Nibble part 31

We ordered a dessert and Nick shoveled the fudge brownie into his mouth like he was on a schedule. I laughed at him, and he promptly started licking his fingers. "Oh, gross," I laughed blocking the view with my hands. He grinned at me and stuck his thumb in his mouth and I groaned, though I was smiling. He pulled his thumb out and then stared at me thoughtfully for a moment before saying, "I'm gonna take you bowling." My eyebrows shot up, "Bowling?"

"Mhm," he said, nodding as he slipped cash into the bill. "Is there even a bowling alley around here?" Nick smiled at me and said, "I know of two."

"How do you even know about this place? I've never seen it before in my life." Nick shrugged, handing the tired-looking guy behind the shoe rental counter a couple of bills, and the guy yawned and asked our sizes before lazily sauntering off to find us the proper shoes. Nick shrugged, "I noticed when driving around one time. I think I was actually looking for a nail salon." I rose my eyebrows at this, and he laughed and added, "For my mom." I smiled, "You took your mom to get her nails done?" He blushed and shrugged sheepishly, "She doesn't get a lot of time to herself." The guy plopped our shoes down on the counter with a thump, and Nick grabbed them for us and walked over to a bench. I pulled mine on and he tied them for me before I could, and then went on to his own. We walked over to the lanes and Nick handed me a ball. "So, do you come here often?" I asked, holding the ball with both hands. Nick laughed, "Nope. Bowling's not really the most entertaining hobby in the world to do by yourself."

Nick drove me back to the alley after we finished bowling and made a quick stop at McDonald's for vanilla ice cream. I was still finishing my cone when Nick parked, and I took the final bite before Nick opened the passenger door and I got out. I grinned at him, and suddenly felt nervous, shy. "Thanks," I said, and then dropped into a deep, booming accent I had never heard before, "That was great fun." Nick laughed and I blushed, smiling, and looked down. I thought about kissing him. Going on my tip-toes and wrapping my arms around his neck. But instead I looked up, bit my lip, and said, "Good night," before running off, running home. I thought about kissing him, but then I thought that maybe, somehow, when I got home, my dad would be sitting in the living room, and he would be able to tell that I had just been kissing someone.
So I didn't kiss Nick that night.

It was 7 AM when I got home. The house was pitch black, except for those numbers, 7:03, on the microwave, their blue light illuminating the tiny screen. Both of my parents were already at work. I couldn't believe the time. It was Saturday now, so I went to my room and lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, a smile on my face. I felt something poking my bare foot and sat up. When I looked down at my feet, I found what looked like a nail clipping, and I stared at it for a moment before throwing it in the trash. It was as if things were going too well for me, and someone wanted to remind me that it had never stayed good for long before, and that this time wouldn't be any different. I lay back down and thought about my nails. They were long now, growing fast, and I had to file them all the time to keep them from breaking off, but I could remember clearly how they used to be. Beyond stubby, the low purpl-ish lines where my nails now turned from pink to white used to be the average end-point for my nails, except when things were really bad, in which case they only reached about halfway up the part of the fingertip where nails grow. I remembered wincing from the burning sting when a smooth peel back of the tip of my nail would end in a stubborn point that didn't want to leave- I would have to yank it out, and a tiny drop of blood would usually surface there, the mark at the end of a trail of red caused by my ripping my nails back relentlessly. If any of my nails started to grow a little bit, to the point where the tiniest little sliver at the top was white, like a detail brush had been used to give me a wiggly french tip, it was like that tiny bit of white would eat me alive, from the inside out, if I didn't immediately get rid of it, along with any nail beneath it that's coloring indicated in the least bit that the white tip had shown itself there. I remembered all this, and then rolled over on my side, and wished I had kissed Nick that night.


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