"A Lack of Taste" and Other Short Stories by Belle Adel

First Date

A young man stood in the middle of a dimly-lit living room, admiring his handiwork. The room was furnished with a tiny flat-screen television, thrifted coffee table, neon-yellow lava lamp, and a mysteriously-crusted brown couch, and this was the cleanest it'd looked in the three years he had occupied its space. The man, Michael, wore a button down shirt and khaki shorts, unlike his usual attire of tees and gym shorts. His barely-fancy outfit, which he'd only worn once before to a frat party, already featured sweat stains in the armpit area; he was, after all, nervously anticipating what was supposed to be an elegant evening, as he had asked Samantha Reynolds to come over for a date. Their first date.

Three knocks echoed from the front door. Crap, she's here, Michael thought to himself. He sprinted toward the apartment's entrance, his large, bulky stature contributing to the booming sounds his feet made every time they touched the ground, and paused right before he could grab the doorknob. He gave himself a moment to take a shaky yet well-needed deep breath, then finally opened the door.

There she was. Samantha. Perfectly curled brunette hair, busty yet petite, the nicest and third-hottest girl in Professor Wilson's Astronomy class, and she had agreed to go on a date with Michael of all people. Of course, he would've never had the guts to speak to her, let alone ask her out, if she'd never asked to borrow a pencil from him during one of their lectures a few days earlier! For this particular occasion, she chose to wear a red and white striped crop-top, paired with baby blue high-waisted jeans, perfectly manicured nails, and the whitest purse he'd ever seen. Even in such simple attire, she'd managed to look stunning. Geez, I feel overdressed, Michael thought, looking down at his own, slightly wrinkled dress shirt. Maybe I should've worn something else--

"Hey," Samantha said, finally breaking into Michael's thoughts. "You alive?" She chuckled, her giggle sounding almost musical. Michael had been holding the door open, speechless, for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"Oh! Uh, hey. Sorry...come in, come in," Michael said. Samantha entered the cramped apartment, looking around. As they walked into Michael's living room, Samantha noted the mysterious stains littering the carpet and walls, as well as some of the exposed piping on the ceiling and unfortunate state of the couch. God, this place is hideous, she thought, why did he have to invite me to his apartment? Although Samantha didn't care much for Michael's living quarters, she knew that first impressions didn't always give a clear image of character. I'll just be polite. "This is, uh, a nice place you've got," she said.

"Heh, thanks. Spent all day cleaning up, you know!"

"Oh...really?"

Michael was, unsurprisingly, oblivious to Samantha's ever-so-slight disgust towards the state of his apartment. There's nothing wrong with a few stains here or there, right? "It's no Buckingham Palace or anything, I know, but for $500 a month, it could be a lot worse."

"Well, uh...that's true!" They both let out awkward, nervous laughs.

Michael racked his brain for anything to say that could break the tension. "Well...would you something to drink? I have some wine if you'd like. At least, I think I have some, somewhere--"

"That would be great, thanks," Samantha replied, a little too quickly.

Michael walked towards his tiny kitchenette, reaching into a cabinet to grab two plastic cups and a bottle of blood-red wine. Plastic cups? Samantha thought, For real? No, I shouldn't judge. We're in college, after all. Michael poured the Devil's drink into the cups, then handed Samantha one, her small smile showing her appreciation. They stood in silence, sipping. Maybe I should say something, she thought. Samantha opened her mouth to say who-knows-what when she was interrupted by yet another knock at the door.