The following is an excerpt from “Enclosures,” a short story from the unpublished collection Cardiopulmonary Occlusions. For inquiries about the full story, please contact writer@ryanorivera.com.
I tightened my tie, loosened my tie, tightened my tie, then threw it in the back seat of my car. I grabbed a travel-sized atomizer from the glove box, spritzed the air, and walked through the mist. I did this three times at three different heights then checked the time and walked around the block. I did this three times, too. Finally, at exactly four after seven, I went into the restaurant where I saw a tall man with chestnut-colored hair and Baldwin-blue eyes standing near the host stand. The man perked at seeing me and tossed a quick wave to identify himself as my date. A wide-eyed nod betrayed my excitement—Cait had not overpromised; Brian was very handsome.
My face grew flush from the red wine and Brian’s warmth. Our conversation sparkled. We covered most of the first-date things: He was 38 to my 32. He a senior marketing manager at a tech company and me an alumni giving coordinator at a big city college. No pets or children between us.
***
“I agree.” Brian’s smile caught me off guard. Near perfect except for a slight chip on an incisor. “Oh that, ha ha. I’m one of the lucky ones. I tried to play hockey in middle school. Glad I don’t have to wear a flipper. A teammate caught a puck to the face and had to wear one or he’d have had no front teeth at all.” He educated me on the specifics of common hockey orthodontia. The wine was making me warm and the conversation was making me hot. Brian was erotically kind.
“Libra?” I asked.
“How could you tell?”
“You’re so, symmetrical. Your face, your shoulders. You exude balance.”
He sat back and laughed and fidgeted with his napkin. “Thanks?”
“It is, it is a compliment. Symmetry is nice.” I couldn’t shut up, but Brian leaned forward and smiled. “Except for the tooth.” I winked. “That isn’t symmetry, that’s sexy.”
He laughed harder.
***
We climbed the stairs up to Brian’s apartment and I was struck by its openness: very few walls and only shelves in the kitchen. Every space where I expected to see a cupboard, a cabinet, a closet—was just transparent, illuminated openness. Brian leaned against his countertop and handed me a glass of red wine. I walked over and stood in front of him. I imagined someone walking by on the sidewalk and seeing a warm glow coming out of his apartment. Standing close to Brian and leaning in for a kiss, I felt illuminated.