On Saturday at nine in the morning, Eric got dressed in jeans and a black dress shirt and left the house without anybody noticing. Jo-Ann was sitting on the back porch drinking and Michael was in his room watching TV. He couldn't stand his wife's drinking and as she spent all weekend drinking he spent all weekend in his room. Eric made the walk to Sam's house turning over the same thoughts in his mind that he'd been having all week about the many ways in which the day could end in disaster. At no point though did he give serious thought to turning around and going back home, because Sam was different, his reasons for keeping his distance from other people didn't apply to her, she was the one person he'd met so far whom he felt he could safely give the benefit of the doubt to.
He arrived at the house that matched the description that Sam gave him, and it was here that he was assailed by an intense attack of anxiety that he had been expecting for days but had heretofore failed to materialize. He stood at the gate that led into Sam's property needing only to press the button on the intercom, a step that suddenly felt like too much, while the thought of retreating and returning to his hermitic existence grew increasingly appealing.
"Eric," came Sam's voice unexpectedly through the intercom speaker. She had been sitting by the window and looking out onto the street waiting for his arrival and when she saw him standing by the gate looking like he was wavering she knew that she had to do something before he left.
"Yeah, it's me."
"I'll buzz you in."
Sam answered the door wearing a pair of pale blue jeans and a white t-shirt with her hair pulled back into the same ponytail he remembered from their first meeting. Looking at Sam, Eric felt overdressed and self-conscious. Looking at Eric, Sam felt underdressed and self-conscious.
"Hi," Sam said, as normally as she could manage.
"Hi," Eric responded tentatively.
A brief silence of uncertainty materialized between them then. It lasted until Sam recovered her composure and invited Eric to enter. Sheepishly he stepped across the threshold and walked past her into the house. Sam closed the door behind him and there they were, facing the improbable together.
"Nice house," Eric said shakily upon entering. Everything about Sam's house, on the inside and the outside, was nicer than his.
"Thanks. Say, do you want something to drink or something?"
Uncertain as to acceptable social protocol, Eric weighed the question with more consideration than was necessary.
"Yeah, sure."
"Juice?" She asked nervously, seeking specificity.
"Yeah, juice is fine."
Sam left Eric in the living room and went into the kitchen, not only to pour his juice but also to compose herself. Eric had been there less than five minutes and already she was feeling overwhelmed by tension. Meanwhile in the living room a similar situation was playing out. Eric was looking around at all of the furniture and decor touches and felt his anxiety rising at the thought of the existence of a quality divide between them. His thoughts were interrupted by Sam entering the living room carrying a glass of juice for him. She handed the glass to him, and the dreaded time for engaging in real conversation was upon them.
"Does your mother work every Saturday?" Eric led with.
"Yeah, she's a nurse at St Augustine's, she goes in on Saturdays for the overtime."
