Lips Like Coffee

cup: 31

Pen

I didn't know what I was doing. What was I doing? It felt strange to be going on a date that was actually...a date. Catherine, although it took a lot to do so, convinced me to take her to out to dinner. Despite how sweet she came off, the girl was aggressive when it came to what she wanted. She did not let up at all when she asked me out, even though I told her no multiple times. I admired her persistence.

So there I was waiting at her doorstep, dressed like an uptight prick and feeling my anxiety grow. The concept of dating anyone that wasn't Norma didn't compute to me. I didn't even like this girl. Her persistence (and the fact that I slept with her) was the only reason I was there. This felt like more of an obligation than a want, so maybe it was more like work than I had thought.

The door opened, and my eyebrows raised as I gazed at her. Catherine's hair was pinned up in a Cinderella style which made her round features seem sharper. Her dress was tight in the chest with a cinched waist, billowing out after as it fell at just above her ankles. It all fit her personality well. I had to admit, she was an attractive woman.

"You look pretty," I said, and her smile grew.

"Thank you, I wanted to look extra nice for you," she said, tucking her chin into her collar.

"Shall we?"

I gestured toward my waiting car, and she nodded her head as she reached toward me. Not understanding what she was doing, I side-stepped her hand as I furrowed my eyebrows together. She closed her hand into a fist, then gripped it onto her clutch as she bowed her head. Shit. What did I do?

There was something about seeing a woman sad that made me uncomfortable. Maybe it stemmed from my birth mother crying all the time. Or Iris being upset all throughout our teen years and her early twenties. The woman from the night I got arrested. Alizé; when we met the day I got out of prison. Norma-Jean...

Not sure what to do, I rested my hand on her lower back and guided her down the steps to my car. Catherine looked up at me, blue eyes glistening as they caught the fading sunlight. The way she looked at me, it unsettled the barrier I built to keep her at bay.

"Pen–" she began, but I interrupted.

"Alexander," I said, opening the door for her.

She smiled up at me as I held her hand while she climbed in. "Thank you."

All I could do was smile in return as I closed her door. Her thanking me for a date she begged for seemed redundant. I coordinated the plans for it, but it was all her asking that got us here. A girl as good-looking as she was shouldn't have to plead to be taken out. Which still baffled me as to why she insisted on me being the one to do it.

We drove down the expressway until we reached the shopping district of the city. (It was also on the edge of the upper-classed region of the city, which meant dress-coded restaurants.) I pulled up in front of the restaurant, DeMaggio's, and helped Catherine out of the passenger seat. Holding her hand, I guided her toward the door after tipping the valet. Her hand felt odd in my own, it didn't seem to fit.

"This place is beautiful," she said as we approached the hostess podium.

"It's decent." I nodded, then checked my watch.