Afraid to Love Read online

  “Believe me,” I assured him, “I know they were talking about me.”

  “You're a pretty woman,” he nodded, “and I'm sure you're a great person, but one should never assume they're the center of everyone's universe.”

  “That's sort of a rude thing to say,” I said stopping in my tracks.

  “Maybe, but it's true,” Mark said with a grin, “and if they are talking about you, how do you know it's bad? Maybe they're jealous of you for being prettier or something.”

  “Where do you come up with these ideas?” I asked him, shaking my head.

  “I'm a writer,” he said, “it's my job to think of every scene from every possible angle.”

  “This isn't a book,” I sighed, “This is real life.”

  “Maybe, but I like my books to be as real as possible. It's how to get real people to read them,” he retorted with a laugh.

  “You sure do have a comeback for everything,” I laughed.

  It annoyed me that he waved away my concerns, but his bluntness entertained me.

  “A writer is always armed with words,” he said as he winked at me.

  Mark held the door open for me and I couldn't bite back my snide remark.

  “Aren't you the gentleman?” I laughed.

  “My mother would haunt me until my dying days and beyond if I was anything else,” he laughed.

  I ordered a cherry cola and Mark ordered some fancy coffee. He offered to cover the tab, but I declined. He had already gone out of his way to return my phone, so I owed him something, but a coffee was all I was willing to give.

  Being in the coffee shop reminded me that I needed to talk to the manager. Today Justin wasn't working so it was the perfect opportunity. I asked the cashier for the manager and the young girl quickly obliged.

  “Hello,” a middle age white man said as he appeared from behind the counter.

  “Hi, I wanted to speak with you about one of your cashiers. The young man working on Monday afternoon. I believe his name was Justin,” I said.

  “Justin has problems,” the manager chuckled, “his girlfriend dumped him about a week ago and every time he's on the clock she shows up with a gaggle of her friends. They don't cause any trouble so I can't tell them to leave, but it does put Justin in a mood.”

  “He was rude to me,” I said and crossed my arms. “Everyone had issues and his teenage drama didn't excuse his behavior.”

  “I'll talk to him about it, thanks for letting me know,” the manager said and walked away.

  I could tell he hadn't taken me seriously.

  “Everything okay?” Mark asked.

  His cheeks were tinged pink and I wondered if I had embarrassed him.

  “No, he should do more than just talk to him,” I said.

  “Sounds like the kid's in a tough spot,” Mark said.

  “Life is a tough spot,” I said and turned on my heels.

  “Do you want to sit down?” Mark asked.

  I nodded and led the way. As we walked to the table, I wondered what we were going to talk about. It didn't seem like we had much in common. As we sat in an awkward silence I caught myself enjoying the bright blue color of Mark's eyes. I scolded myself and reminded myself that it was just loneliness making him so attractive. I had told myself a hundred times or more the next man I took to bed was going to be the one I spent my life with. Mark was nice, but I couldn't imagine taking him home to meet my aunts and uncles. Hell, I could even imagine telling Sasha I was dating a white guy. I almost laughed out loud, because here I was checking him out and wondering why he went through all the trouble to return my phone instead of just handing it off to the staff of the coffee shop.

  “Why did you go through so much trouble for me?” I finally asked him.

  “Because I wanted to see you again,” he answered.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because you're intriguing,” he said.

  I blinked.

  “You mean you want to hit on me?” I laughed.

  “You're a beautiful woman,” he admitted, “but you're also a bit mysterious and I love meeting new people. As a writer it keeps me inspired.”

  “So you want to use me for a muse?” I laughed.

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asked.

  “No, it's a bit silly,” I smiled, “and not what I expected, but I can live with that.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” he said as he grinned.

  “No, you're just different,” I said.

  “Different?” he asked.

  “Different from most men. Different from how I thought white men would be,” I said, and instantly regretted it.

  “Am I the first white man you've talked to?” he asked laughing.

  “No!” I retorted, “I've just never really...”

  “It's okay,” he laughed, “but you should know that just because I'm a man or white doesn't mean I fit into any box. I've been called weird my whole life.”

  “Sorry,” I said, looking down at the table.

  “It's okay,” he said again, “I'm a hard man to offend. I have a box of keepsakes at home. It's full of rejection slips from publishers.”

  “How many?” I asked.

  “More than thirty,” he laughed, “but I have several books out that I've self-published.”

  “Really?” I asked.

  “No, I just made it up,” he said sarcastically before laughing. “Of course, I do.”

  I laughed at myself for sounding like a silly teenage girl, but I was having fun. I should have left then because I was having too much fun, but I couldn't bring myself to.

  “What do you write?” I asked him.

  He scribbled a web address on a napkin and handed it to me.

  “Check it out, it's my website,” he grinned.

  “I'll have to do that,” I nodded.

  The waiter brought our drinks out and my stomach growled to remind I hadn't eaten lunch.

  “Are you hungry?” I asked.

  “No, I already ate,” he said.

  I was about to ignore my stomach until I got home, but Mark must have known I was hungry.

  “But they have wonderful sorbet here,” he quickly added, “and I'm always ready for desert.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” I laughed.

  I think we annoyed the cashier by ordering a second time, but I didn't care.

  As we ate, we talked more about our parents. I even told Mark the truth about how my mother couldn't be bothered to hang around once I turned five.

  “She hasn't even contacted you since?” he asked.

  I shook my head in response.

  “That sucks,” he frowned, “I'm sorry.”

  “Don't be,” I told him, “She just showed me what I didn't want to be.”

  “See? You can look at the bright side!” he laughed.

  I rolled my eyes, but smiled at him.

  The rest of our casual meeting went well. Mark was the most entertaining person I had ever met. I left the coffee shop smiling and laughing.

  When I got home, I ran myself a warm bath and grabbed my phone. I was still thinking about Mark and the incident at work was all but forgotten, but I wanted to talk to Sasha. I needed to hear her tell me how stupid I had been to agree to go out on a real date with Mark. I needed someone to tell me to pull my head out of my ass. He was white and that meant we were never going to work out.

  I pressed three on the speed dial and waited for her to answer.

  “So you finally called me?” she laughed in greeting.

  “I've been busy,” I said and rolled my eyes.

  “Who was the hottie who had your phone?” she asked.

  “You didn't see him,” I said, “how do you know he's hot?”

  “Because you always attract the hot guys,” Sasha sighed.

  “I do not,” I laughed.

  “Yes, you do,” she said, “you're just too busy to notice them, but anyway, who is this Mark?”

  “A guy I met at the cafe,” I told her.


  “And?” she asked.

  “And what?” I asked.

  “How long have you known him?” Sasha asked.

  “Just met him on Monday,” I said.

  “Yes, but you like him,” she teased.

  “I barely know him!” I said.

  “Yes, but you barely knew me when we first met too, and now we're best friends,” she said.

  “True, but he's white,” I sighed.

  “So what?” Sasha asked.

  This conversation wasn't going the way I had planned.

  “Dad wouldn't have liked him,” I said.

  “Yes, but he's not trying to date your dad,” Sasha laughed.

  “True,” she sighed, “but I always wanted a man he'd be proud of.”

  “But would that make you happy?” Sasha asked.

  “I don't know,” I admitted.

  By the time we got off the phone, I was mad at her. Why couldn't she just tell me what I wanted to hear? I already knew the answer to that question. Sasha never told anyone what they wanted to hear. She told them what she really thought.

  I flopped onto my bed naked and stared at the ceiling. What the hell was I getting myself into? After a half an hour of staring into the darkness, I realized I wasn't as tired as I had thought before I lay down. I sat up and stretched, enjoying the tension leaving my stressed out muscles. I wasn't sure what to do so I headed downstairs and turned on my laptop. I didn't use it much now that I had finished school, but I kept it to play around on when I couldn't sleep.

  Upon opening the browser, I remembered I promised Mark that I'd check out his website. I sprinted into the kitchen and retrieved the napkin with the information out of my purse and returned to the computer.

  I typed in the web address, but I wasn't expecting much. I tapped my fingernails against the desk as I waited for the page to load. I had gotten my internet as part of a bundled deal and found out that I got what I paid for it. It was cheap and I hardly used it, so I considered it a fair compromise. Besides, it would ensure I wasn't tempted to waste large quantities of time sitting in front of the computer.

  When the site finally loaded, it looked a lot nicer than I expected. It looked good enough that I wondered if Mark had awesome computer skills or if he had hired someone to design and run it for him. I skipped the personal bio stuff, because I never believed that writers tell the truth in those anyway. I searched around for a few seconds and found the page that talked about his books. Mark hadn't been lying about being a writer. His website listed eight books, the earliest of which was written almost ten years ago.

  I read through its description and was pleasantly surprised. It sounded to me like a science fiction book that held a lot of commentary on what Mark thought about the real world. Maybe it would give me more insight into the man who captured my attention. When I realized I was grinning like a fool, I nearly hit the little X to close the window, but stopped myself. Mark would never know it was me that ordered his book. It would be sent straight from the publisher. It was one of those deals where books were only printed when they were ordered. I wonder how many books he had sold. It had to be enough to live on, because he hadn't mentioned having a real job.

  I opened another tab to check my bank account balance and grinned. I switched tabs and ordered his book. I even paid extra to get it within forty-eight hours. It most likely wouldn't be delivered by our date Friday evening, but it would give me something to do this weekend.

  Chapter 4: Mark

  I hung around the coffee shop for about an hour after Cynthia left. I didn't have my laptop with me so I wrote my notes frantically. I felt the grin on my face spreading from ear to ear as my mind replayed her smile and laughter. Every time I thought about how she agreed to go on a real date with me Friday night, I laughed out loud. It was foolish of me to be so excited about such a small thing, but as a writer I know that small moments in the end make an entire lifetime. We are the sum of the moments we experience. When I'm an old man, I want to look back at a lifetime of tiny moments and know there were more good than bad, more moments that made me laugh out loud than made me angry or upset. Life is too short to be anything but happy.

  The sun had set by the time I left the coffee shop, but the staff was used to me wasting away my time there. I tipped well enough that they left me be. I walked slowly through the streets, taking in the sights of the world around me. Happy couples seemed to be everywhere. They were holding hands, embracing, and stealing kisses when they thought no one was watching.

  For the first time, I noticed not many of them were mixed couples. Maybe that's why Cynthia had seemed reluctant to accept my invitation to dinner. I shrugged the thought off. I had spent nearly twenty-eight years not caring what people thought about me and I wasn't about to start now. To me, skin color had never been of importance. Growing up, I had friends from all over the world and had never been told that it was wrong. It wasn't until high school that I realized some people thought it was wrong. I was flabbergasted that anyone in modern times could be so ignorant and shallow.

  There was only one thing that was bothering me. Cynthia's conversation with the manager of the coffee shop was off putting. I had watched the drama of Justin and his girlfriend unfold from a corner table and knew the kid was miserable. He was in love with the girl and she wanted nothing to do with him. She had even broken up with him while he was on the clock.

  When I arrived home, I checked the mail. I always head out with the sunrise and most nights don't make it home until long after the sun has disappeared so I usually had mail waiting for me. I kicked off my shoes at the door and sat down on my bed. The first three envelopes were bills, but the fourth looked like it might be from a publisher. Frowning, I opened it. When I was younger I was always hopeful when a letter from a publisher arrived, but these days I knew it would just be another rejection slip to add to the box. I had to read the letter twice to make sure I had really read what I thought I had. After reading my synopsis for the latest science fiction book I had written, they wanted to see the manuscript.

  I tossed the letter aside and hooked up my laptop to the printer. After checking and rechecking the formatting requirements I printed the manuscript. I knew it was going to take forever to print so I decided to call my dad while I waited. He wouldn't be as excited as I was. He thought that I should have given up writing a long time ago and found a real job. It was my mother who had always been my biggest fan. A pang of grief hit me in the stomach as I searched my bag for my cellphone. I silently wished this letter had come years earlier so she could be alive to know that I was closer to succeeding than I had ever been before.

  I dialed my dad's number and waited for him to answer. It rang several times, but he didn't pick up. I glanced at the clock, it was still early enough to catch the boys at the bar. I showered and changed clothes while I waited for the manuscript to finish printing. By the time I was ready to go, the last page had printed and my laptop had put itself to sleep. I grabbed one of the large yellow envelopes I kept on hand and carefully packed it way inside the safety of its bubble wrap interior. I sealed the envelope and filled it out. I kissed it for luck and tucked it under my bed for safe keeping until I could send it out in the morning.

  I walked the two blocks to the bar and spotted the guys right away. It was hard not to because, as usual, Randy had a large group of women surrounding him. I settled down across the table sitting next to Harvey and Arnold.

  “Hey, you finally showed!” Randy laughed.

  “I have great news!” I said, waiving away the waitress who was trying to take my drink order.

  I had never been one to like alcohol, mostly because I couldn't work the keyboard if I was drunk.

  “Okay, spit it out,” Arnold yelled, “before you explode, man.”

  “A publisher asked to see my manuscript!” I said.

  “Does that mean you found a publisher?” Randy asked.

  “Maybe,” I said already knowing it was a mistake to come here. “If they like it and
they think it will sell, they'll print it.”

  “So, there's nothing certain about it yet?” Randy asked.

  “No,” I shook my head.

  “And here I was going to buy you a drink for finally doing something with your dictionary,” Randy chuckled.

  I hung around for a few minutes of small talk, but left before I became too angry with Randy. In high school he had been on the football team and I had written for the school newspaper. Somehow we'd managed to remain friends, but as the adult world took over, the friendship had unraveled at its seams. After all, he played football for the state university until he broke his leg and then settled into being a banker who was still trying to relive his glory days of the football field. I traveled the states and Europe and wrote at least five thousand words every day, even if most of them ended up being filed away in a dark box somewhere.

  When I arrived home, I almost sent Cynthia a text, but I didn't want to seem needy or overbearing. Women always accused men of being those things. Instead, I settled down in front of my laptop and got ready for a night of writing. My fingers danced across the keys until my hands cramped. I shook the pain off and gave my muscles only a few seconds to relax before I began to write again. The ideas flowed and before I knew it, the sun was coming up. I had finished the first four chapters of the book I had been planning. Twenty thousand words in one night. I hadn't written like that since high school.

  I wasn't sure whether it was meeting Cynthia or the letter from the publisher that had renewed my passion for writing. I didn't know how the story would end yet. The robber might get away. After all, he was the main character, but I might have the ending be his downfall.

  Shrugging off the thoughts that chased each other around my tired brain, I stepped into the shower. I like to take a hot shower after a long writing session, the heat raining down on my skin also helped me let go of the story. As a writer, sometimes I found myself living inside my head instead of in the solid reality around me. It helped me get through the lonely task of writing and the brain frying tasks of editing and rewriting, but tonight I wanted to be in reality. Things were beginning to look up. Even if I didn't get intimately involved with Cynthia, I was happy with the situation for now and the now is what matters the most.