Between Then and Now

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ryan

I haven’t talked to Bon in days. We see each other in the room, but she is always busy editing her documentary. I let her have her space because, frankly, that practice date rattled me. Maybe it did the same thing to her, but I’d rather not ask her right now.

I shift my attention to Alexa instead. Tonight is our date, and I wish I could say I’m prepared for it. I find myself making mental (and mobile) notes—conversation starters, ways to gracefully break any awkward silences, and compliments I could toss in casually. I even draft out the perfect sequence of how I’ll approach each topic, complete with a backup plan in case things go awry.

I glance over at Bon’s side of the room. She’s not there, but she’s got her laptop and film equipment spread out, and from the looks of it, she’s deep into the editing zone. I’m tempted to ask her for advice, but I don’t want to intrude. I’m sure she’s got her own stuff to work through, and honestly, I feel a little awkward bringing up anything about the date when we’ve barely spoken.

I adjust my button-down and fix my hair. The sound of the door creaking open makes me look up. Bon walks in, her focus on her laptop, her expression somewhere between concentration and exhaustion. I catch her eye and offer a weak smile. She smiles back, but there’s a sort of melancholy in it that I can’t quite place.

“Hey,” I say, trying to sound casual. “How’s the documentary coming along? ”

“Hey,” she replies, her voice slightly tired but warm. “It’s coming along. Just need to put the finishing touches on the existing clips.” She walks past me but turns her back and says, “Good luck on your big date, Casanova,” her tone light but not quite normal.

I watch her retreat to her work, feeling a mix of nerves and awkwardness. Her offhand comment about the date is oddly comforting, but it also leaves me wondering about the layers of thoughts she might be keeping to herself. I shake off the feeling, refocusing on my pre-date preparations.

“See you tonight,” I say.

“What are you talking about? If the date goes well, you won’t see me tonight,” Bon says with a cheeky wink.

I hadn’t even thought about that possibility. Geez, the date hasn’t even started yet, and I’m already thinking of returning to this room tonight. That’s not a good start. At all.

Bon gives me a smile and a last ‘good luck’ before I step out of our room to go wait for Alexa by the staircase.

Okay. This is it. This is all I’ve ever wanted for years. I try to get into the zone when Alexa emerges after a few minutes, wearing a white sundress. I normally like this minimalism on beautiful girls. Bonbon would never wear something so plain, though. She’s always so colorful it sometimes makes my eyes hurt. I shake my head to bring myself back to the present. This isn’t Bonbon. This is Alexa. The woman I’ve been obsessed with for years. And we’re going on a date.

“You look great,” I say as I lead her to the car–the same one I used days ago during my practice date with Bon.

“So do you, Ryan.” She enters the passenger seat slowly as I close the door after her. As I walk around to the driver’s side, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. I slide into the seat, start the car, and glance over at Alexa. She’s looking out the window, a small smile playing on her lips.

“So, where are we headed?” she asks, turning to me.

“I thought we’d start with dinner. Any preference?” I ask.

“I heard there’s an Italian place. I’d love that,” she says, her smile growing wider. As I nod in agreement, I can’t shake the voice in my head that pipes up with a sarcastic ‘Oh boy, another spaghetti night!’ or ‘Ew, Italian.’ That voice sounds a lot like my dear friend Bonbon, who would undoubtedly roll her eyes at the idea. Bon has always been more adventurous with food, constantly dragging us to hole-in-the-wall places that serve the most exotic dishes. She'd never settle for the familiar comfort of pasta and pizza–unless she makes it weirdly disgusting in her own way.

I realize soon enough that the car ride is so silent. I go back to Bon’s advice: Think of something that happened recently. And since the most recent thing was still the Manet-Monet incident, I tell the story to Alexa.

She laughs at me politely, but I don’t think she really finds it funny. Maybe it’s the first-date awkwardness. During my practice date with Bon, there wasn’t any awkwardness because we were already friends. This is completely normal, I convince myself.

As we walk into the restaurant, the soft lighting and cozy booths provide a welcoming ambiance. The host leads us to a table near the window. Alexa sits down gracefully, and I follow suit, trying to muster up some enthusiasm.

“I hope you’re hungry,” I say, trying to inject some energy into my voice. “I’ve heard their pasta is really good.” I hand her the menu so she can choose what she wants. Our fingers brush when she gets it from me. It’s a fleeting touch, and despite what the movies would have you believe, there’s no electric spark, no sudden rush of connection. But then again, that’s normal, right?

“Sounds great,” Alexa responds, scanning the menu. Her smile is polite but doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

I glance at the menu as well, but my mind keeps wandering. I remember Bon’s advice to stay engaged and curious, so I ask, “So, uh... any hobbies?”

“I like to travel,” she says without looking up at me as she reads the specials.

I find myself searching for topics that might spark her interest. “What do you like to do when you travel?” I ask, hoping to hit on something she’s passionate about.

Alexa lights up a little at this. “I enjoy exploring new cities and trying out local food. It’s fun to experience different cultures.” We pause for a while, finally ready to order food.

“That sounds exciting…” I say, trying to match her enthusiasm. “What’s been your favorite city so far?”

“Paris,” she replies with a smile. “I went there last year and loved the architecture and the food. It was a really great trip.”

“That’s awesome,” I respond, trying to build on the conversation. “I’ve always wanted to visit Paris. Did you get to see the Louvre?”

I instantly regret asking, because she might tease me about my painting mishap. But I realize immediately that she’s not Bon and that she’s not the teasing type, and she won’t say ‘for someone who doesn’t even know painters, why do you care about the Louvre?’

Alexa only says, “Yes, I did,” her smile growing a bit. “It was incredible. But honestly, the best part was just walking around the city and finding little cafes. ”

We talk a little more about her trip, but the conversation soon drifts back to more mundane topics. I glance down at my half-empty glass, swirling the remaining wine in an attempt to focus, but the weight of disappointment settles deeper. This date was supposed to be everything I wanted, yet here I am, not really getting into it. Not the excitement, not the nervousness, just a hollow ache of disillusionment.

“Excuse me for a moment,” I finally say, pushing back my chair and standing up. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” Alexa replies, her smile polite but distracted.

I make my way to the bathroom to restart my emotions. Once inside, I head straight for the sink and turn on the faucet, letting the cool water run over my hands. The splash of water on my face is a brief shock, a small attempt to jolt myself back into the present. I grip the edge of the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror.

This is what you’ve always wanted, Ryan . Man up and enjoy it , I say to myself. I take a deep breath, then step out of the bathroom to see that our food is served. I sit back and smile at her. I want so badly to enjoy this. I want to get into this. Please, I want this to feel like something. Anything.

I take my fork and twirl the spaghetti as we start eating. “This pasta is really good,” I say, attempting to find a common appreciation.

“It is,” Alexa agrees, but her tone remains neutral.

Throughout the meal, I catch myself glancing around the restaurant, distracted by the clinking of silverware and the murmur of other diners. The atmosphere is actually pleasant–warm lighting, jazz music in the background–but I’m struggling to engage with it. I feel like someone on the outside looking in .

It’s one of those post-achievement letdowns, where you look forward to something for so long, but when it finally arrives, it doesn’t quite live up to your expectations. Maybe it’s because you’ve dragged it out and created scenarios in your head that when the real thing comes, it’s nothing comparable to the things you’ve imagined. And it’s not about Alexa; I’m sure she’s a wonderful person. She’s beautiful, smart, and kind. I don’t want to admit it, but I’m so incredibly… bored.

As dessert arrives–a slice of tiramisu that somehow seems more appealing than the rest of our conversations–I decide to take a different approach to try to squeeze anything out of this evening. I quickly glance at my phone notes to see the questions I put there. “I was thinking of trying a new hobby soon. Maybe something creative. Do you have any recommendations?”

Alexa seems to appreciate the change in topic, though her response is cautious. “I’m not sure. I’ve always been the stick-to-what-you know type, so I don’t really know what to recommend.” This, I’m skeptical of. No one who likes to travel and see new cultures is the stick-to-what-you-know type. Maybe she’s just as bored as I am, just as eager for this evening to end.

I nod despite my nagging thoughts. “Yeah, me too,” I lie.

When the check arrives, I feel a mix of relief and frustration. The evening wasn’t a disaster, but it certainly wasn’t the connection I had hoped for. I find myself wondering if I’m missing something or if this is just how it’s supposed to be.

I originally planned for the walk by the beach but that attempt at romance seems like overkill now. This date is beyond salvation. When Alexa agrees to end the evening, we return to the inn, and I walk her to her room. We hover in front of her door for a while and more awkward silence ensues .

“Well, here we are,” I say, trying to break the tension. My voice sounds almost too loud in the stillness.

“Yeah,” Alexa replies softly, her gaze shifting from the door to me. She looks up at me with a hesitant, yet hopeful expression.

I open my mouth to say something–anything–to fill the void between us, but before I can, Alexa takes a small step closer. She reaches up, her hand gently touching my shoulder, and it makes my heart race for all the wrong reasons.

“I had a nice time tonight,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Nice time? Were we on the same date? Because from where I was sitting, it was the most painful date of my life. I try to keep my face neutral, unsure how to respond. She hesitates for a moment before leaning in, and then I realize what she was trying to do–she’s about to kiss me.

Oh, boy.

As Alexa’s face draws near, panic sets in, and I instinctively take a step back. “Oh, um—” I stammer, feeling my heart race and my palms sweat. “This was great, goodnight, Alexa.” Jackass move, I know.

She looks at me with apprehension for a while before she says, “You nervous or something? In case you didn’t know, I was gonna kiss you.”

Shit. “Yeah. Just nervous,” I lie, taking another step back. The truth is I’m not nervous. I’m severely uncomfortable, though. “Sorry, I–”

Alexa laughs it off and says, “Bon told me you struggle when talking to someone you like. So, I’m taking this as a compliment.” She steps back too and continues, “Maybe next time, then. See you next Saturday? ”

What? Bon told her? When did they talk about me? And why did she tell Alexa? I shake my head as I say, “Yeah, see you then.” Alexa retreats to her room, and I’m left standing in the hallway.

I breathe a sigh of relief that would’ve offended her if she were still here, and slowly walk away. It’s not supposed to feel like this. I’m not supposed to feel… nothing. But I am, and I have no idea what that means for me, for Alexa, or for whatever comes next.

As I approach Room 8, I realize something weird and strangely confusing. It’s the most excited I’ve felt all day.