The Mechanic

It was half to seven and I’d never been so antsy in my entire life, smoothing my hands over the material of the cherry red dress, simple, with three straps on either side, the v-neck one cut above too low, the back perhaps too open and lacy to be completely innocent.

“Where’re you going again?” My dad asked with his back to the stairs, humming as he measured out the space between the kitchen counter and the door. He was planning on installing a wine cabinet or something like that.

“To dinner,” I said, words strange and exotic to the taste.

“With?” He didn’t seem adverse to the idea. I’d mentioned in very briefly a couple of hours ago, when he’d come home from shopping, a toolbox strapped to the back of his mountain bike. Until we get a rental car, we’ll have to make do, he’d told me after I relayed Liam’s message about the corvette.

“Liam,” I like the way his name very literally rolled off my tongue from the roof my mouth to a press of the lips, like I was kissing it goodbye as it left. “The mechanic boy,” I added as clarification because I knew my dad wouldn’t have remembered.

“Oh! Geoff’s boy, from the car shop?”

“Geoff?” I frowned, arm still wrapped around the newly waxed banister. We stayed up till 2AM last night finishing it together. He’d asked about the car and the shop, but I couldn’t give any more than that the boy who worked there had a tendency of wearing really low pants and white, greasy tank tops.

“The owner of the auto shop. Good buddy of mine back in the day, and best mechanic I know. Liam—that’s his son’s name right? The last time I saw him, he could fit in a three by three toolbox,” at this he laughed, shaking his head as if the concept of a small Liam in a toolbox were amusing in some way. I blinked, mind whirling to catch up with his words. My dad knew Liam’s dad? They were friends? Then it wasn’t just by chance that we settled in this seemingly random little town in the middle of central valley.

“Lexia, the door’s goin’ off,” my dad called over his shoulder. I blanched as the doorbell rang. The clock on the wall told me that if it were Liam, he would be 20 minutes early.

It was.

“You’re early,” I said, trying to hide the surprise I felt when I opened the door to a Liam very much devoid of his usual car grease and signature sheen of sweat. His flannel shirt as rolled up to his elbows with perhaps one too many buttons undone but tucked into a clean pair of jeans, frayed as they are at the edges. And his hair looked just-washed, still damp and pushed back away from his face.

“Looks like you are too.” He did nothing to hide the satisfaction in his expression as his eyes did a classic once-over. A hot blush washed over my cheeks and I wrinkled my nose in distaste. He could turn anything I say right back at me in less than .5 seconds while I could barely form coherent sentences around him. It’s unfair.

“Liam?” My dad was bouncing over from the kitchen, still clad in a paint-splattered dungaree, fanny-pack strapped around his waist, sagging dangerously low, weighed down with a million different tools.

“Good evening, sir,” Liam flashed a smile and offered a hand, dipping his head in greeting, “It’s been a while.”

My dad laughed, the sound rumbling through this thin form, jingling the tools in his fanny pack. He took Liam’s hand and they shared a firm handshake.

“A while,” my dad chuckled, patting Liam on the arm affectionately, “The last time I saw you, you couldn’t even open your eyes.”

“Well you must have made a great impression then, because I definitely remember you.” At this, my dad laughed again, cheeks splitting, eyes curved. I watched the exchange, unable to fathom how Liam could be so damn smooth with everyone he meets. A moment later, my dad’s expression turned serious.

“So, you’re taking my daughter out for dinner.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement, a blatant test of commitment and reaction. Liam handled it as effortlessly as he does everything else.

“Yes, I am,” he didn’t seem swayed at all, an easy smile still resting between his lips, his shoulders back, a hand reaching over to touch my arm. I caught his eye. “Because Josie’s pulled pork is the best in town and I want to be the one to show her the best.”

How he managed to say those words with a completely straight face is a mystery to me. Beside him, I could feel the heat seeping into my cheeks and ears, hear the blood pounding in my skull and I wondered if he always spoke in dualities, words that held so much more weight in their shadows of possibility than when taken at face value. This, I thought, is what real eloquence should be. This is what all scholars should aspire to, the ability to say something and leave the listener hot with wonder about which the speaker actually meant.

My dad chuckled, looking between the two of us.

“Lexia? What do you think? Should I let you go to dinner with Liam?” I couldn’t tell if he was serious or if this was one of his awful dad-things he thought was amusing.

I looked back at Liam, meeting his gaze, a moment later I looked away, cheeks blazing. Liam was so earnest, a teasing kind of plea clear on his face.

“Yes, Dad,” I said, “You should let us go to dinner,” and then on a small streak of confidence, I raised my head and heaved an exasperated sigh, rolling my eyes as if impatient, “I mean, I went to the trouble of putting on this dress and doing my hair and everything, Dad.”

My dad laughed, slapping a hand to my shoulder, “There’s my little girl—I expect her back before midnight,” and he gave me a slight push, making me almost topple right into Liam. His grip on my arm tightened, as if silently reassuring me that he’d never let me fall.

“Yes sir,” Liam flashed my dad a large smile, nodding as he led me out towards his car.

“I’m 19, it’s summer, and I’ve still got a curfew,” I muttered, letting Liam tug me towards the driveway where his large green jeep sat waiting. It took a moment too long for me to notice that my hand was in his, fingers laced loosely as he opened the door and swept his arm out.

“Does that mean you don’t want to be back before midnight?” Even in the dark, I could see that self-same grin flickering over his lips. A small, risqué voice in the back of my head jibed that I should kiss it right off his mouth and see how he’d like that for an answer. Instead, I settled for looking appropriately flustered, climbing onto the passenger’s seat before he had another chance to say something witty and terrible. The few moments of solitude after he closed my door were more than enough for me to work myself into a jumbled mess of widely inappropriate and completely tangential thoughts. As he got into the driver’s seat and started the engine, I silently thanked every single known entity that people had not yet developed the technology to read minds.

“So,” he said. I could hear his stupid grin.

“So,” I echoed, eyes trained on my own hands, laced in my lap, acutely aware of just how much he sees me.

Liam laughed, the car turned a corner and my house was out of sight. I felt him relax next to me, “Relax, love, it’s just dinner.”

“Yeah,” I didn’t know what else to say. Maybe I was thinking too much—I was definitely thinking too much. Maybe he was just being nice to the new girl in town. He seemed like that kind of guy, friendly and warm and when he spoke it’s like there was no one else in the world he wanted to hear his words. Like every word somehow meant more than its definition when he said them.

In my periphery, I saw him glance over, expression curious, “You sound disappointed.”

I hadn’t realized my thoughts could transfer so clearly into my voice, but then again, my dad always did say I wore my heart so far out of my sleeve it ran the constant risk of falling out. I hurriedly shook my head, “No, no! I was just—”

“Do you want it to be more than just dinner?” God he made it sound so casual, so easy, voice rolling over the words as if he meant every single syllable, like he didn’t have me at his complete and utter mercy. My breath hitched and the temperature in the car rose at least ten full degrees as I chewed on my lips and wondered how in hell I was supposed to answer that question without sounding idiotic.

After a brief silence, he continued, “Because I do.” His eyes were resting on the road ahead, the night leaking over the expanses of land as the last few rays of summer sun disappeared over the distant mountain range, silhouettes pressing against the would-be flat skyline like paper cutouts on a window sill.

“But we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” his voice was earnest and tentative, “So tonight could be just dinner if you don’t want it to be anything else.”

“No,” I still couldn’t make myself look at him but I knew that if I didn’t say something now, I never would, and that I’d regret it for the rest of the damn summer, “I don’t want it to be just dinner.”

Even as I said the words, I could feel my body tensing as his relaxed. He chuckled making a right into a surprisingly full parking lot in front of a diner with a triangular roof and a bright neon orange sign that read “JOSIE’S” and the outline of a pink piglet with a curly tail.

“Good,” he said, parking the car and turning to look at me. I met his eyes with my own for the first time since we got into the car and smiled.

“Because I already told Max I’ve got a date tonight and had him book us the best table,” he said, tossing the words over his shoulder as he slid out of his seat. By the time I gathered my thoughts enough to open the door, he was already there, a hand held out, cheeky grin firmly intact.

He didn’t let go of my hand as we walked towards the diner. We were three steps away from the doors when he paused and tugged me back towards him.

“You’re not vegetarian or vegan or anything, are you?”

I let out a breath and laughed, shaking my head. I’d thought he was going to… well. I mentally kicked myself before the thought could progress any further.

“Good,” he said, eyes flickering down to my lips and lingering for perhaps a moment too long to be incidental. I turned back towards the diner to hide the blush working up my cheeks.

The moment we stepped into the diner, I was bowled over by the scent of pork and potatoes, the sound of sizzling pans and the whirring of milkshake machines. I looked around, the tables were packed with people, families and friends and couples, chatting, laughing, sharing tall glasses of shakes with two or three straws, enjoying the bright, vibrating presence of everyone else.

“Maxy boy!” Liam was greeting a stout man in a red apron, fingers leaving mine as they hugged. I knotted my hands behind my back by habit, watching the man, Max, give Liam several heavy pats on the back before backing up to take me in.

“Is this the girl you were goin’ on about this morning, Liam? Well I can see why you wouldn’t shut up.” Max laughed, winking at me.

“C’mon Max, go easy on me, it’s only 7:15.” But Liam was laughing as well, shooting me a glance, eyes bright. “You’ve got our table saved, right?”

“Course I do! Ol’Maxy never goes back on his word, ‘specially not when there’s a pretty lady involved,” and he was bouncing off towards the middle of the diner, picking up a large plate of food as he passed by the kitchen window.

I felt Liam’s thumb trail down the length of my spine until his hand came to firm stop at the small of my back, guiding me towards the booth table located towards the right, next to the large glass pane window through which we could see the entire valley laid out beyond. The sky was now a deep indigo blue, the hint of stars peeking through the darkness.

“Right here for the guests of honor,” Max said, pulling a lighter out of his apron pocket and lighting the small candle at the center of the table with a flourish, “And I’ll be right back with the menus.”

He jounced off, setting the plates from the kitchen down at various tables with practiced ease. I watched him as he joked his way down the line of tables and back to the kitchen window, where a whole new platter of food was waiting.

“This is my favorite seat,” Liam said, running a hand along the worn red pleather seats and the edge of the patterned metal table. My eyes followed his large hand with helpless fascination, wondering how many hundreds of things those hands could accomplish.

“When I was really young, my dad would take me here on Sundays and we’d always sit at this table and share a large milkshake to get away from the heat when he was on break in the shop. I’d count the number of cars to drive down that road and think to myself that one day I’ll drive down that road too, and never look back.”

I searched his face for a hint of sadness, nostalgia, something. But he didn’t seem to be any of those things.

“Did you want to leave?”

“Yeah, for a while I did,” our eyes caught and for the first time, I understood why they called it ‘eye contact’ because he felt so close, so much closer across that table than he did sitting right next to me in the car. “But I’m glad I didn’t.”

He smiled, and this time, I couldn’t help smiling back, “Me too.”

I was the one who looked away first, focusing on the road and imaging a small Liam sitting where I was, large maple eyes sharp, following every phantom car as it drove towards the horizon, each filled with the purpose and resolution he might have dreamed of.

“There’s this coffee shop I used to sit in back in New York,” I said, tracing abstract patterns in to the shiny metal of the tabletop, “I’d sit at the table right next to the window and watch people walk by, and try to figure out where they’re going by what they looked like, what they were wearing, stuff like that,” I let out a small laugh, “I used to make up little stories for them and give them voices in my head and like, imagine what their lives might have been like. And then, I’d wonder if I’d ever meet them again and if they’d be like the people I imagined them to be or completely different.”

I didn’t know why I was telling him this. I guess because it’s similar to what he told me, so why did it feel like I was letting him in on some huge secret that up until that point, I hadn’t even realized I was keeping secret?

“And the menus!” Max trilled as he set two laminated menus in front of us, clapping his hands and beaming down at us, “Liam, are ya gettin’ the usual special?”

The sound of his voice was startlingly loud. I’d almost forgotten we were sitting in the middle of a crowded diner at dinner time. Our invisible bubble had been popped and I couldn’t help feeling the smallest bite of resentment as Max boomed on about the food.

Liam nodded, turning back to me, “I recommend the special, it’s world famous y’know.”

I grinned, “Alright then, I’ll get whatever he’s getting… and a milkshake?”

“Two pork specials and a milkshake, comin’ right up!” And he was gone again, sweeping our menus with him.

“I’d like to go someday,” Liam said.

“Hm?” I blinked.

“To the coffee shop,” he leaned his elbows on the table, pulling us right back into the bubble of us-ness, shutting out the entire world with a few simple words and the way his lips moved as he said them.