Page 20 of Delayed Intention

Reconnecting Some Dots

Libby’s is busy despite the time of year.

I’m glad I’d phoned ahead for an outdoor table.

The Falls River runs right behind the restaurant, and while it is loud, I remember Lily telling me how she loves that sound.

They have those giant space heaters and blankets to keep patrons warm despite the cooler weather.

My selection was primarily so that Ginger could join us.

After my reaction to her pictures, I felt like I needed Ginger to be my buffer, kind of the equivalent of insisting on wearing a superhero mask to dinner if I were eight years old, which I’ve decided not to think too hard about.

The server arrives with a bowl and two glasses of water for the table.

The blankets are on the back of the chairs, but it’s warm out for now, especially for November.

After a glance at the menu, we decide to split a veggie pizza, and I order a beer while Lily orders a pop.

“You don’t drink?” I ask.

“I do. I mean, I do and I have, but I figured I’ve been awkward enough for one afternoon.”

She’s looking down at her nails, which are painted a dark green color. She still seems jittery—do I say something to try to ease her mind, or try to change the subject? She doesn’t say more, so I don’t either. I’m having a hard time navigating her comfort while still feeling edgy myself.

During the lapse in our conversation, Lily is watching the water rushing by, while I’m surreptitiously watching her.

She’s naturally beautiful, and I wonder if she even realizes it.

Does she still critique herself the way she did when we were kids?

She’s wearing a lavender Nirvana sweatshirt under her black puffy vest with a jean skirt, black leggings, and white tennis shoes.

She may have a bit of eye makeup on, or maybe that’s how her eyelashes are—long, black, and curled at the ends.

Her brown eyes catch the light as she watches people on the riverwalk, and I notice there are little flecks of gold in them.

Her nose, which she always seemed to hate as a teen, is long but suits her face.

She smiles at something and then looks up at me.

When our eyes meet, her smile broadens, transforming her face from pensive to inviting in a flash.

She is captivating. Shit . Too late, I realize she’s busted me staring at her.

“What?” She looks amused and less nervous, and I feel caught in the act.

“It’s just…good to have you here, visiting…like this.” I swallow down some beer. Hopefully, she hasn’t taken up mind-reading since I last saw her.

“I feel the same. I’m happy to have this chance to come out here—to see you.

I mean, I’m sorry my family is putting you to work like this and that they feel I can’t just handle a little wedding planning myself.

And I…” She hesitates, redness coloring her cheeks as she fiddles with the napkin in front of her.

“I’m also embarrassed I was so awkward earlier.

I wish I hadn’t let so much time pass before I contacted you again. ”

“Hey, Lily, it’s okay. Really. We’re just feeling each other out again; it’s understandable. Anyway, practice makes perfect.”

She gives me a relieved smile that meets her eyes. “Thanks, Josh.”

The drinks arrived at the table, and after sipping my beer, I decided to just jump into the plans for the week.

“It looks like we don’t have any appointments tomorrow, since the first one was canceled by Felicia, something about the facility getting into a disagreement with Ellen?

So that leaves three places to visit. Oakley Lodge, Cody Inn and Resort, and the John Muir Ranch.

Each place has a tasting menu, grounds to look at, and cakes to try.

Wednesday will be Oakley. Thursday is Cody and John Muir will be on Friday.

There are a couple of photographers we are supposed to meet with on Thursday morning as well.

There’s also an appointment with a makeup artist on Friday morning and a hairdresser on Sunday.

Ellen made makeup and hair appointments on Saturday, but I didn’t know if that would be okay with you. So, I switched them.”

With her next smile, she looks relieved.

What the fuck had her family done for her to look that over the moon over common courtesy?

I realize, just then, that I smile whenever she smiles.

That’s not weird, though, right? I mean, of course, I’m pleased she can feel at ease with me.

At the same time, I feel protective, like I want to have a conversation with anyone who contributed to her feeling like a burden.

It’s a weird feeling to have for someone who isn’t a patient or my own family.

Before that first letter, some part of me, the angry teen with abandonment issues, had painted her a heartless, selfish person who dropped me as a friend.

From the moment I’ve been in her presence, however, the impression that formed with her letter feels confirmed.

She’s one strong wind away from being a wreck.

Yet, in some ways, she’s grown into herself.

I feel oddly responsible for helping her preserve what she’s been able to build up.

“Josh, that’s thoughtful of you. I’m not shomer Shabbat , like I said in my letter, but I would feel very weird getting hair and makeup done on a Saturday. Of course, Ellen knows that…” She let the rest die on the vine.

“How’s that whole thing going?”

“We’re still on a communication break for now.

I wish I were stronger—I’d be able to talk to her if I could stand up to her when she pushes against my boundaries.

I’ve had to accept that this is the best I can do for now, for the sake of self-preservation.

Of course, I feel guilty, she’s my mother.

But it’s as if I’ve recently woken up to how toxic our relationship is, and I can’t go back to just toeing the line anymore, you know? ”

“I think I know what you mean. You’re having a rather revolutionary fall, I guess.”

“You could say that. It’s more than a little embarrassing to be in my thirties before making baby steps in not being bullied by my mother.”

That sense that I need to help shield her from difficulties surges again.

Seeing her so diminished from the teen she was and her hopes for the woman she’d become—it’s doing something to me.

Without my permission or hesitation, my hand goes to her arm again, and I rest my hand there.

I meant it to be a momentary pat, but I’m lingering.

We both look down at the point of contact.

“Lily, she’s the one who should be embarrassed. She’s a bully and hasn’t changed much, as far as I can tell. You are evolving and have every right to be proud of that fact.” I force myself to withdraw my hand and take another gulp of beer.

This is the second time I’ve touched her, and both have been…

surprising. Just as when we were on the street earlier, it felt good to touch her, of course, but it’s my motive that has me confused.

It doesn’t exactly feel like lust, although there’s no doubt that I think she’s hot.

It’s more like I have an urge, now that she’s in front of me, to ground her, comfort her. Easy cowboy.

The pizza arrives, providing a welcome interruption.

It’s delicious as always, and I eat a slice while I think about our interaction when I picked her up today, and how tense she was.

She was tripping over herself, and yet the whole thing was adorable.

Looking at the big picture, though, her fragility is concerning.

How has the world not devoured her by now?

It’s amazing, thinking about how narcissistic Ellen is, that Lily has any spark left in her at all.

Again, I feel like I need to set up a protective force field around Lily. What exactly is happening to me?

I take a sip of water, trying to regain control of my thoughts.

I realize Lily’s observing me, curiosity in her eyes, maybe seeing through me a bit.

“Josh, are you okay? You look kind of… intense?” Unnerved, I start choking on a drink of water, I beat my chest, searching for oxygen.

“Sorry, went down the wrong pipe,” I manage.

I need to redirect her attention and get her to stop looking at me like that.

“I was thinking we have tomorrow off, and maybe we could go for a hike?”

Lily lights up. This is a different kind of smile, it’s as if a light has turned on somewhere inside her and is brightening her features from within. “I thought you’d never ask.”

We finished going over the schedule for the week and boxed up the rest of the pizza. I turn to her, “Do you feel like dessert, or do you want to head back and get settled into your cabin?”

I see something pass over her features that I can’t read. God, I kind of want to learn her expressions and what they mean.

“If you don’t mind, the drive here was rough on me. I need to sleep off the migraine meds I had to take on my way here. Maybe just a tea—but can we go to breakfast before our hike in the morning?”

“We can—you had a migraine on the way here? Why didn’t you tell me? Are you okay? Does that happen often?”

“I’m feeling much better. But the combination of abortive migraine meds and antiemetics is throwing me off my mental game a bit.

” She bites her lower lip, pensive again.

“And yes, I do get migraines a few times a month. Enough to walk around with meds anyway. Don’t worry about it, I’m a total pro at surviving them. ”

“I’m sorry I dragged you out to dinner—if I’d known you weren’t feeling well… You could’ve rested,” I say to her.

“I’m not sorry at all if you want to know the truth. I’m glad we got to do this. We’re breaking the ice.” She smiles wryly.