Surrender

“If I didn’t know better, Olivia, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

I felt my face burn as I turned sheepishly, the straw to my mocha iced latte clenched in between my teeth. “Um, hi, Liam,” I replied casually. “I’m not avoiding you. I just think we always happen to be in different places at different times.”

“And you never called me,” he reminded me. “Which kinds of hints at avoiding.”

There was a short moment of silence, so he sighed and ran his hand over his cropped hair. “Look, do you have a minute? I just want to talk to you.”

I nodded without even thinking about it or evaluating the possible risk factors of sitting down and having a straightforward conversation with him without anything around to distract him. I had no idea how observant he was when it came to picking up body language clues, and the last thing I wanted was for him to realize that I might have had a small crush on him and wanted him nowhere near me at all ever. “Sure. I’ll grab us a table.”

He stepped into line behind a teenaged son and who I presumed was his father, who were arguing about whether or not to get one of the chocolate chip brownies, while I settled down at a small two-person booth in the back corner of the café.

I tried to look anywhere that wasn’t Liam’s back and think about anything that wasn’t wondering how well the pretty barista knew him. Again, I thanked fate that my mother had decided not to accompany me in getting some coffee, insisting that she didn’t want to leave the house until the rain stopped; explaining the whole Liam situation with her would be awkward and complicated, and knowing her, she would slap me for not having made a move yet and doing everything in my power to keep him from making one.

What made things even more complicated was that whether I wanted him to make a move or not was up for some serious debate. I had thought that, no matter how cute he was, I wanted him to be a friend if anything, and it was an idea that my comfort zone wholeheartedly supported. But ever since I’d come to the realization that he fit perfectly into the category of “My Type”, I kept wondering about what it would be like to be with him in a whole different kind of way, a kissing-on-the-boardwalk, holding-hands-and-walking-on-the-beach kind of way. It kind of freaked me out and exhilarated me at the same time.

“Hi,” Liam greeted with a smile as he slid into the booth opposite me, and I made a conscious effort not to look surprised or like I was paying absolutely no attention to my surroundings, both of which were true. “So now that I can finally talk to you, can I say something that might possibly make you feel super uncomfortable?”

I shifted in my seat and responded, “You mean other than that?”

He laughed, soon followed by, “I just wanted to apologize if I came on too strong to you while we were dancing or after we were dancing. I tried my best to sound lighthearted about keeping in contact with you, but when I relayed everything that happened to Jay, he told me I wasn’t respecting your boundaries or taking the right hints. So if you feel that way, I’m so sorry.”

Who was Jay? I guessed it wasn’t too important, since he hadn’t specified, so I let it go. “No, it’s okay,” I assured him. “You weren’t scaring me. You’ve been nothing but nice to me.”

He relaxed visibly, tightening his grip around the coffee cup sitting in front of him. I almost asked him what he’d ordered, since it smelled really incredible, like chocolate and cinnamon and something else I couldn’t place, but I didn’t want to change the subject at such an important time. “So do you mind telling me what it is that’s keeping you from talking to me? If I’m not scaring you, anyway.”

Instead of spending the time to come up with an elaborate lie, or even a small, convincing one, I burst out with the thing closest resembling the truth: “I just really don’t want another dance lesson.” He looked a little surprised, so I tried to soften the blow. “I liked the first one we had together and everything, but I’m not cut out to be a dancer. I’ve been trying to go places I didn’t think I’d see you because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings by telling you. You seemed really excited about it.”

My eyes stayed firmly fixed on the tabletop so I didn’t have to see his reaction or, God forbid, the hurt in his expression. It wasn’t until I heard a little exhalation of breath, almost like laughter, that I looked up at him. Surely enough, he was smiling, like he found the whole misunderstanding humorous.

“Olivia, that’s no big deal. We can do something else if you want to. Dancing was just the most natural way I could hang out with you while having my job. Not to mention that dancing with you would be a welcome break from my, uh, normal routine.”

“Oh.” I suddenly felt really mean and stupid, but I didn’t have long to wallow in self-loathing before he spoke again.

“Do you like rollerblading?”

“I’ve only done it a couple of times, but yeah, it’s okay. I think.”

“There’s a place all the way on the other side of the boardwalk that rents skates, and we can just go around the resort and maybe see the things that you haven’t seen yet? Do you think you’d want to try that?”

All the ways I could possibly injure myself rollerblading flashed through my head, and I bit down on my straw, musing shortly, before finally agreeing. I knew consciously that I had a tendency to focus only on the negative possibilities, and if I was ever going to accomplish anything, I was going to have to take chances out of my comfort zone. “As long as you don’t make fun of me when I fall, it’s worth a shot.”

His face lit up as he grabbed his cup and got to his feet in one smooth motion. “I’ll do my best, but no guarantees. I’ll see you tomorrow at seven, okay? Let’s just meet in front of here.”

“Okay.” I smiled back at him, and he raised his cup in parting before disappearing out the door.

Part of me was incredibly nervous, and for a valid reason: I had no idea whether skating with Liam qualified as hanging out as friends or a date. Taking a sip of my drink helped me think more clearly, and I suddenly remembered how he’d said that he just wanted to talk with someone who could relate to him on a peer level. Which, I rationalized, must point to him wanting a friend, not a girlfriend. I thought, anyway.

I sort of wanted to talk to Erica about it, just to see what she thought, but I had a feeling I already knew how she’d react. She’d blow the whole scenario out of proportion, coming up with a million and one reasons the whole plan was just a cover for trying to get into my pants or propose or that he was secretly a prince, and I knew I didn’t have the energy or desire to argue with her for an hour about it.

So I decided not to tell her about it. I could only hope that she wouldn’t ask too many prodding questions and that I could come up with a decent excuse.



My phone rang just as I sat down on the couch, an apple already between my teeth. Finishing off the bite and chewing quickly to swallow before the call went to voicemail was not easy feat, and it kind of hurt, but I managed to answer on the last ring. “Hello?”

“Hey!” Erica’s voice was excited, but if she was calling me in the afternoon, something was probably wrong. “Sorry to call you in the middle of the day over there. You aren’t busy, right?”

“No, I was just having a snack and preparing to watch HGTV.” I snapped off another bite of the apple as I asked, “What’s up?”

“You’re so charming,” she told me drily before answering my question. “I’m having kind of a wardrobe crisis. Whitney, Lauren, and I are going to this party tonight, and I knew it’s going to be fun, but everything I own seems stupid and outdated. I guess this is what I get for not going shopping in over a month.”

I felt myself wince before remembering it had been an indecently long time since I’d gone shopping, too. “Okay, this is a problem.” It took me a minute to flip through things I remembered her owning before I finally settled on a decision. “Wait, what about that low-cut teal and black dress you got for your cousin’s divorce party last year? That looked incredible on you.”

“But then my mom wore it to her friend’s 50th birthday party, so that kind of ruined it for me.” I heard a thump in the background, but I didn’t bother to ask what it was. “I couldn’t bring myself to wear a dress my mom wore.”

“No one’s even going to suspect your mom wore it. Plus, you fill it out better, anyway.”

There was a moment of silence as Erica weighed the options, certainly swayed heavily by the unexpected compliment. The rain picked up strength outside, and I wondered to myself if my dad would cut his run short to get back to where it was warm and dry. My gut told me probably not.

“I might as well try it on and see if it still fits and everything. I’ll call you back if it doesn’t work.”

“It will,” I assured her. “Just trust me.”

“We’ll see. Thanks for the help. Bye.”

The line went dead, and I could just imagine her throwing the phone onto the bed and letting out an Oscar-worthy groan, filled with her intense doubt over my fashion choice, before rummaging through her closet on her hands and knees, shoving articles of clothing she hadn’t worn since the sixth grade out of her way as a stream of expletives spilled from her mouth.

I laughed to myself, glad I wasn’t having major wardrobe issues, and turned on the television. I kept an eye on my phone, waiting for it to sound again while also not expecting it to. I had confidence in my decision, but I think the success really rested on her ability to find the dress.

After an episode and a half of Flip or Flop, a show that I liked well enough to keep watching, even though it certainly wasn’t one of my favorites, without hearing from her, I decided my plan must have been a success. It was nearing seven o’clock back home, and knowing Erica as I did, I was positive she would have had to settle her wardrobe dilemmas far before then to keep any sense of sanity.

“Ugh,” Mom groaned as she stepped into the room, grimacing at the images on the screen. “I hate this show. I have no idea how you can sit through more than ten seconds of it.”

“I like the end results,” I argued. “I can watch any of the shows on this channel for the end results.”

Mom shook her head before nodding toward the window. “Is it still pouring outside?” When I nodded, she crossed her arms and sighed. “I’m sure your father won’t be thrilled about it, but we have to get takeout. It’s just one of those days where I feel like cooking is a very bad idea.”

I didn’t know how the rain made her reach the conclusion, but I liked to believe in the validity of gut feelings, so I shrugged. “He’ll deal. I know he doesn’t want to gain a whole bunch of weight while we’re here, but there are always healthy-ish options. Or he could cheat.”

“It wouldn’t kill him, that’s for sure.” She sat down in the chair next to me, so I immediately picked up the remote and started looking for a new show. If she was sticking around, she’d complain through the whole thing, and I didn’t want to make her miserable with a show I didn’t even like very much. “What kind of food do you feel like?”

“Probably American.”

“You always want American,” she grumbled as she pulled her computer onto her lap. “But okay. I’ll see what I can find.”

I landed on an episode of Criminal Minds, thinking it was safe, since I knew my mother liked it. But just as soon as it came back from a commercial break, Mom glanced up and said, “Oh, no, you can’t start these in the middle; nothing will make sense. And this one’s too creepy, anyway.”

To me, all of them were too creepy, but I didn’t mind watching an episode here and there because I thought the guy who played Dr. Reid was kind of cute, in a dorky, awkward kind of way. But I didn’t dispute her ruling before starting to flip through the channels again, knowing that the odds of finding something good in the middle of the day were pretty slim.