Dream Date

From the newsboy whistling show tunes as he delivered papers to the neighboring elders, to the pigeon giving birth in my aloe plant, there was one thing I was certain of: it was way too early for this crap. Sunrays beamed uninvitedly through my paper thin drapes, filling the room with sweltering warmth, eventually goading me out of my pillowy haven. Peeling myself from the sweat slicked sheets and wiping the sleep from my eyes, I reached for my phone on the bedside table. The screen lit up with a flicker, and the numbers “9:14” greeted me like a clown in a sewer.

Feet hitting the floor at lightning speed, I scrambled into the bathroom with the grace of a three-legged newborn girafe. It was a warzone of teeth scrubbing, mop detangling, and powder puffing. Grabbing a cardigan from the laundry hamper, I gave it a quick sniff, overjoyed by the fact smell-ivision had yet to be invented. But even with the leeway granted by online dating, there’s only so much that can be done for someone with the punctuality of a salted snail. Settling for the “librarian zombie attending a job interview” ensemble, I head for my destination.

The distance between my bedroom and kitchen wasn’t a lengthy one, but the obstacle course provided by my slob of a roommate made for an exasperating commute. The carpet was littered with enough candy wrappers to send the tooth fairy into an early retirement; its debris crinkled under my bunny slippers, gunk sticking firmly against the rubber soles. Scrunching my toes against the battered bunnies, I marched angrily toward the source of the mess.

In the center of the living room was a large cardboard box, clumsily torn apart by teeth and fingernails as opposed to a proper box cutter. The package was labeled ‘luxury weighted blanket, its contents wadded up into a fluffy mound beneath the cofree table. Giving the fleecy lump a kick, I was startled by the groan it gave in retaliation.

“... had nothin’ to do with the bank heist... was framed by the monopoly man...” Grumbled the lump. Kneeling beside the alleged bandit, I gently poked at his sleeping form. “Lee?”

“... yeah I cracked his monocle and I’d do it again...”

“The monopoly man doesn’t wear a monocle.”

“... duh, cuz I broke it... and his kneecaps are next...”

Lee’s sleeptalking was as routine as a morning cup of coffee, only louder and more confusing. He had been doing it since we were kids, and the coherency of his rambles always seemed to skyrocket every time he had too much sugar before falling asleep. Entertaining his delusions before jolting him back to reality was one of the perks of living with him.

“So you had nothing to do with the bank heist, huh? Then how do you explain the ski mask I found in your trunk?”

“... just a full coverage face mask... we’re in the middle of a pandemic in case you’ve forgotten...”

“GET UP, SMARTASS! HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”

Lee bursted from his blanket cocoon at the speed of light, eyes wide and limbs flailing. His head hit the coffee table with a thunderous bang, forcing him into the fetal position with his throbbing skull cradled between his hands.

That was not my intention.

“You’d make the worst cop EVER! First you search my car without a warrant, and then you try to give me a concussion?! You better watch your kneecaps, cause’ I’m coming for them as soon as I’m done with the monopoly man’s!”

“I’m sorry! I just wanted to scare you a bit. I didn’t expect you to fold up like an ironing board.”

Lee crawled out from the coffee table mumbling obscenities under his breath. He flung his blanket over his head and wrapped it tightly around his body, adjusting the fabric so only his pouting mouth was visible.

“Why have you awoken me from my slumber?” He croaked.

The guilt I felt for his rude awakening dissipated from every ounce of annoyance I felt prior to that moment. I vented about the filth covered carpet, him falling asleep in the strangest locations, and finally: “I had a date scheduled for 9:30 this morning and I’m already running late!” I huffed.

I ran to the kitchen to salvage what I could from this impending disaster of a breakfast. When so much goes wrong prior to a date, there’s only so much positivity one can muster for its outcome.

Lee toddled behind me as I prepped my workspace, the tail of his blanket dragging behind him. The randomness of his online purchases increased as quarantine progressed, but so long as they kept his puppylike energy at bay, I had no reason to complain. I readied ingredients swiftly and silently, letting Lee shadow me to his heart’s content. Whether he was constantly looking over my shoulder out of curiosity or just to annoy me, I had no time to care.

The plan was to participate in a cooking webinar and whip up a fancy french dish; my date and I decided this would be a creative way to get to know each other. Having only spoken through direct messages on social media, the prospect of busying my hands with kitchenware eased my nerves about the lulls our conversation was bound to have.

I placed my laptop on the counter and thrummed my fingers clumsily against the keyboard, eventually greeted with a pop up message typed in fine cursive.

Bonjour! We are sorry to inform you that our Des Couples Cuisine Française Leason is already in session. In order to prevent our attendees from being disrupted, the group forum will remain unavailable until class concludes. Au revoir!

P.S. Slots reserved less than 24 hours in advance are nonrefundable. Au revoir deux fois!

9:32 am was the time of death declared for this date. Mourning both the loss of my web-based rendezvous and my seventy five dollar deposit, I sauntered sluggardly out of the kitchen. Plopping my butt onto the sofa was one of the few tasks in life I could manage without fail, and I planned to do exactly that for the next decade.

By the time I woke up, the surrounding atmosphere had changed drastically. The harsh morning light was now replaced by a gentle silver as the moon glowed lazily against the cloak of night. I rubbed my neck in discomfort as I sat up from the sofa, my blanket swaddled friend nowhere to be seen.

I called out for him, voice raspy from the remnants of sleep clinging to my throat, and was met with the pitterpatter of fingernails tapping excitedly against the window. Lee stood behind the glass bouncing on the balls of his feet, beckoning me to join him.

The crisp evening breeze brushed against my cheeks as I stepped through the entrance, the mundanity of our balcony transformed beyond recognition. The patio chairs were placed parallel to one another with a blanket draped over them, and a tangled string of Christmas lights hung loosely around the fortress. The twinkling bulbs shone brighter than the stars the city lights consistently dulled, and childhood memories of building blanket forts with Lee in his backyard flooded my memories like a broken dam.

“Close your mouth. I don’t want any flies zipping in there and spoiling the dinner I slaved over.”

“What’s going on?”

“I felt bad about you missing your date earlier, so I thought maybe... I could take you on one instead.” He gestured to the picnic basket at the center of the fort. “I even prepared a French dish of my own. Please join me under the Eiffel Tower for pain grillé et jus, mademoiselle~.”

The French tumbled out of his mouth like a brick falling down a flight of stairs, his tongue clunkily emphasizing every syllable. Smiling to myself, I joined him under the tower, our knees pressed snugly against each other as we squeezed within the tight confines of the fort. He rummaged through the contents of the picnic basket and with a triumphant ‘viola!’ He lifted the mystery dish from the wicker basket, proudly placing it on the pavement in front of us.

I doubled over wheezing, clutching my abdomen as it pulsated from laughter. Now Lee was the one with his mouth hanging open, and I would’ve teased him about resembling a venus fly trap if I wasn’t so out of breath.

“Oi! I’m trying to be romantic here, what the hell are you cackling about?!”

“The food!” I stammered between chortles. “I pegged you as the type to order french fries and call it a day, but I never expected this!”

“Of course I cooked it myself! I downloaded a translation app to make sure I got the name right and I read through three different culinary blogs about ‘plating techniques’ to jazz up the presentation. Just look at that honey drizzle artistry!”

The pain grillé et jus he put so much time into researching turned out to be a humble serving of toast and juice. In spite of the meal’s simplicity, it was clear how much effort he put into making it. The bread was laid out in diagonal pieces across the plate with honey drizzled along the edges; toasted to a golden brown and coated in mulberry jam, my mouth watered at the sight of it. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that saying something in a different language didn’t change its origins.

“I’ll get the drinks.” I giggled, reaching into the container for what I assumed would be a set of juice boxes. Instead, resting at the bottom of the basket was a pristine bottle of merlot. Puzzled by the unexpected beverage, I turned to Lee for an explanation.

“I-It’s technically still juice, there’s grapefruits and stuff all jumbled in there. And I thought... the name of it was fitting for you.” he stuttered, motioning to the bottle. The wine’s name was printed clearly on the label in bold letters.

“Meet Cute,” I read aloud. “... You think I’m cute?”

A crimson blush washed over his cheeks, its glow spreading to the tips of his ears. He lowered his head and began tugging on his shoelaces, repeatedly pulling them loose and twisting them back into knots.

He was nervous.

I took his hand in mine, his callous fingers instinctively weaving their way through mine with an unyielding grip. Softly circling his thumb around mine, he finally broke the silence.

“Anyway, I hope I didn’t overstep my bounds with any of this. You just seemed so upset this morning, I wanted to make it up to you. I know I’ve been a real pain since we’ve been quarantined together, but you’ve stayed patient with me the entire time. I just... wanted to do something to show you how much I appreciate you. Maybe then, you wouldn’t mind staying by my side a while longer.”

“Of course I wouldn’t mind. We’ve been best friends since we were in diapers, who am I to break our bonding streak? Besides, I’ve been just as much of a nightmare to deal with as you.”

Plucking a corkscrew from his pocket, Lee skillfully opened the merlot with a pop, and took a swig directly from the bottle. “Yeah, you have been.” he said with a smirk. “You’re dramatic, scatterbrained, and nag me more than my own mother.”

I nudged him playfully, then swiped the bottle for a swig of my own; its citrusy essence danced across my tastebuds and filled my stomach with mellow warmth. I leaned my head against his shoulder as he munched on a piece of toast.

“You never answered my question, by the way.” I said with a cheeky grin. He rolled his eyes and spoke through a mouthful of marmalade. “Yeah, yeah. You’re adorable. Now shut up and eat your toast before I feed it to the baby pigeons in your aloe plant.”