Page 10 of Studious
“Okay,” I whisper, and go back to reading the menu. I hadn’t realized I needed to study before going out to lunch. Would it be tacky for me to pull out my phone and google the choices?
Finally, I see chicken soup with matzo balls—even though this isn’t a kosher restaurant—that looks safe.
And I realize I’ve gone long moments without saying a word to Sumner.
“You all right?” he asks, tilting his head and studying me. He’s very attractive, but it’s the plastic, perfect kind of good-looking. The kind that’s not at all like my nerdy mess.
“Yeah. I’m just not very good at this.”
“Good at what? Ordering in restaurants? Eating?”
“Humaning.”
He gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry I make you nervous.”
“It’s not you,” I hasten to say. “Or it’s not only you. I’m really… I have… I’m awkward.”
“Relax. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s only a date.”
I nod. His words don’t soothe me in the slightest. Why do people always say that things that feel like a big deal to me aren’t? It’s not like they can see inside my brain. Just because perhaps objectively they aren’t a big deal doesn’t mean I’m not a mess inside.
He tries again. “So, tell me about yourself, Alden.”
I’m saved by the waiter, who chooses this moment to refill our water glasses and take our order. Once I’ve told him my choice—which, in retrospect, was an awful selection, because the chances of me spilling soup all over myself are extraordinarily high—I realize Sumner’s still waiting for an answer.
Shyness plus social anxiety plus awkwardness for me equals a dull date for him. I know it’s like pulling teeth to get me to talk, but I don’t know how to be any different. “There’s not much to tell. I’m starting a new job on Monday.”
He seems relieved that I responded at all. “Really? That’s interesting. Where?”
“At Weston& Ramirez. It’s a law firm.”
Sumner adopts a thoughtful expression. “I’ve heard of it. They do LGBTQ advocacy.”
“How did you know?” I ask, surprised. My gran didn’t say anything about Sumner working in the legal field. I don’t know what he does. He looks like he gives tennis lessons.
Maybe that’s the point. I’m supposed to talk with him and find out.
“Oh, it’s in the news sometimes because Sam Stone works there. And his boyfriend is—”
“Julian Hill.” I nod. Sam’s the governor’s grandson. Julian’s the biggest rock star on the planet. “I’m pretty excited to be there.”
I’m nervous about it, too, but not as nervous as being on a date. At my new job, it’s going to be just me and a computer, and I get along very well with computers. They don’t talk back, they’re logical, and they don’t ask me questions I can’t answer.
“You look a little young to be a lawyer, unless you’re a prodigy.”
“I’m not a lawyer.” I sip my water and then realize he’s waiting for me to explain. “Oh, I’m a bookkeeper.”
“Are you a CPA?”
“No.”
I wish I were good at this. I wish I had the gift of gab. I wish I could attract men easily and find the love of my life. Or at least not be so awful at social interactions.
But Iamawful at them, and I can’t attract anyone, and I fail hard at maneuvering the territory of polite company. It’s not that I don’t try. I’m just… unsure of what I should say. And then, by the time I’ve worried about saying the wrong thing, I’ve said nothing and made everything worse. Sumner must be thinking how boring I am, and the sooner I get out of this date, the happier everyone will be.
Bless him, he keeps trying. “Is there a reason why you’re not a CPA?”
“Sort of.” I realize he’s waiting for me to expound on that. “I like working with the nitty-gritty day-to-day numbers rather than the big-picture financials of an organization. I like details. Little things.”
