I believe to be the volume she is looking for. "Is this what you were looking for?"

She smiles timidly and accepts the book from my hands. I note a sadness to her features as she looks over the cover and skims through a few pages. I wonder if she has read this book before and that is why she seems so sad. We don't move for a few moments, she seems lost in a dream and I don't know what to say.

"This book is about child abuse, did you know?" she asks, holding the book like a shield over her heart.

"I did not." I say, honestly. My realm of literature does not usual tread such grounds. "Is that why you seem so forlorn?"

She shrugs. A careless gesture made lovely by her. My attraction to this girl is fairly overwhelming at this point. It feels odd to me. I haven't felt such a strong attraction to a woman since I was with Jahan. If I was a braver woman I would kiss her now, kiss away the sadness I can feel seeping out of her bones. But I am not that brave. After a few more moments of awkwardness she smiles and motions for me to lead her to the counter.

"It comes to ten dollars and thirty-five cents, miss." I say, ringing up the total and placing her purchase in a re-usable cloth bag. She nods and counts out her money to the cent before pushing it toward me. I re-count it, if only to keep her a little longer. She doesn't seem to mind and, once I have handed her the bag and her receipt, she lingers.

"Your water is boiling." she says, simply.

"Oh shit! I forgot all about it." I run to turn off the kettle, which has started shrieking. Once I have poured a steaming cup of tea and re-situated myself on my stool, I notice that she hasn't moved at all. Instead she is staring at me, intently.

"Do you believe in fate?" she asks, quietly.

"I suppose I believe in some modicum of fate. Why do you ask?" I pour another cup of tea and gently push it toward her.

"No reason, I suppose. Just romantic fancy on my part. I'm Annabelle." she reaches out a very pale hand and I take it in a handshake.

"I'm Abra," I say. "would you like to pull up a seat? Have some tea with me? Its a rather slow day."

"I'd love to." She smiles, another slightly sad smile, and I pull up another stool for her to sit on.

We don't discuss the book she purchased. We don't discuss tea or books at all. Instead, she quietly sips her tea and watches me intently. Under all the attention, I blush. I am too embarrassed to even try flirting with her. It all seems very strange; she buys a book about child abuse and stares at me. She asks me questions about fate, yet, once she has an opportunity to ask any question she wants, she is silent.

"So, what made you choose that particular book?" I ask, nodding toward the brown cloth bag in her lap. At first she just stares at it, as though it has suddenly grown tentacles or something equally disturbing.

"It was on a list of disturbing books. I couldn't resist." She looks up at me, sips at her tea and then shrugs.

"You enjoy disturbing literature?" I ask, slightly baffled.

"I'd rather not discuss it." she says, suddenly. "I'd much rather discuss where it is that you would like to get dinner tonight. With me."

I am even more baffled. She has, up to this point, seemed to be very shy and quiet. Suddenly she is presuming that I am going to go to dinner with her. Which, I am, but that is beside the point.

"Excuse me?" I say, allowing some of my confusion to bleed through.

"I suppose I should ask, rather than tell." she says. "Would you like to go out to dinner with me?"

Quite suddenly I experience a blanking of my mind. All thoughts of going to the bar tonight, all thoughts of Jae or whatever his name was, vanish. She is suddenly all I can think about. I smile, a lopsided grin with no brain behind it at all. She responds with an equally lopsided grin and stands up. She reaches into her pocket for a stray piece of paper and grabs a stray pen off of the counter. She writes down her number, a place and a time. She even signs her name in a flourish, in the corner of the paper. She winks at me, takes her book and just like that she is gone.

The paper says Viperia Tearoom, ten-thirty.

I float through the rest of my work, dreamily wondering how I got a beautiful girl to ask me out with no real effort. As I lock up I think about the delicious things I'd like to do to her and wondering if this is what she meant by fate. At home I layer a burnt orange lace panel top over a creamy colored tank top, matching the lace paneling. I slip into a pair of black skinny jeans and raid my shoe cupboard for a pretty pair of flats. I eventually settle for a pair of burnt orange heels with a slight ruffle  and an ankle strap. I take a long look at myself in the mirror and realize I've become a lot more interested in dressing up since David.

I wonder, briefly, if this because I am trying to attract attention now. And, just as briefly, I worry about this. I note a few dark circles under my eyes and pass it off as allergies, even though I know that isn't it. I confessed everything to Noah so that I would stop this behaviour. So that I might come back to the light side of the Force. Instead I seem to have confessed only to revert back to the darkness of this downward spiral. And, admittedly, I kind of enjoy the spiral. In a sick, twisted way, I really enjoy all this self-inflicted pain and torture. I feel like I deserve it, so may as well enjoy it, right?

I realize this type of thinking is extremely unhealthy, but I choose to ignore it and finish getting ready for my date. I fill up Snuggles' water and food bowls, rest my butt against my ankles while I pet him, lovingly. I then head out again, despite more protesting meows from him.

I arrive at the Viperia Tearoom at a quarter after ten. I am pleased to discover that Annabelle is already there. She waves me over to her table, stands and hugs me before we sit down. I, stealthily, take note of how beautiful she looks in her sleek turquoise mini dress with cross-back straps and her white leggings. She smiles and signals the waitress over. She orders a Thai Quinoa Salad, whatever that may be, and a peach martini. I order potato blossom dumplings, French fried green beans and a cherry-rose tea margarita. She laughs at my food choices, but doesn't say anything else.

I begin to get very nervous as we say nothing. Absolute silence. I don't know where to start, what topic to discuss, what to say? I smile, awkwardly, but she doesn't seem to notice. Just as I feel like I might be brave enough to pick a topic our food arrives and immediately begin to eat. Contended munching at least, temporarily, replaces the awful silence. Instead of focusing, I let my mind wander to what it would be like to be in bed with Annabelle. I imagine several interesting fantasies, before settling on a particularly steamy one.

"What are you thinking about?" asks Annabelle. I nearly jump out of my skin, startled by the sudden break in silence and a little bit of shame for what I was thinking. She looks at me curiously and I have the horrible feeling that she has been watching me the entire time. I gulp, guiltily.

"Nothing particularly interesting." I say, trying to laugh off these feelings. "You?"

"I was thinking about what you would be like in bed." she says, laughing. "Weren't you thinking the same thing? I can tell from your blushing that you were."

"I... Well, I mean... I would... Yes." I stammer. "I suppose I am rather transparent."

"Its only natural you know, we're sexually active young women and obviously mutually attracted to one another or we wouldn't be here. Why not think about it?" She says this all so calmly, more like it was scientific fact.

"Is this what you meant by fate? The attraction?" I ask, mulling over the oddness of the conversation.

"Partly. Partly because I feel as though we are meant to be together, at least for a time. You do find me attractive, don't you?"

"Of course I do!" I exclaim, dropping my fork with a bit of a clatter. I smile apologetically and carefully pick it back up. "Yes, I do. I find you quite attractive."

"In that case, let's call it fate for now and skip dessert. We can go back to my place, if you like. Its just a block or so away from here."

I bite my lip, trying not to acquiesce too quickly, but I find that I am already nodding in agreement. She laughs again, a melodic sound, and I find I am laughing too. We hold each other's hands as we head toward my car. When we get to the car, I find that I can't resist any longer and I press her to my car, kissing her as passionately as I have ever kissed anyone. I hold her hands, our fingers entwined, just like fate. Our fingers fit so perfectly together, our lips feel so right and our bodies pressed against my car feels like perfection.

While we kiss, a thought occurs to me. I could fall in love with this girl. Its so crazy, so insane. I pull away from her a moment, her lips glistening and slightly swollen from my kisses. I feel the breath escape my lungs. I just met this girl and I'm already thinking about breaking my rule of not falling in love. She has me so mixed up in this "fate" business that I'm actually beginning to believe it. What kind of girl is she?

Before I can take another breath she pulls my face back to hers. We kiss slowly, painfully slow. We kiss until neither one of us can breathe. I open the passenger side door and help her get in. We drive the block and a half to her apartment slowly, still holding hands. Maybe this instant attraction is fate. Could this be love at first sight? I try to shake the thought from my head. I thought David was my love at first sight too. I glance at our entwined fingers and feel a whimsical smile creep around the corners of my mouth.

She leads me upstairs to her apartment. She opens the door slowly and ushers me inside. The inside of her apartment smells sweet, with a tinge of bitterness. I wonder, for a moment, if this is a sign. But then I remember that I no longer believe in signs or metaphors or anything like that. I try to remind myself that I also no longer believe in fate, but I am quickly losing that battle. She has the windows draped with light cancelling curtains, so for a moment all I can sense is her beside me and the sweet smell of her and the room. She flicks on a light and, smiling beguilingly, pulls her turquoise top over her head, exposing a lacy white bra.

She motions me to follow her and I barely have time to slip out of my heels. I pull my shirt up and over my head and let it slip to the floor beside hers. My eyes caress her as she slips out of the rest of her clothes and lies down on the bed. She presents herself to me like a beautiful doll to play with and explore. I finish removing my own clothing and sink down beside her.

I kiss the hollow of her throat, the skin above her heart and down to her stomach. On her stomach, there is a long white scar from her belly button to the edge of her pubic region. I kiss it gingerly, feeling as though I am seeing a secret I wasn't meant to pay too much attention to. I sink lower with my kisses until I am completely distracted by the overwhelming beauty of her and the smell of her is all I can think of.

We stay like this for most of the night. We fall asleep curled into each other, our fingers entwined, and feeling like puzzle pieces finding their other piece.

I wake up slightly confused. I feel her fingers tangled with mine, I feel her pressed against me, snuggled as close as possible. It feels too right, too perfect. Hence the confusion. I keep reminding myself that I only just met her yesterday and that I'm not allowed to fall in any way, shape or form in love with her.

Except, when she opens her eyes and kisses me, I feel a little of my resolve being swept away by ridiculous emotions.

"Stay with me," she whispers. "don't go."

"I wasn't planning on it." I mutter into her honey-gold hair. She whimpers a little and I look at her. She has a tear running down her cheek and, concerned, I wipe it away. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I've just been by myself too long and I can't stand to think about it." She kisses me, touching and caressing until what she said has completely been wiped from my mind.

We spend most of the day in her bed, making love, making believe that we have all the time in the world to be together. When we finally emerge from the bedroom, for sustenance other than each other, I ask a question that has been scratching at the back of my brain.

"How did you get that scar on your stomach, if you don't mind my asking?" I say, as nonchalantly as possible. At first I don't think she heard me, but then she sighs and turns to look at me.

"When I was thirteen I gave birth to a stillborn baby boy. The scar is from the emergency Cesarean section." She looks at me, as if to measure my reaction on internal scale. I am stunned, but do my best not to show it. I think of my sisters at thirteen, or myself at that age. And I can't imagine giving birth to a dead child. I can't find anything to say, so I settle for saying nothing at all.

"Thank you," she says. Turning back toward the toaster, she catches the emerging toast and begins to butter it.

"Why are you thanking me?" I ask, coming up next to her. She turns and looks me in the eyes, her shifting eye color both beguiling and frightening.

"Thank you for not prying further." She kisses me and hands me a piece of toast, before heading back toward the bedroom.