This is killing me.
“How was this weekend crazy, by the way?”
I couldn’t help it. I hadn’t even planned to ask that particular question. It had just sort of fallen out. If we didn’t talk about something that two strangers waiting for a bus wouldn’t have talked about, I was about to lose my mind.
“It was just eye-opening, I guess,” he said with a half-hearted shrug. “Still trying to figure things out.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
Well, at least this time I got an honest and straightforward answer.
But that wasn’t like it meant the date was suddenly great. If anything, it had cemented just how certain I now felt that we needed to have rescheduled this date.
Maybe we just need to go someplace we can sit down. Maybe movement was the wrong idea. Too much activity makes us able to focus on something besides conversation.
“Well, I understand, I’ve had some things in my life that are difficult to talk about.”
It was a bit of a bait move, sure, a chance for him to try to ask more about me.
But the fish wasn’t nibbling today.
The only saving grace of the hike was that the view of Ashton and, in the distance, Los Angeles, was in fact quite stunning and quite beautiful. It gave us a chance to think about something besides each other’s hidden secrets and relish in nature’s open pleasantries.
Such a pleasantry, though, was short-lived, and as soon as we started walking back toward our vehicles, I found myself wondering how to salvage anything of this afternoon. Phoenix was in no mood to talk, I was in desperation mode—yet unwilling to talk about the phone call with my father—and I also hadn’t revealed that I was still planning on moving in two months.
It almost made me wonder if it was just better to stop things now before they got even more awkward.
Maybe I should just let it go. Maybe I should just get to my car, wish him well, and then not do anything until he shows up at Tom’s Billiards again. Maybe I idealized him too much.
But damnit, I was not willing to just give up that easily. I didn’t want this to be a total waste.
“Wanna go grab some food?” I said at the parking lot. “I’m always hungry after a good hike like this.”
“Sure,” Phoenix said, although I didn’t exactly hear excitement. Nevertheless, I figured maybe a change of scenery and a few minutes on our respective drives, away from each other, would give us the chance to come back a little more open.
“There’s a sandwich shop in Ashton I’ve been dying to try, Will’s Wiches,” I said. “That work?”
“Let’s do it.”
Again, no enthusiasm, and again, no real engagement. If this didn’t work, I told myself I had to be willing to walk away. Phoenix was great at the bar, but oftentimes, men liked to look and sound most impressive in a public setting after a few drinks. When they got to a private setting, their vulnerabilities, awkwardness, and discomfort shined through much more, ironically because they refused to an unhealthy degree to admit those things.
It was no wonder that the phrase “strobe lights lie” existed. For men, it was about how women looked. For women, it was about how men acted.
But I still maintained some optimism that Phoenix was different. He’d probably just had a rough weekend, he’d recognize how boring he’d been on the hike, and all would be good once we got to Will’s.
And then we both pulled up to Will’s, and I saw him wearing the same dour expression.
“All good?” I said with a smile on my face.
“Good enough.”
I walked with him to the door.
But that’s as far as I got.
“Phoenix, stop.”
