weekend, chapter 3

Sunday morning, the room is dangerously, deliciously dark. We stir, groan, and go back to sleep. When we actually wake up and look at each other, I smile, sleepy sweet, seeing him. We arrange to meet the whole gang for brunch.

We meet them in the middle of a sunny pedestrian mall, sitting at a sunny patio table. Clerk and I go inside to order, and I stand in front of him. He puts his elbows on my shoulder, and I smile, and reach behind to put my arms around his waist.

We sit down to eat, and my food is intensely satisfying. Light, buttery biscuit, soft, salty cheese, shiny greasy egg. Simple, fresh fruit salad. We talk about the previous night, and show each other funny digital pictures. D, M, and one of the girlfriends are all moving to NY, and I am amazed that each of us is currently living or has lived here at some time. I think, self-righteously, Everyone should live here at some point. I realize, sadly, that Clerk already has.

When we leave, W, says to me, "Hopefully, see you again soon," and I smile shyly and nod.

The drive back speeds by. I ask him about the world of a law clerk. We talk about our childhoods, and he explains that he used to be quite introverted, hated camp, etc. Unprompted, he tells me what his Myers-Briggs type is: the same as mine. One of the more useful dimensions of the extaordinarily silly, yet venerated personality test reflects whether a person prefers to make decisions quickly or feels more comfortable delaying decisions. Apparently, he likes to make decisions.

He tells me about his parents' summer home in northern Maine, a small cottage on the water. It sounds beautiful and romantic, and I imagine the two of us there, sitting on a porch, reading novels and drinking tea. I tell him about my father's ancestral property in Taiwan, and he sounds fascinated, though more so with the real estate investment than the culture.

He says, "You know, I still can't find your blog." My eyes widen. "You're still looking? It has no names in it, " I bluff. "You'll never find it." He says, "I looked up 'air mattress and hookah' but nothing..."

I tell him, half-jokingly, that I am going to password protect it to keep him out. But really, I would love for him to read it...someday.

Back in the Capital, we meet his friends for a movie. It is gory, an adaptation of a graphic novel. I spend most of the movie behind my hands. I sit on his right, and eventually I reach for his leg, and we end up holding hands, awkwardly: my right hand holds his left hand over his right arm. But it is nice.

Back at his apartment, we sit on the couch, check our email, eat leftover pizza, and watch SportsCenter. I am on his right again, and he holds his left hand out to me. I take it, and type with my right hand so that I don't have to let go. "Look at us, we're so domestic," he says, and I smile. I help him fold sheets. I tease, "You know, when you come visit me, we won't be able to watch SportsCenter. I don't have a TV." A look flashes across his face. Irritation? I instantly regret my comment. He jokes, "Well, I can't come see you this weekend. The U.S. Open is on." But I feel bad.

In bed, afterwards, I lie on top of him. I prop myself up on my hands and look at him. God, you are cute, I think. I lie back down, and he hugs me tight. When he lets go, I push myself up again and look at him.

"What?" he asks, smiling.

I open my mouth, but suddenly get shy. "Nothing, " I chirp, and bury my face into the pillow next to him. "Who's cute now?" he teases.

Just say it. "What's your schedule like for the next few weekends?" I can't help myself.

He explains that he has things to take care of at home the next few weekends, and then he says, "Well, when are you going to Austin? Because I'm coming to meet my parents in New York the last weekend in April, and it would be fun if you are around."

This annoys me, because I think it makes me sound like a benefit, not a goal. Now, I think, I guess that's about right, in this case. Also, I will have to reschedule my Austin trip again, and I hope my girlfriend will understand. I assure him that I can rearrange my schedule, and tease him back, "Are you sure your parents aren't going to mind if you stay with me, rather than with them?"

I ask him about his plans with his parents, figuring I will only see him late at night. He explains, "Well, there'll be a dinner on Friday, with my parents and some family friends, that you should definitely join us for, and then there's talk of hearing some jazz show on Saturday. Does that sound alright?"

I nonchalantly agree, "Sure, sure, that sounds fine," though I am shocked that he's asking me for approval. "It's just that I thought it might be fun to have a dinner party or brunch when you're in town, but this seems like the wrong weekend to do it..."

"Yeah, a dinner party would be fun, but...I'm pretty sure they'll expect me at all meals."

Pause.

I blurt, "So I won't see you for three weeks?"

He says, somewhat unfeelingly, "Yeah, well at least it's an improvement." I frown, but stop asking questions.

Bed time. I lie still, anxious about the impending alarm. In the morning, it is as though I have not slept at all. I get dressed. The taxi calls. I kiss him goodbye and tell him I will call later. I look at him, under the covers, and again he is a Boy. I return for one more kiss.