Chapter 3: The Date
People staring. Why are people always staring?
But they weren't staring at me. Not by a long-shot. They were staring at the albino that just confessed to me less than an hour ago. The stares struck a nerve in me, was that jealousy? I could definately see the lust in the eyes of some young girls, and in some men. I wanted to go up to them and scream into their faces that Gilbert was mine. But of course, my timid nature prevents me from even looking them in the eye.
Wait, was he mine? My mind began to race, thoughts of "Is he my boyfriend" and "Maybe he was just saying that" popping up. Suddenly, I felt his hand squeeze mine gently. As if he could read my thoughts, he gave me a reassuring look. My heart skipped a beat. He loves me, there's no doubt in my mind.
We got to the restaurant, Chez Francis. Of course, he would take me to Francis' restaurant. The Bad Touch Trio always does things like that.
My mind goes back into hyper drive. If Gilbert and I begin dating, would I have to hang out with the Bad Touch Trio? Would they start to notice me? Would ANYONE start to notice me?
He held the door open for me, and we went in. It smelled odd, like grease and something else that I couldn't put my finger on. A waitor lead us to his table, but he only brought one menu.
We sat across from each other, but after Gilbert 'awesome-ly' scolded him for not bringing two menus. The waitor apolagized, but to Gilbert. Again, I wanted to yell. To get it all out of my system. But I couldn't, and I felt my cheeks heating up in embarressment. Why can't I just do things like telling people how I feel? What am I afraid of?
I shook my head, trying to focus on the menu. It was mostly in french, and Gil didn't understand it. He continuously asked me what words like 'beurre' and 'pain' meant. For once, I regretted speaking French. If people had bothered to notice me long enough to ask me things, I might not be bothered by his nagging. But, despite my annoyance, I would answer as politely as I could.
After what seemed like two hours of translating everything on the menu, we finally were ready to order. After he ordered (then ordered for me, because the waitor forgot that I was sitting there), he reached across the table and grabbed my hand. He was probably just realizing the irritated expression on my face, because he cocked his head slightly and his eyebrows furrowed together.
I couldn't hold back my soft chuckles when he made that face. Being albino really made some of his facial expressions funny. He smiled when I laughed, and I immediatly stopped.
"What?" I asked. I don't know what was causing the sudden paranoia.
Yes, I do. It was because I had nothing in life before, and now that I have Gil I couldn't bare to lose him. I wouldn't let that happen.
"You just have the most awesome laugh, Birdie." I rolled my eyes at the nickname he insists on using, but the action was pointless once the dark blush spread over my cheeks. He was about to say something when the food came. I silently thanked whatever God was watching over me, because I really don't want to hear about my blush or how 'awesome' it was. I mean, I loved Gilbert and everything, but when everything is 'awesome', it ruins the meaning of the word. But, if he can handle me, then I can handle him.
I ate quickly, barely enjoying my food. It wasn't that I was in a rush, but I just wanted to leave. The stares people were giving Gilbert, the fact that I was still invisible to the rest of the world...
...And the fact that out of the corner of my eye, I saw my brother come in. Alfred, the one person I would rather avoid. Especially since I was aware of the rivalry between Al and Gilbert that began a few months ago.
So, I did what I always do. I hid. I purposely lowered my head slightly and scooched into the booth more. I didn't want Al to see me with Gilbert. Not yet, at least. I tried to make myself as invisible as possible. But, of course, my attempts were in vain.
"Hey, Mattie, you okay?" Gilbert asked, far too loud for my liking.
And I swear, I could hear Alfred whip his head towards us.
And he saw. He saw me curled up in the booth. He saw Gilbert across from me. He saw our fingers entwined with one another. He saw me blushing.
And at that moment, Francis' restaurant was most likely the unluckiest of all New York.