Page 36 of Between Then and Now
I’m not used to thinking about life this deeply either. I don’t like dwelling so much on things that are meant to be enjoyed. I usually prefer to embrace the moment and let worries float away. But now I realize that maybe it’s because I’ve never had the opportunity to care about something enough to really worry.
For the longest time, I’ve been so focused on keeping things light and fun that I’ve avoided facing the heavier stuff. It’s easier to get lost in a good movie, dive into a new project, or laugh with friends than to confront these swirling thoughts about who I am and what I want.
“Yeah, me too,” I say to John, who’s smiling at me. And maybe it’s me deflecting and avoiding again, but I tell him, “Sooo, enough thinking, right?”
John raises an eyebrow, as if he's contemplating whether to push me further or let it go. “Right. Sometimes, it’s all about just living in the moment and enjoying the ride,” he says, handing me an already open bag of chips.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I take a handful. As we sit there, munching on potato chips and shifting the conversation to silly anecdotes, I feel slightly better. Maybe it’s okay to confront the heavier stuff later. And as I look at John, I think to myself that maybe it’s also okay to let someone else in.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Ryan
Ihaven’t talked to Bon in days. We see each other in the room, but she is always busy editing her documentary. I let her have her space because, frankly, that practice date rattled me. Maybe it did the same thing to her, but I’d rather not ask her right now.
I shift my attention to Alexa instead. Tonight is our date, and I wish I could say I’m prepared for it. I find myself making mental (and mobile) notes—conversation starters, ways to gracefully break any awkward silences, and compliments I could toss in casually. I even draft out the perfect sequence of how I’ll approach each topic, complete with a backup plan in case things go awry.
I glance over at Bon’s side of the room. She’s not there, but she’s got her laptop and film equipment spread out, and from the looks of it, she’s deep into the editing zone. I’m tempted to ask her for advice, but I don’t want to intrude. I’m sure she’s got her own stuff to work through, and honestly, I feel a little awkward bringing up anything about the date when we’ve barely spoken.
I adjust my button-down and fix my hair. The sound of the door creaking open makes me look up. Bon walks in, her focus on her laptop, her expression somewhere between concentration and exhaustion. I catch her eye and offer a weak smile. She smiles back, but there’s a sort of melancholy in it that I can’t quite place.
“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. “How’s the documentary coming along?”
“Hey,” she replies, her voice slightly tired but warm. “It’s coming along. Just need to put the finishing touches on the existing clips.” She walks past me but turns her back and says, “Good luck on your big date, Casanova,” her tone light but not quite normal.
I watch her retreat to her work, feeling a mix of nerves and awkwardness. Her offhand comment about the date is oddly comforting, but it also leaves me wondering about the layers of thoughts she might be keeping to herself. I shake off the feeling, refocusing on my pre-date preparations.
“See you tonight,” I say.
“What are you talking about? If the date goes well, you won’t see me tonight,” Bon says with a cheeky wink.
I hadn’t even thought about that possibility. Geez, the date hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already thinking of returning to this room tonight. That’s not a good start. At all.
Bon gives me a smile and a last ‘good luck’ before I step out of our room to go wait for Alexa by the staircase.
Okay. This is it. This is all I’ve ever wanted for years. I try to get into the zone when Alexa emerges after a few minutes, wearing a white sundress. I normally like this minimalism on beautiful girls. Bonbon would never wear something so plain, though. She’s always so colorful it sometimes makes my eyes hurt. I shake my head to bring myself back to the present. This isn’t Bonbon. This is Alexa. The woman I’ve been obsessed with for years. And we’re going on a date.
“You look great,” I say as I lead her to the car–the same one I used days ago during my practice date with Bon.
“So do you, Ryan.” She enters the passenger seat slowly as I close the door after her. As I walk around to the driver’s side, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I slide into theseat, start the car, and glance over at Alexa. She’s looking out the window, a small smile playing on her lips.
“So, where are we headed?” she asks, turning to me.
“I thought we’d start with dinner. Any preference?” I ask.
“I heard there’s an Italian place. I’d love that,” she says, her smile growing wider. As I nod in agreement, I can’t shake the voice in my head that pipes up with a sarcastic ‘Oh boy, another spaghetti night!’ or ‘Ew, Italian.’ That voice sounds a lot like my dear friend Bonbon, who would undoubtedly roll her eyes at the idea. Bon has always been more adventurous with food, constantly dragging us to hole-in-the-wall places that serve the most exotic dishes. She'd never settle for the familiar comfort of pasta and pizza–unless she makes it weirdly disgusting in her own way.
I realize soon enough that the car ride is so silent. I go back to Bon’s advice: Think of something that happened recently. And since the most recent thing was still the Manet-Monet incident, I tell the story to Alexa.
She laughs at me politely, but I don’t think she really finds it funny. Maybe it’s the first-date awkwardness. During my practice date with Bon, there wasn’t any awkwardness because we were already friends. This is completely normal, I convince myself.
As we walk into the restaurant, the soft lighting and cozy booths provide a welcoming ambiance. The host leads us to a table near the window. Alexa sits down gracefully, and I follow suit, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.
“I hope you’re hungry,” I say, trying to inject some energy into my voice. “I’ve heard their pasta is really good.” I hand her the menu so she can choose what she wants. Our fingers brush when she gets it from me. It’s a fleeting touch, and despite whatthe movies would have you believe, there’s no electric spark, no sudden rush of connection. But then again, that’s normal, right?
“Sounds great,” Alexa responds, scanning the menu. Her smile is polite but doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
I glance at the menu as well, but my mind keeps wandering. I remember Bon’s advice to stay engaged and curious, so I ask, “So, uh... any hobbies?”
