Drinks
Editor’s Note: In honor of Valentine’s Day, I’m posting one story each day for a week of a time in my life I felt particularly loved. Names have been changed or left out entirely, although I’m sure a few of you will recognize the stories. Maybe they are even about you. Happy Valentine’s Day! Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5
I hadn’t been that nervous in a long time. And especially not just meeting someone for the first time. First dates never made me nervous, except for sometimes when I was almost positive they would go badly. This one made me nervous because I desperately wanted it to go well.
So far, I didn’t think it was. In another odd turn of events, I kept running out of things to talk about. I never ran out of things to talk about. But every time our eyes met or I caught him looking at me, I lost my train of thought. And he could tell. I was sure he was bored with me already, and only one drink in. Well, one drink for him. He was done quickly while I’d barely touched mine, another sure sign he was regretting the decision to meet me. When he left to go get a second drink, I gave myself a pep-talk.
“What is wrong with you Megan? Are you serious right now? Stop this. Be yourself. You’ve been talking to this guy for weeks. Don’t shut down now!”
I chugged as much of my drink as possible, hoping alcohol would ease the situation. He came back from the bar, sat down, and stared.
“SAY SOMETHING MEGAN!” my head screamed, but nothing came out. I thought maybe if I was drinking at least I wouldn’t be expected to speak, and chugged some more. This was a disaster.
I’m still not exactly sure what happened during that next half-drink. Somewhere we found something to talk about, and somehow we moved from that on to other things, developed an actual conversation instead of just back-and-forth questions with awkward silence between them. The words started to flow freely, and with them, a mutual interest. He scooted his stool across the floor, close enough to rest his hand on my knee. Maybe this wasn’t such a disaster after all.
Any nagging fears I had were alleviated when I finally finished my first drink and him, done with his second, offered another. I accepted and as he stood up and started past me towards the bar, he put his hand behind my head, leaned down, and kissed me on the forehead.
For the first time that night, as I waited for him to bring back the next round, my mind was clear. He had, quite literally, kissed my worries away.
