Chapter 8
“Lexa, you are scaring me.”
Anya sits on Lexa’s bed and stares at the pile of shirts and pants that has formed there.
Lexa has tried and dismissed them all.
“Why?
“Because this is the first time you’re acting like a girl.”
Lexa stops to give her a confused look.
“I am a girl.”
“Yes, but usually you’re the type of girl who grabs a pair of jeans and a shirt and goes out. Not the one who spends hours to find the right outfit. Is there anything left in your wardrobe that you haven’t tried yet or do we need to go and buy something new?”
“Is that an option?”
Lexa sounds hopeful and Anya chuckles. She checks her watch.
“No, it’s not. You have less than an hour.”
She gets up and pulls grey dress pants and a black shirt from the pile.
“Try this.”
“But … “
“No ‘but’, Lexa. They look good on you. You’ve worn that outfit before and you feel comfortable in it. Just trust me, okay?”
Lexa looks at her and nods.
“Okay. You’re probably right.”
She strips in front of Anya which at this point is nothing new to her cousin and puts on the clothes Anya hands her. She knows Anya is right. She looks good in that shirt.
She leaves for the bathroom, puts on makeup and secures her hair in a ponytail like she usually does. She has no idea why she is as nervous as she is.
When she comes back into the bedroom Anya nods at her.
“You look perfect, kiddo. She’d be stupid to think anything different. In fact, she won’t.”
She gets up.
“Do we need a code … in case you realize she’s a lunatic … or even worse … boring?”
Lexa looks into the mirror and stuffs a stray corner of her shirt into her pants.
“I don’t think that will be necessary, but thank you for your concern.”
Anya laughs.
“Look at my little girl, all grown up and ready to face the world!”
Lexa turns around.
“Anya, you’re only four years older than me.”
Anya grins and hugs her.
“Whatever! Go and get the girl!”
–---
The sound of the doorbell makes Clarke jump.
Yes, she has been staring at the clock for the past ten minutes, and yes, Lexa is right on time, but the sound of the bell still comes as a surprise.
She gets up and opens the door and stares at her visitor with her mouth slightly open.
Lexa looks … so fucking good. Clarke is even more nervous now. It’s only when she sees the way the other woman looks at her, takes in her dress and the way she put up her hair so her neck is more visible, she relaxes. Lexa is just as nervous as she is.
“Hi!”
“Hi!”
Lexa looks a little flushed and Clarke bets she looks the same way.
“You’re on time …”
What a weird thing to say.
Lexa seems to think so, too, because she grins at her.
“I am. And the cab is waiting. … You look lovely, by the way.”
“Thank you! You look quite nice yourself.”
Quite nice? Clarke mentally hits herself. What the hell is wrong with her?
Lexa doesn’t seem to mind the weird conversation.
“Are you ready to go?”
“Yes.”
They spend the following cab ride in awkward silence, mainly because the driver starts hitting on Clarke as soon as she gets in.
Lexa fights the urge to punch him.
When they get out she looks at Clarke.
“That was weird …”
“Sure was. Did you see the way he looked at me through the rearview mirror?”
“Yes! I was this close to kissing you to make him stop.”
The second the sentence leaves her lips Lexa curses herself for talking first and thinking later. But Clarke doesn’t seem to mind. In fact she just smirks and when she answers her voice has a different timbre and it makes Lexa feel all sorts of things.
“Maybe you should have …”
Lexa blushes. In the deepest of reds. She wonders how Clark does it? How she dismantles Lexa’s protective layer of coolness with nothing but a smile?
The restaurant Anya chose is a nice place, a little old-fashioned, but not tacky, with red and white tablecloths and an enormous amount of candles.
A waiter shows them to their table and they sit. Clarke takes a look around.
“This is nice.”
“Do you like it? My cousin recommended it.”
“Tell her, she chose wisely.”
Lexa laughs.
“So, you’re an Indiana Jones fan, huh?”
“Yes. I am a nerd. I wanted to make sure you know that about me.”
Clarke’s looks overly serious and Lexa is ready to play.
“Okay, then let’s settle this right now: Star Trek or Star Wars?”
“Star Wars, but only the original parts. … And the new Star Trek movies are quite good.”
“That is debatable, but I let it count. Stones or Beatles?”
“Stones, even though I admit the importance of the Beatles for music in general.”
“Is this a Jagger vs. Lennon thing?”
Clarke thinks for a second before she shakes her head.
“No, I just like my music on the rock side. The Beatles are … to ‘nice’ for me.”
“Too nice, huh? I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
Lexa grins and now it’s Clarke who blushes. She fiddles with the artfully folded napkin in front of her and finally puts it down next to her plate.
Lexa is willing to let her off the hook and changes the subject.
“’Harry Potter’ or ‘Twilight’?”
“Is that a trick question?”
Clarke frowns.
“One is a brilliantly written, world-building, culturally relevant book series and the other is soft-porn for teenagers about glowing vampires. For the record: Vampires do not glow. I read everything from ‘Carmilla’ and ‘Dracula’ to Anne Rice’s ‘Vampire Chronicles’. Do not even think ‘Twilight’ can keep up with that. And don’t get me started on the movies …”
Lexa puts up her hands in defense and laughs.
“I won’t. I can see that you are very passionate about this topic. And you seem to read a lot.”
“Well, when I have some time on my hands reading is something I thoroughly enjoy.”
Lexa stares at her and chuckles.
“Where have you been all my life?”
Clarke stares back at her and goes quiet.
“I’ve been right here, Lexa.”
Lexa blushes for the millionths time, but is saved by the waiter who brings the menus.
They order a bottle of red wine and then Lexa stares at the menu in front of her and tries to control her heartbeat that has doubled it’s pace since she rang Clarke’s doorbell. Sitting across from her right now doesn’t help either.
Clarke looks incredible. The dress, her hair, her eyes … Lexa has a hard time focussing on the task at hand. When the waiter comes back a few minutes later she still has no idea what she wants, so she lets Clarke order first and tries to speed-read the menu. When the waiter finally gives her a slightly impatient look she orders pizza Margherita and by the way he frowns in return she is sure he is offended by how unimaginative her choice is.
“Are you a vegetarian?”
Lexa looks up and sees blue eyes focussing on her.
“No. I just … I didn’t know what to order and this was the first thing that came to my mind.”
“Why didn’t you say anything? You didn’t have to rush your order.”
“I don’t think more time would have helped … You’re distracting me.”
Lexa tilts her head just a little and smiles.
Clarke looks at her.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“I am sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
Lexa is still smiling and Clarke has to break eye contact for a second, because everything is getting too intense.
“So, why did you move to New York, Lexa?”
Lexa hides a grin when Clarke changes the subject so abruptly.
“I moved here, because even if I can write anywhere, New York is where my family is.
My cousin is also my manager …”
“Bellamy told me.”
“You asked him about me?”
“Of course I did. You could have been known for your drug habit or something.”
Lexa laughs.
“Maybe I have a dark secret that the press hasn’t found out about yet.”
Clarke looks at her.
“I doubt that. They know everything there is about you. I googled you.”
She laughs.
“I am sorry, that sounded a lot like I am stalking you.”
“No, it’s fine. I would have been offended if you hadn’t.”
“So, when did you realize you wanted to be a writer?”
Before Lexa can answer the waiter reappears and brings the wine. He opens the bottle and doesn’t seem to be sure who is supposed to taste it. Clarke decides to rescue him. She hands him her glass and he pours only a little of the liquid into it.
Clarke takes the glass and looks at it like it is supposed to do something. She smells the wine and finally she takes a sip and nods at the man.
“It’s fine.”
He seems a little relieved and fills their glasses while they watch him in silence.
When he finally leaves Clarke grins.
“I am sorry, I didn’t know if you wanted to taste it and he seemed so lost.”
“It’s fine. My knowledge of wine is … more or less nonexistent. I can tell you if I like it or not, but that’s about it. You on the other hand looked like you know what you are doing.”
“My … ex-boyfriend … liked wine and I learned a thing or two.”
Lexa picks up the small pause in the sentence and knows that the topic isn’t one Clarke wants to get into. She takes her glass and tastes the wine which is smooth and heavy and tastes like dark fruits.
Clarke looks at her.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes. I like it. But I still don’t know a thing about it.”
“But you’ve been to high society parties?”
“Yes, but there’s mostly champagne or cocktails.”
“I am so sorry for you.”
Clarke grins and Lexa raises an eyebrow.
“Mockery isn’t the product of a strong mind, Clarke.”
Now Clarke i laughing at her.
“What a ridiculous sentence. Where is that from?”
“I don’t know. It feels like I might have said it before though. Which brings me back to your question: I think I’ve always known I wanted to be a writer. I used to sell stories to my parents and grandparents when I was just a little kid. In the beginning they were mostly comics.”
“Oh, you draw?”
Clarke is curious, but Lexa laughs and shakes her head.
“No, I definitely do not. I have no talent for that. But at that time I didn’t know how to write, so drawing was as close to telling stories as I got. I won a prize for a story I wrote when I was fifteen and from that moment I knew for sure this was what I wanted.”
Lexa has another sip of wine.
“When did you know you wanted to become a doctor?”
“Pretty early. My mum was a doctor. She’s retired now.”
She looks at Lexa.
“When I was 17 I was in a car accident. That is why I have to use the cane. … My dad died in that accident. I couldn’t save him. I was trapped in the car. But after that … when I was able to think clearly again, I knew, this was what I wanted to do.”
Lexa nods.
“I am sorry about your dad.”
Clarke smiles at her.
“Thank you, but that was a long time ago. What about your parents?”
“My parents died in an accident, too. A plane crash. I was seven. I still don’t like to fly.”
“I am sorry.”
“Don’t be, Clarke. As you said: It was a long time ago. I grew up at my aunt’s and uncle’s.
So Anya is basically my sister.”
“Anya?”
“My cousin slash manager.”
The waiter brings their order and Lexa stares at the enormous pizza in front of her. She is hungry, but she will never be able to eat all of that.
Clarke’s order is as huge as hers and when she looks up both of them have to laugh.
“This pizza is gigantic!”
Clarke stairs at her plate. She tastes the food and hums.
“Wow, and it is delicious, too.”
Lexa agrees and they spend a minute or two just eating in comfortable silence before Lexa grins.
“Anya was worried you might not eat carbs. She has this rule about not trusting women who swore off carbs.”
Clarke raises an eyebrow.
“Why?”
“Because she thinks you cannot be a sane person without the occasional donut.”
“Your cousin is a bright woman.”
“Yes, she is.”
Lexa nods.
“But tell me more about you, Clarke.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Hm, for example … Do you have any siblings?”
“No. You?”
“No … Well, Anya, if that counts.”
“Was it hard for you? Growing up without your parents?”
Clarke balances a piece of pizza on her fork and waits for Lexa’s answer.
“At first it was horrible. I didn’t understand how they could be gone. Just like that. One minute my mum kisses me goodby and the next my aunt picks me up from school and I am an orphan.”
She puts down her fork.
“My aunt and uncle were great though. Anya, too. She is four years older than me and I think she secretly hated to have this emotional kid around all of a sudden, but she never let me sense it.”
“Emotional? That doesn’t sound like you …”
"Why not?"
Lexa cuts a few more pieces off her pizza and Clarke looks at her.
“You seem very much in control of your emotions.”
Lexa thinks about it for a second.
“I am now. I wasn’t then. … I cried for weeks, but then I realized that my parents wouldn’t come back and that they would expect me to keep it together, so I did.”
“But you were only seven.”
Lexa bit her lip.
“Yes. … And I’ve been a little bit of a control freak ever since.”
Clarke lifts her glass and has a sip of wine.
“Well, I guess we both have a little baggage.”
“Does that frighten you?”
Lexa realizes she is afraid of the answer.
“Strangely enough … not at all.”
Clarke looks at her and something inside of Lexa is falling into place. Some rogue part of her that has been stuck beneath all of her self-control and reserve.
It feels good, but it's also frightening.
They eat and move on to lighter topics. Lexa explains the creative choices in her books and Clarke realizes that she likes to listen to her. Usually she is the one talking, but with Lexa listening is a nice change of pace.
At some point they order desert even if they are both already full. Lexa promised to buy Clarke desert and desert she shall have. When all of the food is gone and the bottle of wine empty, they both need to get some air.
Lexa pays the check and tips the waiter generously. She waits for Clarke to gather her things and holds the door for her.
“You’re very old-school, Lexa Woods. Has someone ever told you that?”
“No.”
“Well, you are.”
Clarke smiles and they start to walk.
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even know where we are. I don’t know the city yet, remember?”
Lexa looks at Clarke.
“I would love to walk a little though. Is that okay? Or are you cold? Does your knee give you trouble?”
Lexa’s face is one big concerned question mark.
Clarke stops to look at her.
The street light produces an orange halo around the woman and Clarke feels her heart skip a beat.
“You’re very sweet, Lexa. Has someone at least ever told you that?”
Lexa blushes. Clarke can see it even in this light.
“No.”
Clarke smiles.
“Well, they should have.”
She doesn’t know why she suddenly feels so bold, but she reaches out and takes Lexa’s hand and Lexa just surrenders it to her like this is how it is supposed to be.
“Well, Lexa Woods, let’s get lost in New York City, shall we?”