Chapter 8
Chocolate causes certain endocrine glands to secrete hormones that affect your feelings and behavior by making you happy. Therefore, it counteracts depression, in turn reducing the stress of depression. Your stress-free life helps you maintain a youthful disposition, both physically and mentally. So, eat lots of chocolate! (Elaine Sherman, Book of Divine Indulgences)
I don't remember much after that, only a few minutes later I was on the pavement outside Isaac's apartment building, holding Charlemagne's leash as if my life depended on it.
"There you are!"
The huge, vicious bird of prey who called herself my Aunt Gloria swooped down on me, extracted Charlemagne rather violently from my numb fingers, and pressed him to her cheek. Then she shot me a look Naomi would have been proud of. It would have frozen me to the spot if I hadn't already been completely incapable of movement.
He thought I was cute?
My mind was working overtime processing this doozy. No one had ever used the words 'cute' and 'Kit' in the same sentence together. EVER. (Well, maybe my dad, but he doesn't count.) Even when I was a baby, I hadn't ever been branded as a 'cute baby'—in fact, I was one of those babies that the other mothers in daycare rushed their kids away from, hoping that if I didn't make eye contact or breathe on their kids, whatever disease that made kids ugly and fat wouldn't rub off.
"I am sorely disappointed in you, Katherine."
Big shock there. I was almost expecting Aunt Gloria to draw and quarter me on the spot and eat my heart on her whole wheat toast for breakfast. Maybe with bananas on top…
"What makes you think you can be so completely irresponsible with my precious darling? I thought he had been kidnapped or killed—"
Maybe I misheard him. That was entirely possible, too. After all, I was pretty sure I was developing selective hearing in my left ear. He probably said something else—what rhymed with 'cute'?
Boot?
"Now my darling is going to be late for his appointment at the salon because of you—"
Chute?
"—And his breakfast will be behind schedule—"
Hoot? Possibly …
"—And I will have to alter my whole day to fit his particular needs because of your utter selfishness."
It must have been hoot. He must've said I was a hoot. That was it. That was the only thing that possibly many any sort of sense.
"Katherine?"
I turned to see Aunt Gloria shooting me a look that would have fried the sun.
"Yeah?" I squeaked, finally dragging myself down to the world of normalcy.
"Are you even listening to me, Katherine?"
Nope. Not at all. Haven't for the last twenty-two years of my life.
"Yup," I said, smiling weakly. I could write a book of one word answers. How to embarrass yourself in one syllable or less. I'm sure it would be a big hit. And then I could teach people the best way to fling dog poop on handsome men. And then how to make a complete fool of yourself before eight in the morning.
Aunt Gloria had opened her mouth to, no doubt, articulate one of the bajillion reasons why I was a failure (except, of course, in eating and being fat; I was a gold medalist there) when I heard someone calling my name. I turned around, expecting a point, stare, and laugh, but instead, there was Isaac in front of me.
"Hey, Kit," he said, smiling warmly at me. Instantly, all brain activity ceased. I vaguely remember ordering myself to smile, or at least form something that in some way resembled a smile, when he held out my sweat band—also a lovely putrid pink. It was also exuding a wonderful smell. Why Isaac was touching it, I didn't know. If I had to hand me back that headband, I would have used tongs and a gas mask. Or buried the thing with the rest of the toxic waste.
"You left this upstairs," he said, holding it out to me. I could feel Aunt Gloria's eyes burning holes in the back of my neck.
"Ah," I replied, witty as ever, feeling my cheeks once again reach a sweltering degree of heat. I grabbed the sweat band (carefully avoiding any contact with Isaac's fingers) and shoved it in my pocket. If I framed it because he had touched it, would they lock me up in the same cell as Naomi?
"Well, uh, bye!" I said, waving, already forcing my feet away from this delicious piece of man candy.
"Actually, I had a question for you, too."
Wait. He was still talking to me?
I did a complete turnaround, over-balanced, and almost did a face plant there in front of Isaac. It was with the ultimate poise and suave calmness that I was able to right myself, throw back my hair attractively in the wind, and flutter my eyes seductively.
Yeah, right. I don't think I've ever done anything seductive in my life. Sometimes I pretended to seduce chocolate, but I didn't think that was quite the same thing. And besides, chocolate always succumbed to my wit and charm and—let's be honest—it always would.
"Uh … yes?" I said. This would probably be the point when Isaac would start laughing and say that all of my drooling in his apartment had been caught on camera and that he would be selling the tapes to "America's Most Pathetic Home Videos." I braced myself for impact.
"Are you busy Friday night?"
What?
What?
What?!
"What?"
Aunt Gloria had, for the first time in her life, read my mind. Which was good that she had said something, because my mouth sure as hell wasn't working. In fact, the only part of my body that still seemed to be on some kind of functioning plane were my eyeballs, which were probably popping out of their sockets.
Isaac didn't even look at Aunt Gloria. Those glorious brown eyes were fixed on me, smiling even while his lips were moving.
Oh, God. His lips …
"I wanted to know if you would want to go on a date with me Friday night, Kit."
If I had been a fainting person, this would have been the time for me to faint. As it was, I was getting way too lightheaded. The world was spinning out of control.
Isaac Matthews had asked me out on a date. He had asked me out. As far as I know, there had been no coercion. I hadn't held him at gunpoint, demanding a date. I knew no serial ax murderers that I had bribed to stick him in a basement for weeks until he finally succumbed to my ridiculous demands. So that meant that, outrageous as it would seem, this was an original thought of his very own.
"What?"
Once again, Aunt Gloria came to the rescue. Pointing at me, a look of disgust curling her face into odd contortions, she stated:
"You cannot possibly mean this Kit."
Yeah, as if there were fifty other fat pink Kits just running around that he could choose from.
"Actually, I do," he said, raising one eyebrow as he looked at Aunt Gloria.
I really thought Aunt Gloria was going to have a heart attack. Somehow, though, she gallantly gathered herself together and managed to glare daggers at me while looking utterly shocked at the same time.
"Are you serious, young man? Have you looked at—"
Isaac had been looking at me—Oh, eyes! Oh, glorious eyes!—but as soon as Aunt Gloria began talking, he whirled around on her, leaving me with a delightful whiff of cologne that almost sent me reeling back into the pavement with a giddy smile of ecstasy permanently implanted on my face.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, his voice low, "but I don't believe that I asked you on a date. Your opinion, crazy at this may seem, does not actually matter to me."
Scratch any thought of Aunt Gloria possibly having a heart attack. If there was anything that could have sent her to St. Peter's pearly gates at that moment, it was what Isaac had said. And from the look on his face, this wasn't a ha-ha, just kidding kind of moment. He had actually meant what he said, and I worked pretty hard to restrain myself from leaning over and squishing the life out of him with one of my infamous Kit Breedlowe hugs. (They're like bear hugs, only better. I haven't given many of them. When most people see me running towards them with my arms out, they instantly think "crazy person!" and run away screaming. So the few recipients of a Kit Breedlowe hug are very lucky people indeed.)
"I was thinking I could pick you up at seven," I saac was saying. He had gone back to ignoring Aunt Gloria and was now just looking at me. "Is there any restaurant in particular that you like?"
I paused, drawing in a huge breath and all my courage.
"I just like food."
Four words. Evenly spaced. A sentence. One breath. No ums, erms, or uhs. I had successfully managed a complete sentence in front of Isaac Matthews. Granted, it had been a sentence that made me sound like an idiot (girls do not generally admit they like food, after all), but it had been a sentence. I considered patting myself on the back. One baby step at a time. Maybe he wouldn't think I was a total basket case.
Then he smiled.
One step forward, two steps back.
"Good, I like food, too," he said, grinning wider. "I guess I'll just have to surprise you, then. I'll pick you up at seven?"
I think I must have said yes, but all that came out was a little whisper of air. Really, this guy should never ever smile.
"What's your address?"
Once again, to all human ears, what came out of my mouth wasn't English, I swear. But somehow Isaac must have understood it (or else he decided to pretend to understand it and then he would run away screaming), because he smiled at me again, said good bye for the second time that day, and then disappeared into the building.
"Katherine Breedlowe, this is the most—"
"Oh, stuff it, Aunt Gloria," I said.
Apparently, walking on cloud nine will give you an unbelievable dose of bravery. Take note, boys and girls, that this will never ever ever happen again. Kit Breedlowe does not, as a general rule, stand up to people. But Isaac Matthews, god of the incredible edible abs, had asked me out. And no one, not even Aunt Gloria, would get me down today.
Ha ha. Take that, fate.
Yes, yes, I finally updated! It has been way too long ... my many sincere apologies. Hopefully there are still some readers out there!
Thank you much to those who are sticking this through and who I haven't alienated with my inability to post with any kind of regularity. I send you all a heaping helping of Windsor Chocolates (since they are just cyber chocolates, this can be done, of course).
Just a few thoughts--
(1) I realize this is a shorter chapter than most, but I kind of just needed to get back into the groove of writing. I've been working on some other things and this has been thrown to the farthest back burner. I'll try to keep it going, though!
(2) Soapbox coming--read if you dare: There was a review at one time (which now I can't find!) that said something to the effect of "Isaac is not like a real guy because he's too perfect." Well, he's not perfect, and to some degree he's kind of a cathartic yes-there-can-be-wonderful-nice-attractive-guys-out-there character for me to write about. I've found one such guy. They exist. Maybe they aren't all Adonis in human form, but that's okay. I just wanted to have the not-so-hot girl get the hot guy because hotness, for some reason, always seems to go both ways, and where does that leave the normal people?
Okay, off the soapbox. Just wanted to get that out there.
(3) I love constructive criticism--about my grammar, about my writing, about my plot, about my characters. Feel free to constructively criticize.
(4) I also love cheesecake.
That's it. Review if you dare!
emma