It took Flavian a day and a half to settle his nerves from the seemingly simple act of completing the card to respond to Astrid. He had mailed it on a Saturday which meant he could have an extra day of suspended time, before he would have cause to know that she had received the card and then…
Then what?
Well, he didn’t know. He was not nearly ready to manage a conversation with Astrid without passing out or just making a fool of himself. But whether or not he would ever be ready to communicate with her on any other level, beside the U.S. Mail, days would pass, the clock would tick, for something to evolve between them there would have to be further communication, of a more intimate sort.
Flavian, dear, shy, angular and anguished soul that he was, had not a clue as to what that would look like.
Chellis did. If you stood outside their relationship and saw that it was the roommate’s fiancé who would be the one to seize him by the lapels and march him toward the courage of a romance, you might think it wasn’t her place. And you might think worse of her because of it.
But that’s not how she saw it. Chellis understood the biological purpose of men and, inasmuch as she was physically and emotionally attracted to Gardner, she was not one to ridicule hormonal signals. And still that didn’t explain, to her, the vastly weird inventory of male behavior. It was entirely possible to her that it was a virulent disease for which evolution had not yet entirely fashioned a correction. So, to a large extent, her relations with men could be very clinical and, at times, even epidemiological. To her Flavian was a sweet person first, a male second, and she was going to treat his maleness as an affliction, because she genuinely wanted to help him.
After not hearing from her for a couple days, Flavian began to nurture the possibility that maybe Chellis was having deep second thoughts about gathering him for the practice dates she had prescribed.
But that hope was smothered by a phone call Thursday afternoon.
“Flaves,” she said, “you and I are going to Pullman tomorrow night. You’re going to make a reservation, for two, at the Feather and Spoke. You’re going to drive, and you’re going to pay. And I am not that cheap of a date. Got it?
“I don’t have a car Chell,” Flavian protested.
“Yeah, but you’re going to rent a nice one. Be sure to wear something that won’t embarrass me.”
And, just like that, she hung up.
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