Lydia

Your Way Wednesday Prompt:

“Yes, I’m 24 and I still have an imaginary friend.”

I looked at my watch. This overcrowded coffee house was going to make me late for work, but they had the best ham-sammy breakfast sandwiches around and I was in need of a good breakfast today. I was on my second interview for my dream job working as an assistant to the –

“Hi!” The perky hello made me jump. I turned and was met by two huge brown eyes framed by large lashes. 

“H-hi,” I stuttered, a bit jarred. The girl was cute. She had a floppy, chestnut bun piled on top her her head, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose and was wearing a tie-dye tee and denim shorts that showed off powerful looking legs. Her grin was eager and open, like she knew something no one else did. 

“So my friend and I saw you across the way and we both agree; you’re terribly handsome.” My head cocked to the side and a lopsided grin fit into place on my lips at the flattery.  

“Oh yeah? Well do you and your friend have a name?” I ask as suavely as I can. This makes the girl erupt into a fit of giggles. 

“I can honestly say, you don’t want to know her name. It’s terrible,” she assures me with a conspiratorial whisper. “But my name is Lydia.” The girl smiles sweetly. 

I blink, now absolutely intrigued by not knowing her friend’s terrible name. 

“Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad,” I insist. But then she laughs again. Harder, practically making her snort. Her laugh is contagious and I start to chuckle with her. “Lydia, please tell me,” I ask in between my chuckles as I try to turn on the smolder. But she laughs harder, wiping away unshed laughter tears. 

“It’s SO BAD,” she says, and now I’m laughing and fighting to regain my composure. This random, tie-dye wearing girl Lydia can’t breathe and I’m not far from being there myself. I want so badly to know what she knows. What joke am I missing out on? I almost miss it when the barista calls my name. 

“Jay!” The woman behind the counter waves a small brown bag, my ham-sammy no doubt nestled inside. My plain black small coffee rests on the counter beside her. 

“Oh, Lydia, that’s me!” I tell her by placing a hand on her shoulder and pointing to the counter. She nods, clutching her side. “Meet me outside when you get your order, okay?” She nods again, relentless tears running down her face. 

I exit the shop and prop myself up against the front of the store. I feel giddy. I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. And with a complete stranger, no less! 

I peer through the large window into the coffee shop behind me, hoping to find Lydia and maybe even catch a glimpse of her friend who thinks I’m cute too, but has an embarrassing name. I see Lydia as she moves to retrieve her order. She’s hard to miss with that loud t-shirt on. I’m even more intrigued when I note that she’s holding a longboard in one arm. Where was that earlier when we were laughing? 

Lydia emerges from the shop and I wave to her. When she spots me, she grins widely but still manages to look a bit shy. 

“So where’s your friend?” I ask, laughter lying in wait a breath away. Lydia blushes prettily and averts her eyes. 

“She had to use the restroom, but she was pleased to know you have a sense of humor.” 

“Let’s test it further, shall we? Tell me her name,” I coax, but Lydia squeezes her eyes shut and adamantly shakes her head in a no. “Oh, come on. I have to know!” I say. 

“When I say it’s bad, I mean, it’s TERRIBLE,” she assures me. I give her an incredulous look and she barks out a loud, hardy laugh. Her eyes widen and she clamps a hand over her mouth when she realizes that she sounded like a walrus. My head drops as another bout of humor attacks me. Lydia is the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen who can laugh like a man. 

“How about you agree to tell me your friend’s name over dinner?” I ask, trying a new tactic. I have to know the joke, but the thought of spending an evening with Lydia sounds perfect. Name or no name, it’s exactly what I want. 

“Really?” She asks, obviously shocked that I just asked her out. 

“Really. Are you free around seven tonight?” I ask. Lydia bites her lip, but nods. “Perfect. Give me your number and I’ll send you the address to the restaurant. How do you feel about hole-in-the-wall Thai?”

“Hole-in-the-wall just happens to be my favorite type of cuisine,” she replies with mock seriousness. 

She rattles off her number and I add it to my phone before shooting her a quick message saying, “It’s the terribly handsome coffeeshop dude, Jay.” When her phone bings and she opens it, she giggles and holds it up.

“And you promise to tell me your friend’s name?” I press. She rolls her eyes but looks at me with a small smile. 

“Depends on how the night goes, I suppose,” she says mysteriously. 

Then my watch buzzes with an alert. 

“Oh, shoot! I’ve gotta go! I’m going to be late – I’m sorry, Lydia!” I turn on my heel but call over my shoulder, “It was great to meet you! I’ll see you tonight!” 

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

I’m on top of the world by the time seven rolls around. I killed in the interview, then met up with some friends for lunch before hitting the gym. After I showered, I called to make sure the little Thai food hole-in-the-wall shop I love is open. I reserve a table for two. Just as I’m leaving my apartment to walk to the small restaurant, I get a call and low-and-behold, I got the job. 

I get to the restaurant first, but a quick text from Lydia tells me she’s on her way. I’m sitting at the table with two water cups and a small order of wantons when she slips in through the front door. 

I stumble to stand up as she meets me wearing a simple, white spring dress. Her hair tumbles down over her shoulders in loose curls and her lips are tinted pink. She’s beautiful. 

“Hi,” she says, a small smile on her lips. 

“Hi,” I breathe back. We stand like that for a minute, like two idiots in a chick-flick before I remember how to make sentences again. “Here, let me get your seat. I have water and a few appetizers coming – not because I think I know what you’d like and don’t think you could order for yourself or anything stupid and overbearing like that – but because I was a bit anxious.” So much for making complete sentences again. I inwardly cringe over my word vomit. 

Through her laughter, something that I’m quickly learning is her best quality, Lydia reassures me saying, “No! No, this is great. I’ve never been here before. Munching on appetizers before I order is perfect.” 

We quickly fall into easy conversation as we sample each appetizer. She asks me how my day was and I get to tell her about my new job. When I ask Lydia what she does, she rattles off a list of things. She is a waitress for a catering company called the Smokehouse Grill. 

“Honestly, their food is a bit overrated, but it helps pay my bills and the uniform isn’t terrible, so eh,” she says with a shrug. She is a reading tutor, both for kids and adults. “I know a bit of Spanish, so I work mainly with English language learners and I love it.” On the weekends, she volunteers at the local pet shelter. “I love animals, but my place doesn’t allow pets, so until I move elsewhere, I have to get my animal love at the shelter,” she explained. On top of everything else, she’s attending school to become a teacher. “I took off one too many years to ‘find myself’,” she says using air quotes. “But eventually, I’ll have my own classroom full of little twerps that are just pre-programed to love me because I am their teacher.” I almost spray water. “What?” She asks, trying to figure out why I laughed. 

“I take it you aren’t planning on teaching high school, then?” I ask. She throws her head back in laughter. 

“Hell no. Teenagers are like bad adults! No thank you,” she says. 

By the time we’ve finished up most of our meal and I realize that we will soon part ways, I find myself missing her already. Then I remember why I talked her into dinner in the first place. 

“So,” I say casually. Lydia looks up from her food that she’s nearly finished. Hole-in-the-wall really does seem to be something she likes, I think, making the mental note and tucking it away for later. “Are you going to tell me your friend’s name, now?” 

Lydia’s eyes widen and her face turns scarlet. 

“I thought you had forgotten!” She wails burying her face in her hands. I laugh and scoot my chair closer around the small circular table to take her hands from her face. 

“Why do you seem so embarrassed? It’s your friend’s terrible name, right? Not yours.” But Lydia’s big brown eyes are wide and she’s shaking her head and biting her lip again. 

“It’s so bad, Jay. SO. BAD.” I squeeze both of her hands and give her my most reassuring smile. 

“It’s just a name,” I tell her. “And not even yours!” I say with a laugh. “Come on, just give me the name and we never have to speak about it again. Promise.” 

“But you will never want to speak to me again after I tell you,” she whines. I give her a look of disbelief. 

“Tell me,” I say softly. Lydia eyes me for a minute before she takes a deep breath. 

“Promise you’ll still talk to me after I do?” She asks. 

“I promise,” I tell her. She holds up her pinky and I take it, feeling like a child making a solemn vow on the playground. Lydia’s eyebrows pinch and she looks anywhere but at me. 

“Her name is Barbara Glitterpants Sparkle.” 

For a moment, I sit there stunned, trying to comprehend her words. 

“E-e-excuse me?” I stutter, a smile threatening to burst through though I fight for composure. Lydia exhales loudly and pulls a hand through her hair, looking thoroughly distraught. 

“Barbara Glitterpants Sparkle,” she repeats. “Here’s the thing. When I saw you in the coffeeshop I knew I had to talk to you, but I sometimes feel super insecure, and that’s when Barbara Glitterpants Sparkle shows up and encourages me. So that’s how I even had the confidence to tell you were you handsome this morning, but then you wanted to know my friend’s name and I couldn’t tell you she was Barbra Glitterpants Sparkle because that’s ridiculous! No one real has a name like that – and no one my age should still have an -” 

I hold up a hand to stop her, still trying not to laugh.

“Hold on, hold on. Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?” I ask. Lydia’s eyes grow huge and she looks like a kicked puppy. 

“Yes, I’m 24 and still have an imaginary friend.” 

I can’t hold it back any longer. A loud roar of laughter erupts from my chest and keeps on coming. My vision blurs from the tears that run down my face and when I wipe them away, Lydia’s look of genuine concern for me make me keel over again. 

“So when you said it was bad,” I manage to say in between my fits of glee, “you meant that not only the name was bad, but it was bad because I would know you had an imaginary friend?”

“Right,” she nods, which makes me laugh even harder. “I thought you would handle that tidbit of information poorly… but actually you’re taking it a lot better than I expected.” She shrugs and takes the napkin from her lap to toss it on her plate before slumping into her seat utterly defeated. Her dejected face sobers me and I’m able to stop giggling, but the grin on my lips seems to be a new permanent fixture while I’m with Lydia. 

“I gotta know, why Barbara?” I ask. Lydia crosses her arms and eyes me before she sighs and gives me a brief explanation. 

“When I was a kid, there was this cashier named Barbara. She always gave me stickers and sometimes, on Fridays, a sucker. I thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.” My grin widens and Lydia gives me a small smile in return. She must’ve seen some encouragement, because she continues. “Then Glitterpants Sparkle because I was obsessed with glitter and wanted glitter pants really, REALLY badly. But my mom said she didn’t have a hooker for a daughter.” That coaxes another bark of laughter from me and Lydia rolls her eyes, but matches my grin. “So,” she says slowly. 

“So,” I repeat, watching her timid eyes meet mine again. 

“I don’t know why you’re still here, honestly,” she laughs without humor. “I was sure you’d be out the door by now.” 

I shrug. 

“Honestly, I haven’t laughed like this in years. I kinda like it.” I admit. I take her hand again and stroke the back of it with my thumb, staring at her small, tanned hand in my dark one. “What would Barbara Glitterpants Sparkle say if I saw you again?” 

“She’d be really jealous,” Lydia says with a grin in her voice.  

“Maybe I can set her up with my nephew’s imaginary friend,” I joke. That coaxes a giggle from her. We spend the rest of the night laughing and I can’t help but thank Barbara Glitterpants Sparkle for giving her the confidence to talk to me that morning.