by Dani Jansen
In the hours leading up to my first real date, I googled local restaurants, distances, and panic attacks. I drew up a detailed itinerary thinking it might give me a sense of control. It didn’t. I was about to google panic attacks again, when my mom knocked on my door and offered to lend me her Mini for the evening. Her way of showing support. My solution to a huge problem. Now I could pick up Charlotte, have time to eat, and get to Annie’s performance on time. Furthermore, after a quick check, Google assured me that as the asker-outer, I was expected to choose the restaurant. I texted Charlotte and told her I’d pick her up at seven and got a smiley face back. Everything was suddenly working in my favor. I should have known better.
That night, dressed in an almost sexy, short-ish jean skirt, funky, borrowed purple tights, and a nearly trendy cropped jacket, I felt as close to cool as I ever had. Taking one last look in the hall mirror, I felt hopeful that when people saw me with Charlotte, they wouldn’t wonder why she was hanging out with such a nerd.
I pulled into Charlotte’s driveway a minute early. Google might not know much about how to counsel a young lesbian on her first date, but it did know its driving times. I take it back, Google, I thought. You’re way more useful than the Red Binder.
At that moment, I spotted a corgi barreling toward the car, its tiny legs pumping hard and a demented doggy-smile plastered on its face. I opened my door and stepped out of the car. The corgi ran in tight circles around me. I bent down to pet the frenzied creature, hoping to calm it down before it had a doggy aneurysm. It licked my hand and plopped onto its back, stomach exposed for a belly rub.
“You wouldn’t survive in the wild, would you?” I cooed. I crouched down and patted the stomach. “A predator would just bite this belly. Yes, it would.”
“I see you’ve met Princess Sunshine.” I looked up to see Charlotte grinning down at me. She looked beautiful, as always. I noticed that she had replaced the navy laces in her Docs with hot pink ones. Even with my purple tights, I couldn’t hope to be as cool as her.
The dog nudged my hand. I had stopped petting it, and Princess Sunshine was having none of that. “Oh my god.” I stood up as I came to a sudden realization, then started to babble nervously. “You have a corgi. This is your corgi. Princess Sunshine is a corgi.”
“Excellent powers of observation.”
“I’ve been making fun of corgis. A lot.” I reached into my jacket pocket, feeling for the phone that documented all the offending texts.
Charlotte nodded, yet she was still smiling. “Yes, you have. Princess Sunshine would be hurt if he knew how much you make fun of corgis. Good thing the only words he knows are cookie, walk, and sit.” Princess Sunshine cocked his head to the side. He didn’t know how to react when a person used all three of his favorite words at once.
“He’s cute,” I said. And I meant it. He might be useless, but he was affectionate, and petting him had briefly lowered my blood pressure.
“You don’t have to pretend to like corgis.” Charlotte bent down to pet the dog, and he leaned into her leg.
“I’m not! I still think they’re a stupid breed.” Smooth, Alison. “I mean, they wouldn’t survive in the wild. But what domesticated animal would? Princess Sunshine is super cute.”
“He is at that,” Charlotte agreed. “Just let me put him in the house and we can head out.” She pulled gently on Princess Sunshine’s collar, and after looking back at me once, he followed her to the house.
I got back into Mom’s car, cursing my inner censor, who seemed to go on break at the most inconvenient times. I rested my head on the steering wheel for a moment, then looked at my watch. We were already behind schedule.
When Charlotte was settled in the passenger seat, I suggested we eat at an Indian restaurant that was only a block from where Annie was performing. I told her the reviews looked good, which was true, and that I’d been dying to try it, which was true in a way. I’d been looking forward to eating there since I learned about it that afternoon. I even managed to casually mention a show I thought might be worth catching. I didn’t specify that my sister was in the show and that I’d already committed to going. I didn’t want Charlotte to think I was bossy or punctilious; she could learn about those unfortunate characteristics later. Thankfully, Charlotte was game for all of it, and I felt hopeful as I backed the car out of her driveway.
I made my way through quiet suburban streets, and the silence seemed to drag. I checked the dash clock. Only two minutes had passed. Still, I felt the need to keep the conversation flowing.
“Princess Sunshine is an interesting name.”
Charlotte chuckled and picked a white dog hair off her black pants. “My little sister named him. My father freaked out. I tried to explain to him that gender is a social construct, but he thinks I’m corrupting my little sister and that she’ll turn out gay too. My mom had to convince him that a five-year-old isn’t making a political statement when she names her dog. But he refuses to call the dog by name.”
“My parents let us name our pet fish Snot and Fart,” I offered. I felt guilty that my parents were so accepting of me and didn’t know what to say about her homophobic dad. So I rambled on. “Snot and Fart didn’t live long. It’s probably not a good idea to put a six-year-old and a four-year-old in charge of feeding fish. Or naming them.” I was regaling my date with the tragic story of two dead fish. I was hopeless at dating.
“Which one did you name?” Charlotte asked.
“Fart,” I admitted.
Charlotte laughed. “I wish I could have met Fart.”
“Well, I’m glad I got to meet Princess Sunshine. Maybe not all corgis are useless.”
“He’s pretty useless. But we love him.”
“Even your dad?” I ventured. I didn’t want to force her to discuss something awkward, but I also didn’t want to seem like I was brushing off something important that she’d shared with me.
“Deep down, yeah. He just thinks it’s his job to ‘create boundaries.’” Her voice deepened as she imitated her father.
“What happens if you cross a boundary?” Without thinking, I’d slowed down. The car behind me was tailgating us in frustration. I pushed the gas a little.
Charlotte sighed. “Well, then he’s disappointed in you. If you’re a dog, you grovel for his approval. If you’re his daughter, you learn not to tell your father that you’re going on a date. You let your mom run interference.”
I felt doubly grateful to my parents for being supportive and understanding. I also felt guilty for having things so easy.
“What about your parents?” she asked.
I pretended I didn’t understand Charlotte’s question. “It’s kinda hard to create boundaries for fish.”
Charlotte snorted. For the rest of the drive we talked about pets, and I felt like things might be going, if not well, at least not disastrously. That warm feeling followed me into the restaurant where we were seated at a quiet table in the corner. It even stayed with me as we both perused the vegetarian-friendly menu. Charlotte said she appreciated that I’d picked a restaurant where she could find more than one meal option. I grinned. Our server, a young man in black pants and a white T-shirt, asked if we had any questions about the menu. I said we were ready to order, thinking of my itinerary. Charlotte ordered first, and I noticed how the server leaned toward her, smiling and nodding enthusiastically. He was just as taken with her as I was. But his attention wasn’t what ruined my feeling of well-being; I couldn’t blame him for noticing how beautiful Charlotte was. No, what brought me back down was a flashback to my last “date.”
What on earth was I going to do if I couldn’t swallow my food again?
CHAPTER 28
I ordered saag paneer and naan bread, not wanting to alert Charlotte that anything weird might be going on. I couldn’t invite her out to supper and then refuse to eat.
As soon as the server left to
place our orders, I excused myself to go to the washroom. I locked myself in a stall and pulled out my phone. I called the only person I could think of.
Becca answered without saying hello. “Aren’t you on your date right now? Why are you calling me?”
“I am on my date. I don’t know if I can swallow my food.” I held the speaker close to my mouth, practically whispering. This was not a conversation I wanted a stranger to overhear.
“What? Why wouldn’t you be able to swallow your food?” Becca sounded puzzled, and I remembered that we hadn’t discussed the date-which-should-not-be-mentioned, so she didn’t know I had this swallowing problem.
“Sometimes when I get nervous, I can’t swallow.”
Becca chuckled. “Only you, Al. Only you.” I did not find this helpful.
“Yeah, yeah. I’m a freak. But what do I do?”
“Stay calm.”
“That’s not useful advice. If I knew I could stay calm, I wouldn’t be calling you.” I stared at the graffiti on the stall door. The future is in your hands. It was like the graffiti was conspiring with Becca to feed me useless platitudes.
“Well, it’s the only advice I have. Take some deep breaths and go back to your date!” She hung up before I could say anything else.
I left the safety of the stall and splashed some cold water on my neck. I looked at myself in the mirror and said, “Get it together, Alison Green.” The pale-faced girl looking back at me seemed skeptical. I took one last deep breath and walked back into the dining room.
At the table, Charlotte was sipping an iced tea and looking at her phone. Her hair fell over her right eye in a funky swoop, and she tried to blow it out of the way. She might have been wearing lipstick, but it looked to me like her lips were just naturally coral pink. How was I lucky enough to be on a date with this girl? And how could I keep myself from screwing it up?
I sat down and took a tiny sip of my water. I swallowed it, but it seemed to take more effort than usual. I couldn’t be sure, though, since I wasn’t normally aware of how much effort it took for me to perform this basic human function.
Charlotte put away her phone and was now looking right at me with those frost-blue eyes. “Rehearsals seem to be going well,” she said.
“Yes!” I clutched on to the topic like a drowning person grabbing hold of a floatation device. We were able to chat about the play as we waited for our food. I felt almost calm for a few minutes.
And then the food came. The warm smell of curry and ginger made my mouth water, but I was not fooled by this reflex. I couldn’t trust that I would be able swallow any of the delectable dishes once I started eating.
Charlotte ripped a piece of naan bread and dipped it in her curry. I stared at my plate and moved the food around, a trick I had learned when eating my grandmother’s burnt meatloaf and soggy mashed potatoes.
“This lentil curry is delicious,” Charlotte told me between bites. “Want to try some?” She pushed the plate toward me, and I shook my head.
“I don’t like lentils,” I lied.
“Oh, okay,” she said, digging into her food again with gusto. I was jealous of how easily it came to her. I ripped up some naan and dunked it into my saag paneer, hoping it looked like I was letting it soak up the sauce.
My charade couldn’t last forever. Charlotte’s plate was clearly getting emptier, while mine just looked messier. Eventually, Charlotte noticed. “Not hungry?” she asked.
“Not really.”
She put down her fork and wiped her hands on a napkin. “We didn’t have to go out for supper if you weren’t hungry.”
“I was hungry,” I hurried to explain.
“But you aren’t now?” Charlotte was confused. I couldn’t blame her.
I looked down at my plate, but there were no answers there. Instead, I thought about what Jack had said to me after I’d called him to apologize for the fake date. Maybe it was time to try the honesty thing. Still looking at my plate, I told Charlotte, “I’m nervous. This is kinda my first date with a girl and I really like you, and I don’t want to screw things up.” There it was. The naked truth. I felt exposed. Maybe Charlotte would think I was too immature or inexperienced to date.
Then I felt her hand take mine. I chanced a glance at our hands on the white tablecloth. Charlotte had long fingers, long enough to wrap my whole hand in hers. I felt warmth spread through my hand and up my arm. I felt it radiating throughout my whole body.
“Everyone’s nervous on a first date. Do you know how many times I changed my outfit this afternoon?” she asked. She pressed my hand, and I looked up at her. “I really like you too.” I felt like something had just squeezed my heart, but it felt good, not panicky. “Now are you sure you don’t want to try some of this lentil curry? It’s yummy.” She let go of my hand to pick up her plate and offer it to me.
“Maybe a bite,” I said, reaching my fork across the table to try the curry. Charlotte was right, it was delicious, creamy, and gingery. And I was able to swallow it, which felt like a major triumph.
I shared my saag paneer with Charlotte, and we lingered over a pot of chai, chatting about the play and our favorite books. I admitted to Charlotte that I reread the Anne of Green Gables books anytime I was feeling down, and she told me that for years she had lied and told people she was named after Charlotte’s Web, when the truth was it was her great-grandmother’s name. “I just loved that spider so much, you know?” I thought there might not be a more perfect person in the world than Charlotte Russell.
I was so caught up in our conversation that I completely lost track of time. When the waiter placed our bill on the table, a subtle suggestion that maybe we’d overstayed our welcome at the now bustling restaurant, I remembered to check my watch. Annie’s show had started half an hour ago! I prayed that she wasn’t one of the first performers and snatched up the check, telling Charlotte I would pay at the cash. When she offered to pay half, I told her, “Why don’t you get the cover for the show?” She nodded, and the money issue had been resolved quite simply, mostly because I was distracted by a more pressing problem.
Annie’s show was taking place at a quirky café/art space/organic bakery. The owners liked to support young artists, and they hosted an open mic night once a month so teens and twenty-somethings could perform their poetry, music, and stand-up comedy for an audience of mostly friends and family. The five-dollar cover went to charity, because that’s just how community-minded the owners were. I made a mental note to hit them up for an ad-buy as I drove over.
I was locking the car doors when Charlotte asked me if I knew anyone performing. “Yeah, my sister,” I admitted.
“Cool,” she said, following me to the Odd Duck Café.
The hipster seated on a stool at the front door asked us for the cover. As Charlotte pulled money out of her wallet, I scanned the room. The place smelled of fresh bread and coffee. In the daytime, the café was lit by funky Mason jar chandeliers. Tonight, the mood was set by fairy lights and candles. Most of the small tables were occupied. The “stage” at the back of the room was just an Oriental rug with some stools and a drum set. At the moment, a trio of banjo players was performing. I wasn’t unhappy that we’d missed some of their set. In fact, I hoped this was their last song.
Charlotte came to stand beside me, her arm pressed against mine in a very pleasant way. I would have stayed standing like that, but Charlotte tugged on my hand, pointing to a free table at the back. I was happy that the chairs were all pushed together so the audience could face the stage; it meant I had to sit close to Charlotte, her heat radiating through my body.
I looked around again, hoping to find my sister. Her face would tell me if she’d performed yet or not. But instead of my sister, I saw my parents, my dad’s salt-and-pepper hair and my mother’s perfect posture as familiar to me as the feeling of panic flooding my body. I was going to have to introduce Charlotte to my
parents. On our first date. After she’d basically told me that she couldn’t tell her father she was going on a date, I was going to introduce her to my super supportive parents? This was not good.
I pulled on the hem of my skirt, uncomfortable showing quite so much leg when my parents were in the room. I tried to focus on the stage, hoping my mother and father wouldn’t see me. A young slam poet paced up and down. I didn’t catch what he was saying, partly because he spoke so fast and partly because my attention was torn between him, my parents, and the beautiful girl beside me. When everyone applauded for him, I did too. It was an automatic reaction drilled into me by years of politely listening to classmates’ presentations.
Annie walked up to the mic, a guitar hanging from her shoulder. I leaned forward, nervous for her.
“Is that your sister?” Charlotte asked.
“Yeah.” I could tell Annie was nervous because she was looking over the audience, not at it.
“This is a song I wrote. It’s called ‘Cat Nap.’” Annie closed her eyes and started playing. Her voice was shaky at first, but it got stronger after just a few bars. It was a good song—funny, but not silly. When she finished “Cat Nap,” the audience cheered louder than they had for the slam poet. I clapped loudest, but my parents clapped longest. I saw Charlotte glance at them and hoped she wouldn’t notice that my sister had the same smile as my father.
“That sounded good, didn’t it?” I asked Charlotte, hoping to draw her attention away from my parents.
Charlotte smiled. “Look at you, proud big sister. Yeah, she sounded good.”
Annie played her next song, a cover of a Florence + the Machine track we both loved. The audience applauded warmly when she finished. Annie beamed as she left the stage.
An emcee came up to thank everyone for coming, and I stood up. “We should go,” I told Charlotte.
