Dangerously easy to talk to.
He’s a good listener.
So good that I tell him things I’ve never told anyone.
Like how my boyfriend, Steve, slapped me last week because I burned his Hot Pocket. And last month because I didn’t have money to pay the electric bill and it got cut off.
He doesn’t look at me like I’m pathetic.
He doesn’t look at me like I’m a target.
He looks at me like I’m a human being worth more than I give myself credit for.
And he tells me so too.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like I might be.
I think it’s the beer. But what if it’s me?
When the bartender announceslast callit’s almost midnight. I need to go.
“Where to, Tiffany?” he asks, and it sounds like the most important question anyone has ever asked me. “Do you need a cab?”
Looking down at the tabletop, I think for a minute.
He doesn’t rush me.
“I need a cab.”
Without a word, Toby stands and walks to the bar. When he returns, he holds out his hand. “Dan’s calling for one. I’d like to ride with you only to make sure you get home safe, if that’s okay? I promise I don’t have any ulterior motives.”
I take his hand and I do something I haven’t done since I was young, I put my trust in someone else. My blind, but wholehearted, trust. “Okay.”
We don’t talk while we’re waiting out front on the sidewalk, but he never lets go of my hand. His fingers clasp firmly in the space between my forefinger and thumb. It’s a protective gesture that makes me feel brave.
By the time we slide into the back seat of the cab, I’m ready for change. I’m ready for more.
I give the cabbie the address and we ride in silence, still hand in hand.
He pays the cabbie a few minutes later when we pull up in front of a brick apartment building.
I hug Toby tight, knowing that I will never forget him. “Take care,” I whisper as I release him.
Stuffing his cold hands deep in the pockets of his sweatshirt, he nods. “You too. Go be you…for you.”
I smile but it’s distorted, because I’m on the verge of tears. Confusing tears that are happy and sad, and optimistic and terrified. “I don’t know how to do that.”
He tilts his head and his eyes go soft like he doesn’t know how to either. “Just because you haven’t done it, doesn’t mean it can’t be done. Good luck.”
And then he turns and walks away.
While I wonder if it was all a dream.
I walk up the stairs to my aunt’s apartment, knock on her door for the first time in over a year, and ask if I can stay with her for the night.
* * *
One night turns into two.
