So, she noticed I was a social deviant. I never fooled myself into thinking she didn’t, so I made no reply and looked straight ahead, continuing to drive.
The wind from my open window blew stray hairs from Chansey’s ponytail and she worked furiously to tuck the loose strands behind her ears. I expected a complaint, but instead, she was quiet and stared out the window until she voiced the final directions to our destination.
We entered the nursery and she walked to the opposite side of the store. She was deliberately avoiding me and each time I crossed an aisle to get closer to her, she walked away from me. Left with no choice, I asked the salesperson for help. “I need pink and purple petunias. Can you help me?”
“Oh, certainly. We just got some in this morning,” she said and I allowed her to choose the better looking ones for me. After buying the flowers, I loaded them in the back of the truck while Chansey spoke with a young man at the green house and I guessed she wouldn’t let me get close to her because she didn’t want her friend to see me with her.
I couldn’t avoid overhearing her laughter as she spoke with him, and although that initially drew my attention, the smile she shared with him and the ease with which they conversed is what I envied. He flirtatiously reached and touched her arm as she laughed and I wondered if her touch effected him the way it did me.
I heard him ask, “Who’s your boyfriend? He doesn’t seem very happy about you talking to me.”
Without thinking, his comment drew my eyes in their direction and I shot daggers in his direction as Chansey laughed and touched his arm saying, “He is so not my boyfriend. I just met him. He’s renting the basement apartment at my grandparent’s house.”
He took notice of the look I gave him and said, “I’m not so sure he knows he’s not your boyfriend. He can’t stop looking over here and he looks mad.”
Okay. Now I was getting mad. I finished loading the pallets and got into the truck, shutting the door harder than I intended, confirming my anger. Perfect. Now I looked jealous.
Chansey turned and let me know she took notice of my tantrum and I quickly turned my head away from her before I provided her with further evidence of my guilt. When she finished her conversation, she returned to the truck and we began our journey back to the house, in silence. The air between us was thick and the drive seemed much longer on the way back to the Emerson’s house. The miles seem to grow while the awkwardness multiplied and my lack of confidence prevented me from uttering a word to her.
I was relieved when I pulled into the drive and parked, but I felt like I needed to say something to her before she got out of the truck. I started to thank her for going with me and showing me the way, but I didn’t get a chance before she shot out of the truck and slammed the door before I killed the engine.
She walked to the truck bed and attempted to open the tailgate, but failed as she angrily jerked. She stepped aside and allowed me to lower it before she spun to face me. She shifted her weight to one leg, cocked her head to the side and placed a hand on her hip. I recognized the stance as a command for my attention and realized she had a bone to pick with me. I faced my antagonist, saying nothing. I looked into the beautiful hazel eyes of the small woman standing before me and I was scared.
“Do you have nothing to say to me, or are you allergic to polite conversation?” When I didn’t reply, she continued, “Is there a particular reason you don’t like me?”
I was so surprised by her question, I didn’t know how to respond and while I fumbled to think of a response, she yanked a pallet from my truck bed and said, “Forget I asked.”
Way to go, Brennan! That was well played. How was I going to fix this? Should I stop her and try to attempt an explanation? There was no explaining me, so I took the coward’s route and let her go.
She dumped her pallet in the garden before storming inside the house while Grady watched it all play out from where he sat resting in the backyard drinking a tall glass of lemonade. “I recognize that look all too well. What did you say, or often the case with a man and woman, not say that got her feathers ruffled?” he asked, as he chuckled.
I wanted to tell Grady what happened because I wanted to hear a human’s analysis of what happened and I needed a man’s opinion. “Frankly, sir, I’m a little confused about what did happen.”
“Welcome to a man’s world, son.” At that moment, I didn’t feel so welcome and the irony of Grady welcoming me to a man’s world should have brought a smile to my face, but I didn’t because I worried about how I had upset his granddaughter.
Grady drank his lemonade and I sat next to him on the bench while I replayed the conversation in the truck for Grady, then added, “Next thing I know, she is giving me the silent treatment. When we got here, she asked me why I didn’t I like her and I was so surprised by her confrontation, I didn’t know what to say, then she stomped off.”
“Son, it isn’t always what you say. Like I said, it’s more often what you don’t say. She thinks that you don’t like her because you didn’t correct her assumption. She was prompting you to deny it and tell her you liked her, and when you didn’t, she took that as confirmation of her suspicion.”
It was clear as a bell once Grady explained it and I sounded like a scolded child when I asked, “Well, how exactly am I supposed to fix that?”
I watched Grady shaking his head back and forth. “A woman can hold a grudge for a long time. The longer it simmers, the longer the grudge lasts and I advise you to get this straightened out in a quick like fashion.”
The man didn’t understand I had no idea how to talk to women. “I don’t know how to begin, what do I say?”
Grady stopped what he was doing to look at me. “Boy, you act like you don’t know how to talk to a female.”
“I guess I don’t.” It was the truth. When I was human, escorts accompanied young, unmarried ladies and there were no private conversations because those were left for after the marriage.
Curry looked around, then lowered his voice to ask, “Son, are you a homosexual?”
“No, sir!” I said, a little too loudly, then lowered my voice and added, “I’m just not incredibly experienced with the opposite sex, but not for that reason.”
“Well, alright then. This is what you should do. She’ll be getting ready for work soon, so try to catch her before she leaves and tell her it was all a misunderstanding. Apologize, but keep it simple. Let her know it was all of your fault an
d she is not to blame. Again, I strongly suggest you tell her it was all your fault.”
“Got it. Thanks, Mr. Emerson.” That sounded like something I could handle, so I retreated to my room to rehearse. I heard her getting ready for work in her bedroom above me and knew I didn’t have long. When I heard her leave her room, I went outside to wait for her.
I stood next to her white Jeep, propped against the driver’s side as she walked toward me. She stopped and huffed, not hiding her irritation, when she saw me and I realized I liked it because it left little need for guessing.
For once, I started the conversation. “May I have a minute of your time?”
“I don’t have a minute because I’m running late,” she answered cooly.
“It will only take a minute,” I pleaded.
She placed her hands back on her hips. “So, you’re asking me to be late for work?”
I registered how selfish I sounded and knew I had disengaged from the script Grady had given me, so I decided to abandon this attempt gone wrong. “May I talk to you when you return home?”
“I won’t be back until late,” she inhibited.
“I guess it’s a good thing I stay up late then, so I’ll be waiting,” I insisted, not giving her a choice.
“Suit yourself,” she replied indifferently and I moved aside to open the door of her Jeep for her. I stood in the driveway as she drove away and I watched as curiosity got the better of her and she looked back at me in her rearview mirror. She believed she left with the upper hand, as did I, until I saw the reflection of her smile. She thought her smile was a secret between she and herself, but she was wrong and it melted any reservations I had about talking to her.
Chapter 8
Chansey would have me believe she was tough as nails, but the girl that strummed a guitar while she sang lyrics about falling in love forever, was all sugar and spice beneath the surface, so I almost felt bad about having an advantage over her. Almost.