“Where is your harem of men today?” she teases.

I smile. “They’re on their way.”

“Let me guess — a cider for you while you wait? We just got a new one this week from up north. It’s dark and dry — I think you’ll like it.”

“That sounds great,” I say, impressed that she remembers what I usually get.

“Right, then! I’m on it like shit,” she says, and then her cheeks go bright red. “I mean, I’m on it like flies . . . never mind.” She scurries off, laughing nervously.

I laugh too. As it turns out, now that I pay more attention, I’m not always the most awkward one in the room. Awkwardness isn’t even the personality flaw I always thought it was. Sometimes it’s funny — or in the bartender’s case, pretty cute.

With Grandpa as my role model — a hilarious, outspoken man whose curses are colorful as a rainbow and who makes no apologies for his lack of filter — I’m trying out this new thing where I sometimes say things out loud that I used to only let exist in my mind. Even if they’re a little weird. Even if profanity sometimes slips out in unexpected ways. Sometimes I embarrass myself. Mostly people smile or laugh, and to my surprise, I kind of like that.

“Your hair is awesome,” I tell the bartender when she returns with my drink.

“Thanks!” She smiles brightly, a little less flustered now. “I’m Eliza, by the way.”

“Sam,” I say, extending my hand over the bar.

She has short nails with chipping dark-blue nail polish, and her handshake is warm and firm.

“Your usual table looks like it’s about to free up if you want to grab it.” She points to the coveted spot near the windows in front.

I pick up my cider and glance over to where a group of tourists in casual clothes are just standing up to head out.

“I’m on it like shit,” I say.

We both laugh.

As Eliza turns to help the next patron, I slip away from the bar and snag the table, taking a sip of the cider she chose for me. It’s dark and full-flavored, but not overly sweet. Heaven. I cast a glance back and catch her looking at me. This time I blush.

Is she checking me out? Do I want her to be?

I don’t know.

But I’m okay with that.

The truth is, a big part of the reason I’m going to be okay is Zoe. Through her eyes, I learned to see myself as someone funny, creative, and worthy instead of weird, inept, and robotic. She saw me in a way I was never able to see myself. She helped me figure out who I want to be.

Now I work every day at becoming that person.