January 11, 2006 - 11:22 AM

Mary's heart pounded the entire hour: through the rest of her planting, through cleaning herself up, then straightening the house. In the beginning, she felt a little proud of herself that she had enough courage to ask her handsome neighbor over for lemonade, but as the moment of his return grew very near, she fell into a state of near panic. Her mind raced as she rinsed the lemons Clay gave her in the sink.

What have I gotten myself into? What will we talk about? I'm no good at talking to people. I'm gonna make a fool out of myself. I could've been happy just seeing him - it wouldn't have done anyone any harm to just look at him. Oh, God, what am I gonna do when he gets here?

Just then, there was a knock at her door. Her panic stopped cold, as did her heart and her breath, as if momentarily dead where she stood. She remembered a relaxation technique from a book she read and forced air deep into her lungs, held it, then let it slowly leave her body.

There was another knock. "Mary?"

Get the door! her courage demanded. Quickly, she dawbed her arms dry. One foot went in front of the other until she found herself grasping the doorknob. The door creeked open. Lord - help us all, but please help me first.

"Hi."

"Hi again," Clay smiled.

When she saw him, she knew deep in her heart why she couldn't just continue watching him from afar. Mary paused a little too long at the door, mesmerized by his jade eyes, until her courage once again told her what to say.

"Come in."

He thanked her as he stepped inside the foyer. "You did a nice job with the flowers. They're very pretty, and you can smell them as you come up the porch."

"Really? Thanks." My God, you complimented me! You said my flowers were pretty! But wait- maybe he was just being nice. He mentioned the smell, but maybe he doesn't like the smell.

"What kind are they?"

"What kind?" She walked toward the kitchen; Clay followed behind. "They're Lavendula angustifolia and Lobelia erinus."

"Pardon? I didn't catch that. Lav...foli...erie...what?"

Once in the kitchen, she turned around. "Sorry. They're Lavendula angustifolia and Lobelia erinus."

"Is that Latin? I still don't understand. Laven- lavender?"

"Yes, English Lavender. Perennial, hopefully. Family Lamiaceae."

"Those are the purple ones, right? And the pink ones are...what were they? Lo..."

"Lo-bel-ia. Erinus. Annual. Family Lobeliaceae. Small, pink blooms, but also can be mauve, blue or white." She pulled out one of the chairs at the small dining table. "Sit."

Clay scanned the airy white and black-tiled kitchen as he sat at the table. Bright sunlight poured through the window above the black sink. Mary pulled a chair out for herself.

"You said the lavender is 'perennial, hopefully'. I wasn't the best student in science class - what does that mean?"

"Oh. Well. Okay. You see, plants...are grouped as annuals, biennials and perennials: dies after one year, dies after two years, or comes up every year. Lobelias are annuals; they'll die in the winter. English Lavender, on the other hand, is considered a perennial."

"It'll come back every year."

"Right. Lavender is technically a bush; an herb. In climates where it's warm year-round, they die back in the fall and come back in the spring; but in this Climate Zone, it's colder in the winter, so there's a 50/50 chance that it may die. The front yard gets a lot of sun, so I hope I've stacked the odds in my favor."

Another wave of panic went through her. I'm talking too much! He's here for lemonade, not a botany lesson. She got up from the table and rushed to the sink.

Startled by her sudden break to the far side of the kitchen, Clay quietly watched her remove lemons from the sink by the handful, arranging them around a large, wooden cutting board. "This is a nice place, Mary. I like this kitchen. Very retro."

"Retro?"

"Yeah, like a 50's diner."

"Oh. I liked it because it was clean."

Clay nodded, unsure of how to reply to the strange response. "Yes, it's...very clean."

Silence stretched between them as she searched several drawers for a sharp knife. Her courage once again pushed ahead. You really are going to screw this up if you don't say something. And you've got your back to him! I know - ask him to help you. That might work.

"Um, Clay? Could you help me...get the juicer? It's up pretty high." She motioned toward an upper cabinet.

He hopped up from the chair. "Oh, sure! Lemme help you with that."

There you go. See, it's working!

Clay pulled down the old-fashioned press juicer from the top shelf. "This thing has some weight to it! Good thing I had a good grip on it or I might have dropped it on my head!" He exhaled a little laugh as he set it on the counter.

"It's a great piece of engineering," Mary said as she cut a few lemons. "The weight is what keeps the juicer stable as you press. Um...would you like to squeeze them?"

"That sounds a little dirty," he quipped.

"No, I already cleaned the lemons."

"No, I mean...you know...the other kind of dirty. Never mind. It's a stupid joke."

He made a joke? "Oh. Okay." I should've laughed! Pay more attention to what he's saying. Men are supposed to like that. Satisfies their egos. Laugh if he laughs. She placed a lemon in the juicer, and soon they developed a rhythm to their task, speedily filling up the first cup with fresh, fragrant lemon juice. Mary placed a second cup under the juicer.

"You sure got me working here," Clay said as he thrust down the handle. "Are you making this for me, or am I making this for you?"

She felt the panic return. I've screwed it up big-time, now! He's right, I should've had all this ready before he got here. This idea was so stupid - I shouldn't have invited him. This'll just confirm to him what a big, pathetic dork I am. She brought herself near to tears, but her courage continued fighting against her plummeting self esteem. Don't you dare cry. Be proud you tried. If it doesn't work out, well, that's just life. At least you tried...

Just then, she felt an elbow poke at her arm and heard his adorable giggle. "This is actually kind of fun," Clay continued. "I haven't made juice in forever; not since I was a kid when I helped my Mom with Saturday breakfast. We had one of those, you know, electric ones, but this thing is really cool. More...manly." He slid his sleeve up and flexed his arm. "Maybe this'll help me build up my scrawny biceps! Here. Feel that."

"Huh?" Touch him? Oh, no, I can't...I... Seemingly before she realized what she was doing, she lightly squeezed his upper arm between her thumb and forefinger.

He flexed harder and laughed. "How'm I doing? Is it working?"

The slight, polite touch of her fingertips somehow morphed into a full-on cupping of his small bicep. His skin's so smooth. His arm's more solid than I thought it would be. She felt her face grow warm and quickly pulled away. "Fine," she said with a tentative smile. "Um. It's fine."

It's magnificent.

GO TO PART 4

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