Lipstick Apology (14 page)

Fifteen minutes aboard the ship and I was in full-blown agony, hand to my mouth, praying.
Hey, Big Guy,please, please don't make me throw up. Not in front of Owen. Just this once, let me not puke.

“Poor baby,” Owen said, rubbing my back.

The boat finally docked at Liberty Island. Once my feet hit the solid ground, my stomach settled a little. We walked inside the statue and began to climb the never-ending stairs. The first wrapping staircase led to a double corkscrew staircase with small triangular steps, and I wished I had known where we were going so I could have worn sneakers. Or at least something with a flat, rubber sole. Not the black boots with skinny kitten heels that kept catching in the open steel stairs. I wanted to have meaningful, romantic conversations with Owen, but I was so frustrated with the stairs I found myself wishing I was at home, on the couch, watching
E! True Hollywood Story
. Luckily Owen didn't seem to notice I was lagging. He kept talking about all the cool things there were to do in the city.

“At the back of the café, there's this hidden door that leads to a swanky little bar where they don't even card,” he was in the middle of saying. “It's pretty sweet.”

“How cool!” I answered, a little out of breath. I wasn't sure what café he had been telling me about, but as I looked over at Owen's dimple in his left cheek, I felt really guilty. He was trying. Trying to show me all the opportunities that lay ahead of me. Of
us.
If we were to go on another date sometime, that is.

I thought about the fact that even a month ago, I wouldn't have been out and about at a busy tourist destination with a hot guy—I was barely able to leave the house at all. It seemed like a miracle that a guy like him would even put up with a girl who had as much baggage as me.

He swatted me with a cheesy foam Statue of Liberty crown as we stepped off the ferry and walked toward Clyde. I giggled, trying to ignore the nausea that was still with me from the trip back. “This has been such a great day, Owen. I mean it. And I was definitely a little less sick on the ride back,” I added. “So, thanks.”

“What? Are you ready to go home already?” he asked, teasing me. “I'm kind of hungry.”

The thought of food was not appealing, but I didn't want to disappoint Owen. So I followed him to the car and Clyde drove us back toward Greenwich Village. We pulled up to an old carriage house that had a line of people waiting to get in.

“Wait, I need to freshen up. After the ferry, I feel kind of gross.”

Owen came close. “You,” he said, “look perfect.” My spine tingled and I followed him in.

Inside the restaurant, we were seated at a small table in the corner under a huge wall of exposed brick. I sat in the plush, red velvet chair and stared up at the enormous stained glass windows that formed the shape of a flower.

Owen had a satisfied look on his face. “I know,” he said, nodding. “I know what you're thinking. One if by land, two if by sea . . .” He looked at me with anticipation.

No, I had no idea what he was talking about. “Paul Revere? Right? I think I remember that being a
Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?
question . . .” Owen was looking at me like I was crazy. Then I glanced down and saw that was the name of the restaurant. One If by Land, Two If by Sea. “Oh, right, the restaurant.” I hoped he thought I was being funny again.

Owen smiled wide. “My dad knows the owner.”

I forced an impressed nod. I opened the menu and noticed that the food descriptions were extravagant with words I didn't understand like
infusion
and
aubergines.
It kind of reminded me of the spa menu at Cornelia Day where Jolie had taken me weeks ago—totally over my head. After the horrendous ferry ride, I really just wanted a burger and fries, but this did not appear to be an option.

A statuesque blond approached our table. “My name is Claire and I'll be your server tonight.” She spoke in a raspy voice and looked only at Owen.

“Well, hi, Claire,” Owen said in his usual flirtatious way.

“Hey. You look so familiar,” she said. “Do I know you?” She leaned over resting one elbow on the table so there was a view straight down the line of her enormous chest.

Owen's eyes followed the trail of cleavage. He leaned closer toward her. “My name is Owen Nichols.” He smiled flirtatiously. “I come here sometimes . . .”

“I bet you do,” she said. She was so seductive, so blatant. I felt a lump in my throat like I wanted to cry. Owen probably didn't even remember that I was there with him; he was too busy eyeing the hills and valleys of our waitress.

“Wait,” she said, putting a finger into the air. “Are you in my theater class? I swear, I've seen you outside this restaurant. I'm a film student at NYU.”

“An aspiring actress,” Owen said, nodding. “Nice.”

She laughed, her skirted white apron bouncing on her hips.

I stared down at the menu. Owen had said I looked perfect. Not five minutes ago, he said the word
perfect
. My eyes filled with tears, making the words on the menu swim around. I couldn't pronounce anything on the menu; I
was
a simpleton. Why did I think I could go to a restaurant that served
goat cheese tortellini dusted in wild fennel pollen
? Pollen? Wasn't pollen the stuff that turned cars yellow and made my dad's eyes itchy? Just thinking about my dad and how out of place he'd feel in a restaurant like this made my throat constrict. I started to feel that dizzy, numb feeling again. I looked at the menu once more.
Purple a sparagus; turnips stuffed with pig's feet.
Purple asparagus? Pig's feet? What was I doing here?

“Well, Owen,” the temptress was saying. “Would you like to hear our specials?”

“I would love to,” Owen said.

Without glancing at any notes, she began reciting with theatrical emphasis. “Tonight we have a
spicy
sumac squab breast
romanced
by a hot-chili-flecked pasta that will make you
lose your self-control.
” She stopped to exhale a long breath and Owen leaned back in his chair as if waiting for her to bend down and kiss him.

I stiffened up. “Guess those acting lessons are really paying off,” I said.

Two pairs of eyes shot toward me in surprise. It was like they both forgot that I was there.

Claire glared at me. “Humph,” she grunted, turning back toward Owen. “What would you like to eat, Owen?”

I tried to focus on the menu.
Pick something, anything,
I commanded, but all I could concentrate on was trying to swallow the lump in my throat. I looked up. Owen had just ordered something
medium rare.

Claire turned to me with an agitated expression. “And what do you want?”

“Um.” Focus. Order something. Not the pollen thing. “Ahh, I'll just have the special. You know—so I can
lose my self-control
and all
.
”

The waitress gave me a snarky look, shoved her pencil in her apron pocket, and turned on her heel. Owen watched her cross the room and disappear behind double doors. Then he turned to me, a smile plastered on his face, shaking his head

“I really think I know that chick.” He couldn't stop grinning. He shook his head again and laughed. “We just can't figure out where we met!”

“Right,” I said. “I was here—for that conversation.”

“Right.” He nodded. “You're funny, Emily.”

“Um, excuse me. I need to go to the bathroom.” I bolted across the room and flung open the bathroom door. There was a woman in a uniform sitting on a chair, but I didn't care. I plopped down on an upholstered couch and whipped out my cell phone.

First I texted Lindsay, not sure if she'd be back from her lesson. Then I hit 3 on my speed dial.

“Jolie! It's a complete disaster!” I wailed. “He's totally flirting with our waitress who's this blond bombshell film student with enormous boobs and a habit of licking her lips. Maybe he is just a player like Trent said and he doesn't even care
who
he's with.”

“Whoa, Em, calm down. He's there with YOU, not some slutty waitress. Don't freak. If she's flirting with him, maybe you just need to flirt more.”

“How 'bout a REAL solution! I am utterly
inadequate
to start a seduction scene with the hottest guy in our whole class—possibly the whole universe. This is a disaster. I shouldn't have come.” Tears threatened worse than before. Who was I kidding? I wasn't ready to live like a normal person and go on normal dates. Let alone go out with Darlington royalty.

“Remember last night you and your friends were posing and making camera faces and we all said that you could be a model?”

I sniffled. “
A pre-pubescent, tween model for Gymboree
is what Trent said.” I saw the uniformed bathroom attendant smile.

“Oh, come on! You know he was just joking,” Jolie said. “Listen, sweetie. The point is, when you relax and have fun, you sparkle!”

“Sparkle? I don't think so.”

“Yes. You sparkle. Now go—channel that. Relax and have fun. Owen picked you.”

“Okay. I'll relax. Thanks. I feel better,” I said, even though I wasn't sure if I did. I felt so alone as soon as we hung up.

The uniformed lady handed me a tissue. “The boys,” she said in a thick accent. “They always cause the heartaches.”

I nodded. “Thanks.” I dabbed at my nose. Then I took a deep, sniffly breath in. I checked my bobbed haircut in the mirror, then strode back out toward our table with my head held high.
Owen picked me
.

Our meal arrived just after I sat down. What had I ordered? I stared down at the plate. It looked sort of like chicken. I cut into the meat and tentatively tasted it. At first, I thought,
Okay, not too bad,
and then I remembered
spicy something or other that might just make you lose your self-control.

And lose it, I did.

First my nose started running. Then I began coughing. Big sweat bullets dripped down my forehead. It felt like I had dumped a whole jar of jalapeño peppers down my throat. I grabbed for my water and guzzled. I wiped my eyes. I looked down at my food, then up at Owen. And then we both started to laugh. My big crazy laugh came flying out of me like it hadn't in a long while, and because I was leaning on the table, the vase rattled and I made a move to grab it before it fell over, making Owen laugh more.

I pointed down at my plate. “What IS this?” I asked, dabbing at my eyes, now wet from the spiciness and the laughing fest.

“That was the special,” Owen said. “The spicy squab.”

I shook my head. “I don't even know what that means.”

He gave me a look like,
How could you have lived this long and not know what squab is?

“Seriously,” I said. “I don't know.” And there it was—the clear delineation between Owen's world and mine. He lived in a world of fancy restaurants with strange meals and I, clearly, did not. I guzzled more water.

“It's pigeon. A baby pigeon, actually.” Owen smiled.

OH MY GOD. “I just ate a
pigeon
?” I tried not to barf right there onto the fancy linen tablecloth. “How could you let me order pigeon?”

Owen burst out laughing all over again. “I know. I thought it was a little suspect.”

I watched him cracking up, then I started to laugh too.

Owen cut his steak and forked half of it onto my bread plate. And just like that, I relaxed.

Claire reappeared later after we'd turned down dessert, this time wearing freshly applied lipstick and flushed cheeks. She laid the check down in front of Owen.

“I hope the service was satisfactory,” she crooned, lowering her eyelids into a seductive half closure. God, she was so
obvious.
Why didn't she just write down her name and number and give it to him?

“Hey,” Owen said, handing a credit card to Claire. “Why don't you write down your name and number.”

WHAT?!

“I'm going to write a letter to your manager and tell him what a great job you did,” Owen said.

Claire glanced my way and raised her eyebrows as if to say,
What do you think about that?

I shot her a
I think you're pathetic
scowl.

Claire pulled out her pen and scrawled her information on a scrap of paper. “I put my cell and e-mail there too.” She looked over at me, then back to Owen. “Just in case.”

“Cool,” said Owen, oblivious to the nonverbal fight Claire and I were having.

We grabbed our coats and left. Owen waved in Claire's direction.

Owen asked if anything was wrong on the walk home, after letting Clyde know where to meet him to take him back. I told Owen I was fine. I wanted to be happy. And it had been a good date, sort of. I mean, it was way better than when Justin Chapman took me bowling and we split a pitcher of Pepsi and a pizza. It was even nicer than when Scotty Dayton took me to the Newtown Diner and told me I could order anything I wanted, including an appetizer. But with those guys it was so easy. I could just be myself and not worry that everything I said would sound stupid. And I never felt like I had lost some competition to a sultry waitress. Why couldn't it be both ways? Have easy comfort
and
sparks of electricity?

We arrived back at the apartment to find Jolie and Trent in the middle of a Scrabble game.

“
Wishy-washy
IS a word,” Trent was saying. “Like, stop being so
wishy-washy
about the rules of this game.”

They both turned and looked at us.