323 Tender Way

"So, where are we going today?" she asked as we waited for the elevator.

"I thought we'd go for a drive to the high school, actually."

"To high school? Really? That’s fun?"

"Yes, it's my old stomping grounds. It's really where my story begins," I said, pulling her hand into my own. “It’s not an easy story for me to tell, so I thought the visuals would help.”

"I hope we don’t get PTSD. Are we taking the bike, because I’m terrified. And part of me wants to just jump on and not admit that to you, but another part of me is more frightened of peeing my pants in front of you. So, I’m weighing both of those options. Peeing or sacrificing terror for coolness.”

“Neither of those sound great, but I did drive my car because I saw a preview of your fear last time you met my Harley and my objective is to not scare you today.”

“Sweet! What kind of car do you drive?” We hopped into the empty elevator and pushed the ground floor.

“Guess, like you do with the coffees.”

“Chrysler LeBaron. Chevy Impala. Dodge Dart. And don’t say El Camino, because I was going to peg you for that one, but I hesitated, I don’t know why I hesitated, and I hate to lose.”

Where are you? In 1972? Do you still think I’m a serial killer?”

“Early eighties muscle cars are like my sweet spot. I’ve given up on the serial killer bit, because you know, I read on Wikipedia that very few of them actually have visible tattoos. It’s too much of a giveaway, you know, in case the victim escapes.”

“In that case, I’ll make sure you never get away. But, thanks for the vote of confidence, Maddy. I’m flattered. This coffee is awesome, by the way.”

“Only the best for you, boss-husband,” she deadpanned.

Our eyes connected as we sipped and the elevator hit the ground floor.

Ping. Doors slid open.

“Boyfriend?” Maddy said. Her face twisted into an adorable grimace.

“Boyfriend,” I repeated with confidence. Maddy looked at me and blinked twice. She grabbed my hand and we stepped out of the elevator, linked, holding onto one another.

Girlfriend.

Lover.

Soul Mate.

As we drove the streets of my childhood, her hair blowing in the wind through the open windows, I started to lose my nerve. I didn't want her to look at me differently than she did right now. I didn’t want to disappoint her. I didn’t want to give Madison a reason to doubt me, I only wanted her to like me more and more.

Most people who knew my truth, it changed how they saw me. Even if they said it didn’t matter, I could sense the invisible barrier they threw up as soon as they found out about my past. A wall that always separated me from full inclusion. I got it, it was a defense mechanism, but that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Having Madison look at me the same way might kill me, be the final nail in my coffin.

"Should we grab some food," she asked.

"You hungry?"

"One thing you should know about me, Duke Miller, is that I'm always hungry."

“I like a woman with an appetite. So you can cook, and eat, you like superheroes, and you make a mean cup of joe.”

“I think you just made me sound like the most boring person on the planet,” Madison said. “She cooks, she eats, is there anything this girl cannot do?”

“Was that your impression of my voice? Do I really sound like an infomercial to you?” I laughed as I said it. Maddy lowered the window all the way down and stuck her head out.

“My boyfriend drives a Tesla!” she shouted to no one in particular. “What the hell? If I’d known tattoos were that lucrative, what’d I waste the last four years studying economics for?”

“So you can know when the Tesla stock is going up or down? It’s never too late to start tattooing, though. You got any artistic talent hidden up your sleeve? I could put a word in with the owner of the shop. He’s pretty cool, from what I hear.”

“Give me that naked right arm!” Madison exclaimed. She dug around in her backpack and came up with a ballpoint pen and a look of triumph. She decapped it in her mouth as she positioned my arm in her lap.

“I packed a picnic, sort of. Cheese and crackers, fruit, macaroni salad, and some brownies.”

“Wow, you made all that for me?” she asked around the pen cap she held between her teeth. Her brow was drawn in concentration as she began to put the pen to my arm.

“No, but Ozzie’s mom Pearl made it for her son and I rescued it so that it wouldn’t go to waste, seeing as Ozzie could stand to lose a couple of pounds and he already takes her cooking for granted.”