Sweet Water(31)

Marty opens the door for me, then hops in the convertible driver’s side without opening his door. I laugh at him, and I like the way the leather seats feel worn and loved.

“What is the name of this place?” I ask. We turn on Bigelow Boulevard, heading out of Oakland.

“It’s a surprise.” His voice has a teasing quality to it that I like, similar to when he told me I’d have to find the fence on my own.

“Oh, okay,” I say, trying to hide the excitement in my voice. All the classic novels I grew up reading spoiled me with debonair men who met their love interest wit for wit, like Mr. Darcy in Pride and Prejudice.

Of course, this left me disappointed in real life. The only boy I’ve met with any wit was Joshua, although it might’ve only seemed like he had wit because he was high most of the time we talked, which always made him sound more philosophical.

Marty is the first person I’ve met of interest since Joshua, and I’m not sure if all these little details I’m picking out are remarkable qualities or if he’s just so opposite Joshua that I’m using them to validate my attraction to him.

Marty parallel parks on Liberty Avenue like a practiced race-car driver, and I want to sleep with him based on his spatial ability alone. There’s something sexy about a guy who can handle a wheel.

He hops out and opens my passenger door. “Come on.”

“Thank you.” I exit the vehicle, but all I see along the busy street are old row homes, businesses, and one gigantic church with a line of people in front of it.

“I thought we were going to dinner,” I say, confused.

Oh no, I hope he’s not one of those religious nuts taking me to his New Age church that operates more like a cult.

They’ve been springing up everywhere, and since Mom lost her battle with cancer, I’ve had mixed feelings on religion.

“We are,” he says with a laugh, and his voice immediately relaxes me. “They just converted this place from a church to a restaurant over the summer. It’s brand-new. Thought we could check it out.”

I take a closer look at the banner hanging from the church—THE CHURCH BREW WORKS.

“Oh, cool.” I’m relieved. A brew pub sounds low-key, just my style. And I like that Marty is into trying out the new place in town.

Hanna went out with a guy over the summer who took her to the mall food court on their first date, where they ate greasy Chinese food and then had sex in his bedroom while his little brother was asleep on the opposite side of the room. I told her that sounded awful, and she said that it was, and that neither the food nor the sex was satisfying.

I smile at the memory, happy that I’ve made a real female friend. Hanna seems to understand my social ineptness and accepts me, in all my awkward forms. She helps break me out of my shell, does all the talking when we’re trying to get into parties, and taught me how to put on eyeliner. Hanna’s taking care of me in her own way—a “good egg,” as Dad would say.

As we stand in line, I shiver at the slight chill in the air. Marty doesn’t ask; he just takes off his coat and drapes it around my shoulders. The sexy whiff of Polo cologne touches my senses, and I close my eyes for a moment, because I can almost imagine the fragrance pressed against my body sometime later. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” I open my eyes, and he shoots me a wide smile, and his teeth are perfectly straight. “I didn’t expect a line on a Thursday,” he says.

“It’s Friday Eve, as my dad would say.”

“Ha. I like that.”

I smile, thinking—I like you.

When we finally make it inside, I’m mesmerized by the wooden pews converted into hardtop booths, ornate carvings on the sides that resemble symbols on playing cards, and beautiful stained-glass windows lining the walls. The white ceilings peak and trough with wooden beams accented like a meringue whipped topping.

There’s something intrinsically beautiful about a fragile and forgotten object that’s been repurposed. Like me, being here in college, sitting across from this boy who probably never would’ve known I existed if we’d passed on the street last week. But in this space, this place, I matter. Josh made me feel like I mattered, but only in the confines of the hidden corners of his house. In truth, he kept me a secret. Here I am now in this beautiful place with this gorgeous boy, and he’s not trying to hide me from anyone. And it’s the sexiest thing in the whole world. Marty’s playing on an inner soft spot he doesn’t know exists by taking me to an old building, something else my mother loved.

There’s a chain of abandoned steel-mill warehouses the city bought up and renovated into industrial-style lofts, and the online pictures made me drool in awe. But that’s not what this place reminds me of.

The waiter comes by to take our drink orders, and I ask for a soda, because I’m not old enough to drink beer here. Not that I need alcohol to entertain myself tonight.

“What do you think?” Marty asks.

“Very cool. Reminds me of this house I love in Sewickley.” I shrug, as if to say, Who could ever afford that? “It has old woodworking and biblical windows too.”

“Oh yeah? Whereabout in Sewickley?” he asks.

“In the Heights. Off Blackburn Road.” I wave my hand in the air, because there’s no way he’s seen it. He’s probably just making conversation. I don’t want Marty to know of it, because I want to leave that place in the past. It just won’t leave me for some reason.