Fishing for Revenge

Chapter 3

Sunday could not come fast enough. Or slow enough. I'd always had someone to play off of, in case I clammed up. What was going to happen when we were all alone? As my nerves escalated, so did my nail biting. Soon I had nothing but stumps and ripped cuticles.

Saturday night, Sydney examined my hands. "You've got to control this."

"It's a bad habit," I sighed. "Will you paint them?"

We were sitting in her bedroom, a place I'd spent most of my childhood in. Her mom often picked me up from ballet, fed me dinner, let me cry about my troubles, then drove me home when I was ready. She was like a secon mother to me, all warmth and love.

Sydney uncapped a silver bottle of polish and got to work, my thoughts turning back to my hands. "You can't bite them forever. It's just gross!" she chided.

I just sighed. We'd had this conversation a hundred times at least. It was a nasty habit, but it was internal. When things outside were too much, when my head was going crazy, it was something on which I could focus intently on. There was a callus on the bottom of my foot which I would pick at if things got too out of hand, but that would usually break a nail, which only led into another viscious cycle of biting.

"There, all done."

I smiled at Syd. "Thanks. I'll try to keep this on for a week." That was a goal I usually met.

Sydney curled up next to me and we fell asleep, as was typical on a Saturday night.

The next day, after church, she spent an hour styling my curls and carefully applying my make-up. I was hopeless when it came to girlie things, and was glad to have her there. When six o'clock rolled around, she departed with a squeal and I sat nervously in the kitchen, waiting for Michael.

The doorbell rang promptly at 6:15 pm and my parents let him in without a word. My mom's expression remained stoney, but he soon charmed my father.

"My name is Michael. Thank you so much for letting me take your daughter out tonight; she's delightful! I promise to bring her directly home after the choir concert."

My dad smiled in approval. "I detect you're a baritone yourself?" he queried, his soft spot for choral music coming through.

Michael nodded, "yes sir, I sing in my church choir." I beamed at him, and he winked at me, making my heart warm a little.

"Well," my mother said with a sigh, " you'd best be on your way." so we were.

Once the door was safely shut behind us, Michael turned to me and whispered "You look positively lovely tonight." I blushed and quietly thanked him as he opened the door of his old green truck for me.

"Did I make a good impression?" he asked, an adorable edge of nervousness in his voice.

"Very good!" I replied. "They may want to trade me for you if you're not careful!" I teased.

"You're irreplaceable, Lily," he breathed, barely audible.

We pulled up in front of an old Vietnamese restaurant, but the doors were locked.

Michael swore under his breath. "Well. I have a back-up plan," he said heavily. "it's not as classy, I'm afraid."

"I don't mind if it's classy or not, I'm sure it's fine!" I said, trying to erase the worried crinkle from his forehead with my words alone. We climbed back into the car and arrived shortly thereafter at a small, local Chinese restaurant I frequented with Sydney and her mom, Seline's Cuisine. "I love this place!" I eagerly told Michael. He visibly relaxed.

"Thank goodness!" He took my hand as we approached the doors, giving my fingers a light squeeze as we entered the building.

A waitress seated us and we both ordered immediately without needing s menu: the lemon chicken dinner. Our eye met at the coincidence and he blushed a deeply as I did.

"Is that you're favorite, too?" I asked.

"Since I was 10 and visited here for the first time!" He exclaimed.

"Tell me about your childhood," I begged.

We chattered easily throughout the entire meal, the rest of the restaurant fading away. I told him about the first time Sydney's mom took us to Seline's, how she'd taught us how to use chopsticks, then proceded to stab her food and eat it like kabobs while Syd and I laughed until we cried. He described camping trips with his numerous siblings. We discussed our dreams and goals and futures. I lost myself in him completely.

When the fortunes came, I stopped him from reading his. "Wait!" I demanded. "Unless you eat the whole cookie before you read it, it won't ever be true!" We crunched the cookies for a few minutes. When he swallowed the last piece, we flipped over our fortunes.

"You first," he insisted.

"Doors will be opening for you in many areas of your life," I read.

His mouth curled up into a satisfied, almost bemused smile. He took the fortune from my fingers and replaced it with his own. I glanced down and my expression mirrored his: the fortunes were identical. He slipped mine into his wallet.

"It's a sign," he said. I smiled and nodded in happy agreement.

A quarter of an hour later we arrived at the choral festival, my tiny hand contained in his. As the concert progressed, he became closer and closer to me on the pew. He whispered little facts into my ears about each piece. For the first time in my life, I forgot how to breathe. I had to focus to keep my lungs in a steady rhythm, but I knew he could tell I was all a flutter.

At intermission, we easily resumed our conversation. He told me about his childhood lizard collection, and I retold the time I'd caught a squirrel in Sydney's backyard, and kept it until her dog tried to eat it. His laugh was warm and gentle; I craved it more as the evening wore on.

Everything was straight out of a dream. Nervous as I could be, I worried the whole night about saying something that would offend his easy temper, but he was all smiles and sweetness. Halfway through the second half of the concert, I felt his arm drape casually over my shoulders, and I was instantly warmed. Yet in the back of my mind, I felt something was amiss.

At the end of the concert, we sat still in his car for a moment, basking in the warmth of the evening, a comfortable silence folding over us. Reluctantly, he turned on the truck and headed for our neighborhood.

Pulling up in front of my house he killed the engine. "This night was lovely, Lily," he said.

"It was perfect!" I blurted out, blushing.

"Yeah, it was," he whispered back. He got out of the truck and walked me to my porch. "Goodnight, Lily," he said, engulfing me in a hug.

"Goodnight, Michael," I said, returning the squeeze.

I let myself in, and waved as he retreated to his car. My house was dark and quiet as I danced happily to my bedroom. It was early for that, but I was too euphoric to notice. I picked up my phone from the dresser where I'd left it to tell Sydney all about my night. There was a text from her waiting:

"Sweetie, please meet me at my house early tomorrow. I have to talk to you about something before school, and I'm sure you need to tell me about you're night. Love you!"

Sighing with slight impatience, I replaced it on the dresser and got ready for bed. As I crawled beneath the covers, my phone buzzed. I leapt out of bed, hoping it was Sydney wanting to hear about my night. It was better.

"Tonight was excellent. There should definitely be a second date. I'll see you tomorrow morning, love you!"

My heart soared and I tumbled happily into a dreamy sleep.

I met Sydney early the next morning, as requested. Her eyes were swollen and her mouth was pulled into a deep frown. Before I could verbally express my concern, she explained.

"It's my mom." She choked back a new wave of tears. "She's been diagnosed with breast cancer."