Page 25 of Until Next Time
I’d be lying if I didn’t still dream about this scenario coming true. As much as I hate to admit this, I’d still give it all to him if he wanted.
I know that’s probably insane for most people—a thirty year old virgin. But it just sort of happened for me. I’m no prude or anything. I mean, I’ve done stuff with men, but it’s never felt right, so I’ve just never wanted to give that away. My obsession with romantic comedies, and romance novels are probably the real reason I’ve been holding out. I just have hope for one of those, breath-taking, earth shattering moments portrayed in those films. But my current reality is very much not movie worthy, and for me, I’m not one to settle.
Dawsen leads me through his kitchen to the door of his bedroom. He pauses right at the entrance. “Bathroom is in through here, fresh towels should be in the cabinet under the sink, and I have a spare loofah in the drawer on the right.” Hesaid, his eyes glued to mine. I can feel heat rising up in my belly from the intensity of his gaze.
Laced with curiosity and a little bit of jealousy I couldn’t contain, I have to ask. “You have spare loofahs? Like for all of your romantic conquests? That’s very gentlemanly of you.”
“My spare loofah and my shower have remained untouched by any of theconquestsyou speak of. But I amalwaysa gentleman.” He’s leaning against the doorway, looking down at me, a smirk appears on his lips. He flicks my shoulder playfully, as if to nudge me on my way. I stick my tongue out at him like a six year old, give his chest a light shove and shut his bedroom door in his face.
I turned my back to the door and leaned up against it just to get my emotional bearings about me, because that felt an awful lot like flirting. Were we just flirting? ‘Birdie Banks, you are going on a date with another man… but you are also getting ready for said date in lifelong crushes bathroom.’ My brain is trying to compute. I take a deep breath and walk directly into Dawsen’s bathroom, trying not to peep around his room while I pad across his rug to the bathroom door.
I have this terrible habit of finding the most ordinary detail of someone’s life and making it into this adorable romantic notion. Like, the watch I spotted sitting on his bedside table—suddenly that watch is this thing that gets to spend all day attached to him, breathing him in, and getting attention from him. I am now jealous of the watch in question, and like I said, I need to be admitted into a facility of some sort, because this is just ridiculous.
I push down all these thoughts and reach into his dark blue tiled shower, and twist the knob to the perfect scalding hot temperature, just the way I like. I twist my hair up into a clip, I unlatch my overalls and lay them neatly across his vanity counter top. I shrug off my cami and panties and set them ontop of my overalls. I open his cabinet to find the spare loofah he mentioned. It really is a spare—the tag is still on it. I rip it off and toss it into the waste bin. I make my way into the shower and strategically place myself so that my hair doesn’t get wet. The hot water feels so amazing, I debate just calling the date off entirely and staying in here all night. My muscles are so sore from painting this week, the heat from the water is like heaven on my tight shoulders.
I’m pumping body wash onto the loofah and working it into a nice lather when I hear music start playing. It’s not even a faint hum coming from the other room, it’s coming directly from this very bathroom. I’m startled at first until I see the Bluetooth speaker sitting next to the sink. I recognize the song immediately and can’t help but smile. It’s “The Girl” by City and Colour—one of my favorite songs ever. I include it on every playlist I ever make. It makes me instantly happy. I drag the loofah across my skin in soft circles and get lost in the song as I sing every word. I decide that I’ll drag myself out of this heavenly shower as soon as the song ends, which is a bonus because it’s almost a six minute song. As all the best songs are.
Once the song ends, I reach my hand out from the glass shower door to grab a towel as ‘Hungry Heart’ by Bruce Springsteen fills the steamy bathroom. It makes me smile.
I grab my phone to check the time and realize I have fifteen minutes before Max arrives. I’m suddenly back to being nervous. I toss my bag onto the bathroom counter and start rifling through it, looking for my cosmetic bag. I’m low on time, so I decide to go with a more natural makeup look. I’ll embrace the freckles for today. I dab on some of my favorite creme blush, and do a few swipes of mascara and put on my favorite mango lip balm. I take my hair out of the clip and let it fall past my shoulders. I run my fingers through it and give it a little tousle.
I used to hate my curls, but I’ve tried embracing them more as I’ve gotten older, and I don’t mind them as much anymore. Just like my freckles.
When Dawsen and River were Juniors in high school, I was just starting my freshmen year. I remember being so excited about tagging along and carpooling to school, getting to park in the upperclassmen lot with them, and hopefully gaining some clout by association. They were the classic varsity football boys, kings of their class sort of vibe, you know the type. Well, all this to say—it wasn’t all I had hoped it would be. Instead, it was months of being bullied by a group of girls that apparently felt threatened by my proximity to the boys. They had it bad for Dawsen and River, which turned into months of being teased and mocked about my freckles, my boobs that had decided to make their appearance the same year, and my overalldorkiness, as they so lovingly put it.
I used to stand in front of my bathroom mirror at night, using my St.Ives apricot scrub, rubbing as hard as I could, hoping that my freckles would magically erase. I never told anyone about the bullying, and River even took one of those girls to the Prom. It was humiliating. It wasn’t until Dawsen noticed me crying outside the girls locker room one day. It was during class hours, so I didn’t expect anyone to see me. But just my luck, Dawsen had gotten called into his coaches office to discuss his grades slipping.
I was sitting up against the block walls, knees pulled to my chest, in full body wracking sobs when I felt a warm body slide down next to me. His shoulder was pressed up against mine. He didn’t say anything at first. He just let me collect myself. Once the tears stopped, I tipped my face toward him, eyes burning from my mascara.
“Who do I need to beat up?” He said, a soft smile played on his lips. It was the kind of smile that held weight.
I sniffled, wiping the corner of my eyes with the sleeves of my sweater, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “I’m okay, Daws.” I managed. I was embarrassed that I was letting these people make me feel this way. I didn’t want to admit that their words had power over me.
He called my bluff.
“Birdie, tell me what’s going on.”
I groaned and hid my face in my hands before telling him everything. I told him about every instance, every word, and then I begged him not to say anything to anyone and to not make it a big deal. I wanted to leave well enough alone. He sat there next to me, listening to every word. He didn’t speak for awhile. He put his arm around me and pulled me into his side. I’ll never forget the feeling of being so closely nestled into him. It was a dream. I wanted to melt into him and stay there forever. His embrace settled my heart, my mind and I felt still. I felt at peace for those few moments.
Dawsen cleared his throat and brought his lips to my hair, and he spoke words to me that have left grooves in my heart until this very day.
“Your face is a galaxy, Birdie. Your skin has been kissed by a thousand stars, and how lucky are we to even be in their orbit.”
We sat there together for a few moments longer when Dawsen’s coach stormed out into the hallway looking for him. After that day, the bullying stopped. I don’t know how he managed, but we never spoke of it again. That’s the day I decided that I love my freckles, and it was because Dawsen showed me how.
* * *
I didn’t give my outfit much thought for tonight, I just threw afew things into my bag this morning and figured I would just make it work. I pull out a plaid mini skirt, my heart tights from the day I got fired, hoping to give them a little bit of redemption, and a black sweater. Simple, yet a little chaotic. Just the way I like it.
Once I’m dressed, I grab my vanilla perfume from my bag and give myself a few sprays. I gather up my things and shove them back into my bag. I step back and look at myself in the mirror as most of the steam has dissipated. “This is as good as it’s gonna get.” I recite to myself from one of the all time classics, Princess Diaries. I swipe my bag off the counter, and make my way out of the bathroom, into Dawsen’s bedroom, avoiding eye contact with his bed. And the watch on his nightstand.
When I close his bedroom door behind me, I see Dawsen leaning across his kitchen counter top on his phone. He’s got a beer in one hand and he’s scrolling on his phone in the other.
“How do I look?” I say as I announce myself. I set my bag down at my feet and give him a little spin. His gaze settles on me, and I watch his eyes rake down my body, and then back up. He sets his phone down and straightens his body.
“Uhh yeah, you look… Max is a lucky guy.” Before I can respond, he clears his throat and hurriedly turns away to open the fridge behind him. He’s reaching in for a beer as he asks, “Do you want a beer before you go?”
“Oh my God, yes.” I basically sprint to the kitchen. My nerves have started creeping in and something to take the edge off is much needed right now. You know, between the impending date and the whole showering in Dawsen’s apartment thing.
