pours
Braxton’s glass, then sets the bottle on the table and leaves.
“I’m sorry.” He tugs at the
sleeve on his blazer. “If I’d known you didn’t like
red wine, I wouldn’t have gotten a whole bottle.”
“If you had asked, I probably would have
told you,” I say.
He laughs a little, but doesn’t know how to
take it. I can tell I’ve put him off balance.
He clears his throat and reaches for the bread,
offering me a piece first.
“Thank you,” I say. “I love the
bread here.”
He lowers the basket on the table, his expression
pinched. “You’ve been here before?”
I look around. “A few times,” I say.
“Never on a blind date, though. I usually just have guys take
me to the country club. I’m comfortable there and everyone
knows me, so I feel safe.”
“Would you rather have gone there instead?”
“No, this is really nice,” I say. “You
surprised me bringing me here. It’s a nice change.”
He smiles, but it’s forced. I’ve taken
the upper hand here and he doesn’t like it one bit.
The waiter brings my drink and takes our order. He
doesn’t order for me, which is a relief. While we wait, Braxton
asks me basic questions about my life and just as expected, ends up
mostly talking about himself.
“What’s your major?” he asks.
“Political science,” I say. “Mostly
concentrating on pre-law courses.”
It’s the perfect chance for him to ask me
where I want to go to law school or why I want to be a lawyer, but he
doesn’t.
“I’m a senior at Emery this year,”
he says. “I’m starting back in a couple of weeks. I’m
pre-med, hoping to get into Fairhope Coastal for med school.”
I almost laugh. A doctor and a lawyer. Looks great
on paper, but if we got married, we’d probably never see each
other.
Not that I can really see myself as a lawyer. My
mom has had her heart set on it since I was little. I think she has
this idea that since she got pregnant half-way through law school and
never finished, I can pick up where she left off. It was easier to
just do what she wanted than argue about it, but when it comes time
to start applying for law schools, I’m going to have to put my
foot down. No way am I putting up with another three years of this
crap after undergrad, much less the rest of my life.
After our food arrives, Braxton continues to talk
about his career aspirations and what it’s like living in
Atlanta. By the time I’m done eating, I’ve heard about
his perfect GPA, the various awards he’s won over the past few
years, and how he’s sure he’ll have no trouble with
med-school after acing his MCATs.
Meanwhile, I’ve had three drinks and am
happy to just let him blab on and on.
At least he’s pretty to look at.
When there’s finally a break in his endless
love song to himself, I speak up. “Do you want to go to this
bar in Fairhope with me?” I ask. “A group of people are
throwing a little welcome home party for this friend of mine, and I
told them I’d swing by.”
He hesitates. I’m on the edge of my seat
waiting to see which way he’ll swing. Mega-jerk or over-the-top
romantic.
“I was kind of hoping we could keep it just
the two of us tonight,” he says. He leans forward, his arms
resting on the table between us. “I know this really gorgeous
spot just down the beach from here. I’d love nothing more than
to grab a blanket and walk on the beach with you tonight. I think
there’s really something special about you, Penny.”
Over-the-top it is, then. I like that better than
the alternative, but I’m disappointed I was so right about this
guy.
“Aww, thanks,” I say, patting his hand
twice, then standing up. “That’s really sweet, but I
should get home soon. I promised my friends I’d come out there,
and it’s really important to me.”
He scrambles to his feet. “Oh, well, I don’t
want to take you home,” he says. “If you really want to
go to this party, let’s do it.”
“Yeah?” I’m surprised
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley