Animate Me (13 page)

“I think you’re more grown up than you think,” I say resolutely. “But if you insist, I’ll keep dating her until you make up your mind.”

“Just watch your step, asshole. If I hear that you’ve fucked her, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted.”

I watch him walk away and I replay the conversation in my head. Either I finally did something right today, or I screwed up my relationships with two more people that I really care about. I’m such a mess; I can’t decide which…all I can do is hope that I did the right thing.

• • •

There’s finally a single ray of sunshine that afternoon. I get a call from Chris Carpenter from Sharper Edge Comics wanting to meet me for lunch to discuss the deal for the B-Girl series. He puts his assistant on and we set it up for next Friday in Studio City. I feel a surge of excitement pumping through me and even though the feeling quickly fades, I’m still grateful to have the meeting to look forward to.

Just after five I see Morgan wandering down our aisle sticking her head in each cube looking for someone. I consider hiding under my animation desk, but before I can fall to my knees she sees me.

“What happened to you?” She looks angry, tapping her watch impatiently.

“What are you talking about?”

“Where’s her coffee? Her afternoon visit?”

I blanch.

“Did the pitch not go well and now it’s payback time?” she sneers.

“Morgan, for the last time I wasn’t going to pitch her, and I didn’t. That’s not what’s happening here.”

“Okay, can you then tell me why she left early yesterday without a word and I caught her crying at her desk a few minutes ago. Right after she’d asked if I’d seen you.”

She might as well have kicked me in the stomach. “Really?” I ask softly. “She was crying?”

“I’ve never seen her cry before. It freaked me out. And yes, she’s my boss…but I care about her. She’s a really good person.”

“I know she is, Morgan. She was just trying to help me, and I screwed up.”

“Well then, fix it, damn it!”

Morgan’s kind of scary when she’s mad. I jump up from my drafting chair and grab my Sharpie. “I’ll be up there in a few.”

“Okay, hurry. She just got pulled into a meeting so I want it waiting for her when she gets back.”

Other than the excruciating moments in the elevator, I run all the way to Starbucks. My hand’s shaky when I draw on the cup but I do my best. I draw an eye, with a screw next to it followed by an apostrophe and the letter “d”. Next I draw an arrow pointing up.
I screwed up.

Then underneath I draw a little caricature of me with my hair in my face, big glasses, and the biggest frown. In small letters underneath I write,
I’m sorry
and just underneath,
I miss you.

The barista has put those little green stoppers in the sip hole of the lid so I’m able to run back to the studio without spilling it all.

My heart is pounding as I run up to Morgan’s desk and hand her Brooke’s drink. “Did I make it? Is she out yet?”

“No, perfect timing,” she says, giving me a thumbs up. “I think it’s almost over.”

“Good,” I gasp still catching my breath. I set the second coffee on her desk. “Here Morgan, this mocha’s for you. Thanks for your help.”

She looks up at me and smiles. “You’re welcome. Thanks for the drink. Here I’m going to put this on her desk so it’s waiting for her when she gets back. I really hope this will cheer her up.”

“Me too.”

Everything hits me as I get into the elevator and almost sink to my knees. The emotional overload of the last couple of days is crashing down on me. I don’t know how much more I can take. Maybe I was better off alone, with my predictable weeks, and small, reliable group of friends. I’m living Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride now and it’s terrifying. But just hearing how sad Brooke is breaks my heart again and makes me realize that I can’t walk away from her…not now, not ever.

I get back to my cube and force myself to work knowing that Joel often walks through in the afternoon to see how our assignments are progressing. Sure enough, only minutes later he steps in to say hi and I show him the latest drawings. He doesn’t seem to sense anything amiss and I breath a sigh of relief when he moves on to Andy’s cube.

Just past five-thirty, I get a text. My heart leaps when I see it’s from Brooke.

Thanks for the coffee, Nathan.

I’m so sorry for being an idiot, Brooke.

You’re not an idiot. This would be a lot for anyone to deal with. I think you’re very brave.

Well, I think you’re amazing. Thanks for believing in me.

Do does this mean we can still be friends?

I realize how brave she is to ask this.

There’s nothing I want more. Can I still come over Thursday night and help with your website?

I guess so, but only if you’re sure you’re comfortable with me. I promise not to touch you.

Why don’t we talk about the touching part when we meet? I’m very comfortable with you, okay?

Okay, that makes me happy. I’ll see you at seven.

See you then.
I have a big smile when I hit the send button for the last time.

• • •

Thursday at six forty-five I play the Foo Fighters,
Everlong
really loud the whole way up the hill. I can barely breath I’m so excited to see her. Even though I can’t open my heart to her yet, I wish I could tell her everything…that I love her…that I want her to touch every part of me, as long as I can touch her too.

After I park, I lower the sun-shield and looking in the mirror, try to smooth out my crazy hair. Before I climb out of the car I take a few deep, calming breaths.

It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

When she buzzes me in, I use my back to push the gate shut, as my hands are more than full. She pulls the door open and smiles. She looks hopeful and happy to see me.

I’m overcome. I want to cry out of frustration for almost messing this up. I want to pull her into my arms and kiss her until the sun sets over us, or something equally corny, but true.

Instead I lift my heavy arms and show her the twelve packs of Heinekens I’m holding in each hand. “These are for you. Well, for us.” I say quietly.

“Thanks,” she says, pulling the door open wider.

And then I realize why I’m the luckiest man in the world.

Yes! Yoga pants.
Her curvy hips and lush thighs are sheathed in stretchy black magic. I almost pass out in excitement. My eyes trail up to her torso where Tom is chasing Jerry over the round, full swell of her breasts. It’s almost too much — it’s so damn good. I know she’s worn this just for me.

Now I understand people with faith. God
is
Good…so, so good. Yoga pants good, and in my book there’s nothing better.

I step right up to her and lay the beer at her feet like a sacred offering. She looks up at me and smiles, opening her arms and I step right into them.

The hug is long, our hearts unfolding. This is a new beginning and I’m going to be stealthy and hardy, brave and kind, everything that asshat, Arnold, isn’t. I will do whatever it takes until my dreamy, cartoon-loving, Red Hot in yoga pants knows without a doubt that I’m the best man for her.

“
That’s a good little boy.” ~Betty Boop
^viii

W
hen we finally pull apart from our hug she looks down at the beer, and then back at me with her eyebrows raised.

“Are you planning on getting me drunk tonight?”

“No,” I stammer. “This is just proof of my intention to keep coming back.”

“Oh,” she smiles warmly. “I like that. Come on, let’s see how many we can fit in the fridge.”

I pick up the cases and follow her to the kitchen, enjoying the sublime yoga pants view. I don’t know when I’ve ever been happier.

Tonight she’s feeding me Middle Eastern food: beef and chicken shawarma, tabouleh, fattoush salad and hummus with pita bread. Although delicious, I note that this stuff is loaded with garlic. Is this an evil plot to avoid kissing me? I’m onto her strategy but I have my own. As we finish I pull out a stick of mint gum and offer her one too.

“So I’m meeting with Sharper Edge again next Friday about my comic book. Actually it’s lunch with the publisher,” I tell her while she takes a sip of beer.

Her eyes get big. “So this is serious,” she says, grinning. “They must really want your series. Do you want this deal? It can lead to the big time.”

I start to peel the label off my beer bottle while I think about it. “Well, I want the big time, but at what price? I’ve done a lot of research and I don’t want to give up the rights to my characters.”

She looks at me and shakes her head. “You know it’s almost impossible to hold onto your rights. They will demand ownership unless there’s a very compelling reason that they want your particular property.”

“Well, then I may have to walk away,” I say firmly.

“And you’re willing to do that?” She asks studying me carefully.

“You bet.”

Her face lights up and she lifts her bottle to clink with mine. “Here’s to artistic integrity.”

“Here, here,” I agree, and we take long sips with our lips curled up. If I do what the studio wants, there are all kinds of possibilities for money and prestige. So the fact that she wants what is best for me as an artist, no matter what the cost, makes me love her even more.

Later in her home office, I show her the rough layout for the website. She leans over my shoulder, and the sweet smell of pears surrounds me. Normally if she were this close to me, she would rest her hand on my upper back, or brush her fingers against my arm, but I’m painfully aware that she isn’t touching me
.
She’s remaining true to her word.

“Oh, that looks so good,” she moans. “Where’d you find that font?”

“Genna loaned it to me. She’s a font expert.”

“Well, thank her for me.”

I turn towards her and smile, her face close enough to kiss. She swiftly pulls back and sits down on the edge of the bed. I ache at the distance between us. I want to kiss her so much.

She looks at me, then out the window.
What’s she thinking?

“Another beer?” she looks distracted.

“Sure.” I nod.

When she returns from the kitchen and hands it to me, she’s watching me intently. At times like these I worry that she can look straight into my heart and see that I’m hopelessly in love with her. And if she did learn that, I fear I would no longer be welcome here, no longer be part of her life. So I bite my tongue, and turn back towards her computer screen.

She finally speaks. “Nathan?”

“Uh huh,” I reply while I wait for another image to import.

“I’m really glad you’re here.”

I turn towards her and tip my head, trying to figure out what she’s really trying to say.

“What I mean is that I’m really glad that we’re still friends,” she says quietly.

She still likes me. Maybe I still have a chance.
I grin at her and she grins back in response.

“Me too, Brooke.”

Several beers later, and done with our work, we’re sprawled out on opposite ends of her couch.

“When are you going to let me see your comic book? I’m waiting for you to want me to read it.”

Damn.
How do I explain to her that my main character looks like her? It never seemed like an issue when I admired her from afar, but now…

“Well, um…” I stutter.
Damn.
I can feel my face turning red.

“I just hope you know that the longer you make me wait, the higher my expectations are going to be,” she teases, waving her beer bottle at me.

Despite the tension, the beer buzz gives me courage. “Hey, have you ever told a white lie to get something you really wanted?”

“A white lie?” she asks, her expression unreadable.

“Uh, huh.”

She makes a face. “I hate all lies—white, black or whatever…always have. Besides if you have to lie to get something, you shouldn’t have it in the first place.”

I feel all the blood drain from my head, and I’m fairly certain my heart has stopped beating.

“Why?” She asks.

Good job, stupid. Okay…I’m completely screwed. She’s going to hate me.
And just like that I lose my courage.

“Sometimes I just have trouble saying what I really feel,” I stutter.

“I know it can be hard, Nathan. But you always have to try. I know, why don’t you tell me how it’s been seeing me tonight after all of our ups and downs this week?”

I look over at her and she seems a million miles away perched on the far arm of the couch. I can’t talk about the big lie now, but I can address the immediate issue. I look down at my shoes and my fingers curl over my knees. “It’s been great seeing you, Brooke, but can we talk about the touching thing?”

“Okay, if you really want to.” I notice her fingers tighten over the beer bottle. “But, I’m hands free from now on, I promise.”

I swallow hard and push my hair out of my eyes. “But that’s my point; I don’t want you to be.”

She looks at me confused. “But I thought that’s why you didn’t want to be friends with me anymore?”

“My problem wasn’t because you’ve touched me. Believe me. I was just so humiliated to have you learn the most embarrassing thing about me. Only a complete loser would still be this inexperienced at my age. And because of that I felt like I couldn’t face you again.”

I close my eyes, folding my arms tightly over my chest. “But the last two days have been hell. Not facing you meant sacrificing your friendship, and that’s far worse than you knowing what a total loser I am.”

She crawls down to my side of the couch, pulls my arms apart and curls up under my shoulder. It feels so good to have her close to me. I guess the touching embargo is over. I take a deep breath and pull her closer.

“You’re not a total loser, Nathan.” She takes my beer out of my hand and takes a swig, then hands it back. “I think you’re great.”

I smile at her and her compliment encourages me to ask for more. “Besides,” I continue, “you know the worst about me now, and you still want to be friends. If you don’t care that I’m inept, than neither will I. If you want to help me, well then, I welcome it.”