The World: According to Rachael (8 page)

“Your turn. Tell me about you.” He puts his finger to his chin and narrows his gaze. “I want the good stuff.”

I grab the paper napkin and begin to fidget with it under the table so he will not see just how much I hate talking about me. “Born in Houston. I think we lived in the same neighborhood,” I tell him. His sister is bouncing around in my brain as I begin to recall more facts about his family. “My parents are ophthalmologists—still practicing. I’m an only child, but my best friend has a ton of sisters, so I kind of feel like I’m a part of their family. Graduated from Texas A&M University …”

“I know that stuff. It was all over the news when you became the first female White House Chief of Staff. We agreed you’d tell me the things that I can’t Google.”

“Fine,” I reply as I bite my lower lip and cut my eyes to the side. I’m such a private person that I don’t share a lot about me. Quickly, I wrack my brain for something to tell him. “My favorite color is green,” I blurt out.

He motions for me to continue. “I love shoes …” I trail off giving him a sheepish grin.

He crosses his arms over his thick chest. “Not good enough. I’ll ask the questions.”

I prepare myself mentally, as if this is another interview with Barbara Walters. Pep talk:
Rachael, you can do this. You have to let this guy in if you think you like him
.

“Would you rather have a fancy dinner with wine and champagne, or go to a hole-in-the-wall bar and drink beer?”

I consider his question. I like nice dinners, but I don’t know if a teacher’s salary can afford them. I don’t want to put pressure on him, making him think that he has to spend money to date me.
Date me?
So I answer, “I like crawfish boils or barbecue. I like trying new and unique types of food. I’m not picky. It’s more about the company that I’m with rather than what or where we’re eating.” I don’t add that most of my meals are calculated social exercises to achieve a certain goal. I rarely eat for pleasure.

Graham’s eyes, I’m learning, are truly the windows to his soul. Without him saying a word, they light up. I must have said the right thing. “I like that answer, and I agree.”

He takes a sip of his drink and asks, “Favorite movie not starring Steve Martin?”

“Not sure. I like horror. Next,” I prompt.

Fortunately, our food arrives, but I can tell by the look on Graham’s face that the waitress did not save me. However, she did buy me a few moments to think what my favorite movies are. I usually respond with
All the President’s Men
or
Forest Gump
. Both are respectable movies that aren’t controversial. However, as I watch the waitress unload her tray of food on to our table, I question what my favorite movies really are. I love anything with Steve Martin, but if I were to Netflix a movie to watch by myself, what would I choose? The answer “I don’t know” scares me more than I wish to dwell on.

“This smells divine.” I begin to prepare my burger patty by using my knife to smear the mayonnaise on the meat. I peek up through my lashes and catch Graham watching me with a crinkled forehead.

“What?” I ask defensively.

“Nothing,” he says as he removes the tomato and adds extra pickles to his.

“No. What?” I demand, a bit thankful that the twenty questions directed my way seem to be forgotten for the moment.

He shakes his head and laughs as he uses his knife to cut his burger into two equal parts. “I’m just surprised that people eat mayo. That’s all.”

“What do you have against mayonnaise?” I ask just before I place my first forkful of burger patty in my mouth.

“Besides the fact that it smells like feet, and it tastes like the ass end of a rhino?” His eyebrow cocks up as he responds. There’s that damn dimple again.

I lick a drop of mayo off my finger, sucking as it exits my mouth. My eyes drift towards the ceiling. A soft moan escapes my lips. In my best Marilyn Monroe voice, I say, “I’ve never tasted a rhino’s behind, but this mayo sure is tasty.”

Graham’s clear blue eyes cloud with what I think is lust. He leans forward placing his elbows on the table. In a deeper voice, “When you put it that way, maybe I could become a fan of mayonnaise.”

He leans back and takes a mouthful of his burger, and I chuckle as I grab an onion ring and take a bite. They’re as good as he promised. “Your turn.” I offer him the rest of my ring.

I almost choke on my bite of burger when he takes the ring from my hand, dips it in ketchup and then uses his long tongue to lick the sauce off. When he’s finished, he smiles. “Best damn onion rings in D.C.”

“I’ll say,” I reply as I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

The physical attraction between us is obvious to a blind man, but what amazes me is how comfortable I feel with him. Our bodies are buzzing with sexual tension yet we’re able to discuss movies and music like best friends catching up over lunch. I don’t think even with Aiden it felt this natural and unforced.

We spend the rest of lunch discussing nothing in particular. I talk about inconsequential things with him like silly stuff that happened at work, and it’s so refreshing that I can actually come up with mindless conversation when I didn’t think it was possible. Graham decides that we should skip dessert and the movie, and go enjoy an unseasonably warm day outside. I don’t care. I’m not ready to go back to normal life yet because I’m enjoying how this feels way too much.

As we exit the restaurant, both of us slip on aviator sunglasses. They’re the same pair of Ray-Bans. His are the male version, and mine the female. “We have on the same style of glasses,” I note.

He stops and turns so he’s looking directly at me. I feel him probing me with his eyes, and my natural instinct is to deflect—look away, make a joke, change the subject, keep walking, anything to protect myself from being examined. After a couple of heartbeats, he leans down and places a sweet kiss on the tip of my nose. “Excellent taste, Miss Early.”

My breath catches in my chest. It was a peck. No more than the way a mom kisses her son, or an uncle kisses his niece, but I felt his lips caress the twin bumps at the end of my nose, and I tingled with excitement.

We’ve begun to walk, but for the life of me, I can’t remember giving my legs permission to move forward. He offers me his elbow, and I lace my arm through it, enjoying the touch of my hand on his solid forearm.

Lou follows at a safe but respectful distance behind us, as Graham and I walk to a lovely park near the Smithsonian. I told Graham a bit about Lou last night when he asked me out. He’s been such a fixture in my life for the last seven years that I can pretend that he isn’t around.

“Don’t look now,” Graham says doing an exaggerated head turn over both shoulders. “We’re being followed.”

It’s such a cheesy joke, but I laugh like it’s the funniest thing that I’ve heard. “Ignore Lou.” I gasp between giggles. “I do.”

We start discussing the crazy warm weather that has blessed D.C., and we contemplate what this means for our winter. We keep a casual banter going that turns into us playfully arguing over whether boxing or MMA is a superior sport.

Finally, I feel like this is a conversation that I’m equipped to have. I defend boxing and he makes thoughtful counterpoints on why MMA is better. Even though he’s clearly wrong, I enjoy having a nice debate. I like that he’s very intelligent, knows how to formulate an argument, and doesn’t resort to silliness like “just because” or “so what.”

We agree to disagree. Graham changes the subject to his students, and shares with me a story about one of the essay responses on a test he recently gave. I find myself noting just how average this feels.

Average is not something I’ve ever strived for, but there’s something to be said about spending a Sunday actually relaxing. Since Aiden and I ended our relationship, I haven’t felt average or normal or any other adjective that fits. We broke up, and I threw every bit of myself into the campaign. It dawns on me that I created this new normal for me, and it’s a normal that is not necessarily good.

“So I call the kid into my office and have him retake the test,” Graham continues as we stroll down the sidewalk. He pauses because I’ve fallen behind. “Rachael, are you listening?”

“Yes, yes, of course, I’m listening. You had the student retake the test …” I prompt as I narrow the gap between us.

“Never mind,” he says as we enter through the wrought-iron gated entrance. It seems that everyone in D.C. had the same idea that we did—enjoy this gorgeous weather. There’s a large group playing Frisbee. Couples and families are picnicking. There are so many blankets spread on the thick carpet of grass that some of them are touching.

“Looks like great minds think alike,” I state as Graham smoothly transitions from my arm laced with his elbow to him holding my hand.

“What do you think? We could still catch that movie.”

I shake my head. “Do you know what time it is?” I have a watch on my wrist. I don’t know why I ask the question other than I just wanted to try out another normal question.

Instead of letting go of my hand, he raises both of our arms to check his watch. I giggle. I don’t think that a giggle has escaped my lips in—well—maybe ever.

“It’s a little after four o’clock.”

“I should probably get home. This is a busier than usual week for me.”

“How far are you from here?”

“Less than a mile.”

“Mind if I walk with you?”

What a loaded question. Is that another way of saying, “Can I come up for a drink?”

I don’t invite anyone into my home for numerous reasons. Unless my housekeeper just left, it’s generally a wreck. My overly-used furniture doesn’t scream
welcome to my home.
It is more a place that holds my belongings, and a roof with four walls to sleep in rather than an actual home.

We walk out of the park and turn onto the street that leads to where I live. After a couple of seconds, I say, “You know, Graham, I’m not sure that this is a good idea. Lou can make sure I get home okay. It is his job.” Those pre-date butterflies have turned into bats that are battling to get out of my stomach. I’m terrified of this turning into something more. With this strong of a connection, I’m not sure if I have the ability to keep it to just sex.

We stop walking, and he leans over as if he’s going to tell me a secret. “I said that I was going to kiss you before this date was over, and the kiss to the tip of your nose doesn’t count.” He drops my hand and walks over to a nearby tree.

“What are you doing?” I ask in a voice that is about two octaves higher than it should be. People weave around us on the sidewalk.

He ignores my question and continues to examine the trunk of the tree as if it’s the most interesting thing ever. He places his hands against the rough grey bark and pushes. “This looks sturdy enough,” he says to the tree. Turning to me, he adds, “or you can let me walk you home and give you a proper goodbye kiss against your front door. Your choice. Here,” he says, motioning to the hordes of people in the park, “we have an audience. Not that I mind. Every guy will be jealous.”

He turns his hands over, and bends his elbows as if he’s using them as a set of scales. “On the other hand,” he says raising his left hand, “I can take my time to properly kiss you without prying eyes.” He moves his hands back in forth, as if the decision that I’m faced with is weighing him down.

Graham is so darn cute right now that I can’t help but smile. I pretend to think about it for a moment. I turn and look at the people in the park. I walk over and test the sturdiness of the tree. I catch a glimpse of Lou’s face. He’s about 20 feet from us smirking. Graham has his arms crossed over his chest and is smiling from ear to ear. Decision … What decision? “Well, when you put it like that, I’d love for you to walk me home.”

I turn to Lou. “Mr. Jackson and I are going to my home. Would you mind grabbing the car and meeting us there?”

“Ma’am, I’m supposed to stay close by you when you’re in public.” It’s just a statement … but I know that tomorrow, I’ll hear about it if I dismiss him.

I decide that I’m a big girl and can deal with the lecture. “This is on me, Lou. Not you. I’ll make sure that I take the fall for us.”

Graham tucks me against his side as if he’s trying to prove to Lou that he can watch over me.

Lou’s face remains unchanged, but as he turns and walks away I see him shake his head.

As we draw closer to my townhome, the bats return with a vengeance. I have a year left to make a real difference in the lives of millions of Americans. Is it a good time to get distracted by a relationship? What if I actually find a real connection with him, one that’s more than just sexual? Will he understand that my job comes first and everything else is second, including my family, friends, and boyfriend?

When we’re a block from my house, I begin to panic. My breathing starts to accelerate and my palms become sweaty. I decide that Graham Jackson needs to go away. I’ll explain that we can explore this chemistry again in a year. I’d rather go alone to the White House Christmas party that get trapped in some sort of relationship prison where I just feel guilty all the time, as I did with Aiden.

Graham must sense me mentally checking out or—oh God!—maybe I’m soaking his hand with sweat, because he says, “I’m not asking you to marry me, Rachael. I know that your job is your life. Remember, no pressure.” He gives my wet palm a gentle and reassuring squeeze.

Is he a mind-reader? “That’s my place.” I point at the door of the row of townhomes that all look identical.

At just that moment, the wind begins to swirl around us, creating a small cyclone of fall leaves about knee-height. We stop and watch the reds, browns, gold, and dark greens of fall dance around us. The cold, snowy, dreary winter is just around the corner, so we have to enjoy moments like this.

The air shifts between us as I lead him up my stoop. First date awkwardness, expectations and the unknown are palatable. He breaks our connection as he shuffles his feet, and his hands go deep into his pockets of his jeans, causing his shoulders to rise close to his ears. “Look, Rachael,” he starts. He’s such a nice guy. I can hear the southern gentleman lecture that every mom gives their son being played out behind his eyes. “I’ve had a really great afternoon with you. I know that I might have been a little too aggressive at the restaurant. We don’t have to do anything …”