Seven: Holiday Party Romance

 NOTE: Be prepared for a loooonnnnng chapter + there's a song you can play that goes along with the chapter, so if you want to listen, just click play when you get there and then stop/mute it when you get to the thing that says [*Stop Song*]

   "I feel under dressed." I whispered to Oliver, who I had car pooled with to the party. He had stated that the party's dress code was semi-formal; I had a loose interpretation of that. After hours of going through my closet, I came to the conclusion that I owned no dress that were appropriate for a winter party. My dresses were either short, with little to no sleeves or work clothes, that had to be at least knee length and cover my shoulders, as dictated by the school's dress code. Sandi had lent me wool leggings and I'd thrown on a cute sweater and decided that I looked presentable enough.
   "You look fine." He sighed. We had decided this morning to carpool to the party; if I was with someone who I knew somewhat- an acquaintance- I'd be far less awkward, also, they'd changed the venue to some Irish dive.
   "Thanks..." I trailed off, glancing at his attire: black dress pants, a dark button up, a dark coat.
   "You're gonna love James."
   "Can you tell me a bit more about him, other then 911 dispatcher and divorced?"
   "Uh, sure." He said, as he parallel parked his silver sedan. "His name's James Colton, the kid attempts to act all cool and macho, but he's actually really sensitive. He plays the piano for the kids at the youth center." He opened his door, as I climbed out of the car, shutting the door gently.

   "Any sensitive subjects?" Other then my great-aunt Louisa, I didn't know anyone who had gotten a divorce. Even she, who was close to three decades my parents' senior and had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's six years ago, was still bitter during her lucid episodes.
   "Not really."
   "The divorce?" I slowly said, glancing at him. "Isn't that a bit... Avoidable? I don't want to poke the bear or make things awkward."
   "Lavender; you'll be fine. Do you know the difference between the UK, England, and Britain?"
   "The UK is England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland, England's a country, Britain is Scotland, England, and Wales. Why?" My geography knowledge was mediocre; being a kindergarten teacher meant I had to know all seven continents, a third of the states, and the only three North American countries students were taught the existence of: the US, Canada, and Mexico.
   "You'll be fine." He repeated, ignoring my question.
   "If you say so. Just... I dunno, my last few relationships haven't gone well."
   "Be yourself."
   "Why does everyone say that? It's sucky advice."
   "Aren't you a teacher? Aren't cheesy sayings your career?"
   "Yes. Kindergarteners believe them, though. Er! Oliver, dating makes me nervous and pessimistic, I hate being like this." I didn't know why I was so nervous; I didn't know this man, it was just a blind date, if it didn't go well, I never had to seem him again; it wasn't as if he was a close friend or a co-worker... Like Quinn. Why was she my go-to relationship comparison? I hadn't felt a great connection with her, when I broke up with her, I barely had to move on, since there wasn't much emotion there anyway.
   "Lavender." He pushed the bar's door open, holding it for me. I walked in and was hit with the noise of early two-thousand's pop music and the strong stench of cheap beer and cocktails, as a blonde attempted to drum along to a song I barely remembered since I'd been in the fifth grade when it was released.
   "Damn, damn, damn... Maybe this wasn't a good idea? Look at all these people."
   "There's twelve people here, excluding us." He sighed, gently pushing me forward. "He's the blonde playing darts. You two have fun, now."
   "Er- Okay."

   "Hey, um, James?" I nervously stepped forward, placing my hand on his shoulder, as he shot the dart, jumping back.
   "Bloody hell!" He exclaimed, a thick English accent coating his words, as he grumbled about his horrid aim. The dart, instead of landing anywhere remotely close to the board, was stuck in the wooden floor.

   "Mr. Colton?" My tone must have been cautious, for her turned around quickly, biting his lip.
   "My apologies; I don't mean to appear narked, miss." He stuck out his hand. "James Colton."
   "Lavender Mumsy." I replied, shaking his hand. "Oliver Carlisle set us up."
   "Nice one. Smashing first impression I gave." He sighed, giving me a timid smile. "I'm far from brilliant at darts. Tosh, really."
   "Tosh?"
   "Rubbish." He shrugged. "I apologize; I keep using the bloody British slang, forgetting you yanks don't."
   "It's fine, really." I smiled. "So where are you from?"
   "London." He answered, chuckling slightly.
   "Did I misspeak?" My boots became rather interesting, as I glanced down, avoiding his reddening cheeks and impeccably adorable boyish good looks. He was a highly attractive English man who had apologized twice in the past thirty seconds. Needless to say, I was intrigued.
   "Oh, no, no, you're fine. I'm naff at this, that's all. Care for a beverage?"
   "Sure." I smiled. "Preferable something alcoholic."
   "You aren't the American drinking age, are you?" He coiled back in surprise. "You're attending uni, are you not?"
   "I'm a teacher." I smiled. "And I'm twenty-four."
   "Ah. Oliver didn't inform me of that, mate just said that I was being rather depressing and that he knew a lovely lady who he might set me up with. What'd you like?"
   "My friend had me try this cinnamon thing last time we went out, uh, I think it was fireball. That, please."
   "Alright." He moved towards the bar, as I grabbed a stool.

   "Here you go." He set the glass down in front of me, as he plopped down on a stool and took a drink from the brown beer bottle.
   "Thanks. Do I need to pay?" I reached for my hand, as he waved his hands, shaking his head.
   "Oh no, they've opened a tab."
   "Generous of them."
   "I supposed so; Oliver says the holidays are the one time the bosses loosen up a bit."
   "How long have you worked as a dispatcher?"
   "Eleven months, or so. I started in January, earned my degree almost a year prior and had been bumming around, playing the piano for parties, giving a few lessons."
   "I always wished I could play an instrument. My parents attempted to force me to take guitar lessons as a child, but I didn't care for the long practices and now..." I trailed off, shrugging, taking a sip of my drink.
   "If you'd like, I could teach you how to play the piano. You seem like you'd make an excellent pupil."
   "Thanks." I giggled. "I'm afraid I'd be the opposite, though."
   "Why's that?"
   "I cannot stand having to sit, still for ages, listening to others talk. That's why I'm a kindergarten teacher. Well, that and I had no idea what I wanted to do, so I became what my parents were."
   "See, I became a dispatcher to spite my father."
   "Oh, really? Bit of a stereotype, isn't it?"

   "Suppose so. See, I graduated and wanted to become a musician, play piano, but my father found it nonsensical; he still believes that you need uni to succeed."
   "Did he want you to be a lawyer or a doctor?" I teased.
   "It's horrid, is it not, how predictable he is?" He sighed, finishing his beer. "I applied to American schools, Harvard, Yale, Columbia, the works. Went to the University of Pennsylvania since it was the worst school that accepted me and didn't offer a scholarship."
   "Wait, did you get into Harvard?"
   "Indeed."
   "And Columbia?"
   "Yes. Yale, Duke, Stanford, Princeton, too, though I despise telling people about that."
   "Why?! If I got into Ivy League schools, that's all I'd ever talk about, Instead I have Penn State."
   "I'm not some intellectual." He shrugged. "I simply schmoozed my way in with the essay writing. It's surprising how well you can do when you're motivated by vengeance. Enough about me, though, I'm afraid that I'm terribly boring. How was your childhood?"
   "Err, how to respond, how to respond." I murmured. The question, for most, was one of considerable depth. Since this was out first date, I couldn't go too far into depth- i.e. my mother's blindness and my dislike for cops or my humiliating bloody flower nickname or the 'Hey, I'm adopted and my biological dad's a murderer slash rapist and my biological mother abandoned me and killed herself' was off limits- yet I couldn't be too general- no simply saying average. "It was nice, my parents were both worked in the public education system, I had a few friends, did alright in school."
   "How are your parents?"

   "Fine." I paused. Do I mention being adopted or not? I didn't find it to be a large deal, but I was unaware of people's attitude towards adoption across the pond. "My mom's blind, had hip troubles, father's a principal. How are yours?"
   "Father's doing well, I can't imagine that he's encountered many woes six feet deep, my mum's pleasant."
   "Wait, your father's dead? First, you cannot just skip over that, second I'm so sorry."
   "Don't be. We weren't close and his cause of death was a mix of being sixty and having a cigar and whiskey habit since he was a teenager."
   "Still, losing a parent..." He had known his father, his real father, he hadn't spent sleepless nights staring at the ceiling, wondering why they were given up, wondering if the people who shared their genetic material were out there, sleepless, staring at their ceiling, wondering what would have happened if they had kept their child.
   "I don't mean to offend, Ms. Mumsy, however he was not a good man. See, my mother and him, it was a fling, she was a decade and a half younger then him, and I was a result. Mother didn't want a bastard child, so they married. During my childhood, he'd leave for a fortnight, come back, leave, come back, drink, smoke, despite my mother's asthma. The mistresses, mother not being financially secure enough, not wanting her parents, who were ridiculously supportive of her, to think that all their efforts had been rubbish."
   "I-I didn't know." My cheeks flushed a bright pink, matching my lipstick, as he shrugged, gesturing to the bartender that he wanted another beer. "I'm sorry."
   "No, no, it is my fault, I offer my apologies; I spoke more than I meant to." I didn't know how to reply, so we had in silence, drinking our respective beverages, as the music changed from`being made of plastic and fantastic to one from a movie musical that inspired my sixth grade Halloween costume.

   "Ooh! I love this song." I replied, smiling, as I listened to the piano riff of a song that predated me by two decades, hoping to change the subject, hoping to lighten the mood. "Let's dance."
   "Bloody American musicals; my sister had a rather profound obsession with them." He stood up, a smile invading his face. "I'm a putrid dancer; I'll probably scare you away."
   "Tell me about it, stud." I grabbed his hand, heading to the small dance floor.

I got chills
They're multiplying
And I'm losing control

 

'Cause the power you're supplying
It's electrifying!

You better shape up
'Cause I need a man

And my heart is set on you
You better shape up
You better understand

 To my heart I must be true
Nothing left
Nothing left for me to do

You're the one that I want
Oo-oo-oo, honey
The one that I want
Oo-oo-oo, honey
The one that I want
Oo-oo-oo, the one I need
Oh, yes, indeed

   "I-I... Wow." I whispered, as I pulled away, staring into his olive abyss eye. "I... I." He was a good kisser. A very good kisser. So good, the forming of those things in the alphabet into syllables and those syllables into words and the forming of the words into the sentences thing was impossible.
   "Er-I, uh... I seem, to be a bit incoherent."
   "I. Wow." Damn had it been a long time since I've kissed a man. The chiseled jaw, peach fuzz, rock hard abs that apparently seemed to be a requirement to work with the Pittsburgh police. My understanding, and appreciation, of the appeal of dating men had been renewed by a kiss. A goddamn kiss... I wonder what he'd be like, if we were to take things further. [*Stop Song*] "I. Restroom." I mumbled, heading towards the lady's room.

   "This is insanity." My reflection stared back at me, as I spoke quietly, noticing feet in one of the stall. How could I feel this strongly about someone I knew less then twelve hours after one kiss? "Lavender." I lectured myself. "Get it together. One kiss." My news were practically shaking, as the butterflies fluttered within my stomach.  I inhaled, exhaled, inhaled, calming myself, then exited the room.
   "Nothing says sexy like lung cancer." I over heard Oliver sarcastically say. James was talking with Oliver, they were watching a video on his phone.

   "Duff dimwit." James scoffed. "Bloody fags, I don't see why anyone would decide to do that to themselves." I glanced towards them, to see two woman kissing. Oliver had been told to make sure that he wasn't some narrow minded imbecile... I, did he think that about me, as well? Did he not know about my sexuality? Would he think that about me? Narrow minded fool... Do that to themselves, as if anyone had a choice. Enraged, disheartened... I, I liked him.
   "Damn." I whispered, as I slipped out of the door, tears silently sliding down my cheeks. If he was uncomfortable with public displays of affection, I'd be fine with it, but thinking it was a choice and calling them that, that word.

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