For Real

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  Okay, I did not mean to tell him all that stuff, but it sort of came out. The waitress comes back and we both realize we haven’t even thought about what to order. Jett tells her we need a minute. I think he’s going to start talking, but then he asks me what I want. The suspense is killing me.

  “Um, I don’t care. Whatever you want.”

  “Large pizza with bacon sound okay?”

  “Yeah, fine.” Jett is absorbed in the menu. He’s avoiding talking about whatever it is, which must mean it’s something bad. I don’t know what my issues with my parents have to do with it, but I’m ready to find out.

  The waitress comes back and he orders the pizza, and I also order a salad. I should at least eat something that is remotely healthy. When she leaves again, I fold my hands on the table and take a sip of my soda.

  Jett stares at the table, closes his eyes and then looks at me.

  “My parents were strict growing up. Like, really strict. The opposite of yours. Even though they came over to this country, and they love it here, they pretty much think everything American is evil. From the shows to the clothes, to everything. They even homeschooled me and my sister to try and prevent us from getting ‘influenced.’ I understood that they were trying to teach us traditional values, but they just went about it in a completely wrong and controlling way. I used to have nightmares that if I watched an American movie my brain would rot and turn to liquid and come out my ears.” He shudders and I really don’t know what to say. This is completely different than I thought, and now I have to process it.

  “So that was how I lived for most of my life, but then I turned sixteen and got my driver’s license. I was still homeschooled, but I was allowed to take the car out and get groceries, and do other errands. They would time me, they knew where I was going and how long it should take, so there was no way I could really get out. But I’d started thinking that I didn’t want to live that way anymore. They called it “teenage rebellion” and “acting out” and “dishonoring my family” but all I wanted was to go to the movies and do things that everyone else did. I love my culture, but I don’t see why I couldn’t be Japanese and be American, too. Anyway, fast forward and I was sitting at my window long after my parents had told me to go to bed and there was a party up the street. The kid’s parents had gone out of town, so he was taking advantage of it. I was sitting there, hearing the music I wasn’t allowed to listen to, and the people laughing and having a good time, and then I snuck downstairs and went right out the front door. That was the night I met Javi. He was the one throwing the party.”

  Yeah, I could believe that.

  “And fast forward to more rebellion, listening to Something Corporate and other banned music, seeing forbidden movies, and things got bad. I screwed up, a lot. Nothing illegal, or at least nothing I got caught for and I blew of school. That’s one of the reasons I put up with him. He was always there to bail me out, and when my parents found out about everything I’d done, they threw me out. They said that I was a bad influence on my sister, and a disgrace to the family name. So I moved in with Javi.”

  Holy. Crap. My parents had said some awful things to me, but I couldn’t imagine a parent saying that to their child. And to Jett, no less.

  “And fast forward to me getting my shit together, including getting my GED and then coming here and there you go. God, they would probably both have heart attacks if they knew I was telling you anything about this, but I haven’t seen my parents or my sister in four years. Not a phone call, not a card, no contact. They told me that I was never welcome in their house again, and that was before the tattoos. I’ve driven by there a few times, because when I go back for holidays, I stay with Javi’s family, but I don’t have the balls to knock on my own family’s door. I just . . . I wish I could see my sister. I don’t want her to feel like I abandoned her.”

  And the waitress chooses that exact moment to bring the pizza and set it down. I stare at it as if it’s going to give me the answers I need. Maybe there isn’t a right thing to say in this situation. Jett’s waiting.

  “That’s not what I thought, at all. I don’t know what to say. I thought I had it bad, but at least I can go home and see my parents. I escaped them, but not like that. I’m so sorry for you, and I think you are so, so brave for doing what you did.” I reach across the table, avoiding the burning pizza pan and grasp his hands. I’m bummed that we have the stupid table between us.

  “I’m not that brave. I rebelled against my parents. Not a whole lot of people would think that was brave.” What a load of crap. I get up and slide into the booth on the same side with him and put my arm around him, kissing his cheek.

  “You’re awesome, Jett Nguyen. Don’t ever doubt yourself.” He puts his arm around me and pulls me as close as he can get and gives me a return kiss on my hair.

  “I’m so glad I met you, Shannon Travers. They say things happen for a reason, but I always thought that was crap, because terrible things happen all the time that don’t make any sense. But I think I was meant to meet you in that café.” I feel the exact same way.

  “Thank you for sharing your story with me. You didn’t have to, but I’m glad you did, and you don’t have to worry about me sharing it with anyone. Your secret is safe with me.”

  “It never crossed my mind that you would tell anyone. I trust you, princess.” He finally smiles and my heart gets all fluttery again.

  The more I learn about Jett and the more time I spend with him, the more I fear what it’s going to be like after this is over.

  “Can we still be friends? After? I mean, after a suitable time has passed, during which I will grieve for your loss and also curse your existence?” I’m also supposed to tear up pictures and curse him with genital warts. Or so I have learned from movies.

  “We still have some time. Let’s not throw in the towel just yet.” He pushes my hair over my shoulder.

  “Less than two weeks. Not that long.” He seems reluctant now to talk about that. He keeps stroking my hair, but the closeness I felt moments ago when he was telling me about his parents is gone. He may be physically close, but emotionally, he’s shut down. Now it’s my turn to sigh. I get up and go back to my side of the booth and we start eating in silence.

  The next time we talk is when we fight over the bill, and I let him win.

  “You have to wear that for Jett tonight,” Hazel says back at the apartment. We’d gone shopping with the girls and I’d picked up a mint lace tank top with matching boy shorts. It was better than the crazy leather outfit that they’d tried to get me in. Shudder.

  “Maybe I will and maybe I will,” I say with a wink.

  “You’ll have to tell me how he likes it. I want details. You’ve been very stingy with details about your sex life, which either means you’re into something weird and you don’t want to tell me, or it’s not that great.” Or, I could just want to keep it private? Why isn’t that an option?

  “It’s not either. Maybe I just don’t feel like sharing something that’s so intimate and it’s just between two people.”

  She narrows her eyes at me.

  “That means it’s bad. Is he too small? Does he finish too fast? Is his thing crooked?” I have no knowledge of any of these things. Except for maybe the first. From having his, um, member, pressed into my leg on several occasions, I know that it is not small. I haven’t had a whole lot of penis experience, but I know it’s not small. Actually, It feels kind of terrifyingly big. I’m glad I don’t have to fit it inside me. God bless the lucky girl who gets it.

  That sounds so weird.

  I’m also pretty sure about the crooked part. I think I would have felt that as well.

  “There is nothing wrong with his equipment or his performance. He’s fine. We’re fine. I am satisfied.” Actually, since I’ve spent so much time with Jett and he gets me . . . riled up, for lack of a better term, I’ve been kind of pent up in that area.

  I steal my time in the shower when I can, but my poor vibrator has be
en very neglected of late. I hid it under my bed in the very, very back so unless he actually dives under my bed and searches, Jett won’t find it. That would be a lovely and awkward conversation that I really don’t want to have.

  “If you say so,” she sing-songs. Whatever. My Fake sex life is none of her business.

  “So what about yours? Found anyone you want to bang yet?” I’ve got my fingers crossed she’s not going to say “Javier.”

  Rolling her eyes, she goes to the coffeemaker and puts a new filter in.

  “Now that you’ve had sex, you can understand how much it sucks when you don’t have it. I swear, I’m going to go crazy and kill someone if I don’t get laid soon.” She puts a new filter in and then fills the water container up.

  “Well babe, I can’t help you. I don’t think the roommate and friend requirements go that far.”

  She gives me a look.

  “I would never ask you to do that. I don’t swing that way.”

  Neither do I.

  “Just take care of it yourself.” That’s what I have to do. Or what I used to do before I had a boyfriend . . .

  “It’s not as good. I need another person. I need visual stimulation.” Well she could always watch porn, but I know she’s just going to come up with another excuse.

  “So why don’t you go out and do something about it, if it’s such an issue for you?” I’m kind of tired of her whining about it. But at the same time, I don’t want to see a parade of losers in and out of the apartment. It’s kind of a dilemma.

  “Maybe I will.” That sounds like both a threat and a challenge. Great. I ignore the comment because I really don’t want to keep talking about this, so I mumble something about homework. I do actually have to do some, so I head to my room and turn my music up and throw myself into writing a paper. Hazel brings me some coffee with nutmeg and cinnamon later, and I’m grateful for it.

  The time between now and when I get to see Jett again goes too slow, and I’m done with my paper with an hour to spare. I could start something else, but I really want to get out of the apartment.

  An idea strikes me so I grab my keys and dash out to my car and drive back to the mall. Right next to it are a few stores that cater exclusively to college students, including a music store-slash-coffeehouse that also hosts open mic nights and afternoons. Man, add beer to that and it attracts pretentious hipster college students quicker than you could say, “I liked it before it was cool.” I tend to avoid it, but there’s something I need, so I braved throng of people who have five hundred dollar phones pontificating about the water shortage in third world countries and keep my head down as I head for the CD section.

  There isn’t anything romantic about giving someone an iTunes gift card, so I flip through the CDs until I find what I want. I get out of there as quick as I can and then head back to school. It takes forever to find a parking spot, and then I have to wrap my present with what I have in my car, which is either a Dunkin’ Donuts bag or a cell phone bill. I choose the former and then head to the coffee shop in the library to get both of us coffee and baked goods. They have cannolis; JACKPOT. I get six of them, because I’m definitely going to want at least three, and if I have three, it only seems fair to give three to Jett. Or maybe I’ll eat four and Jett will get two.

  Okay, I eat one two seconds after I check out, so there are only five left. Then I have to eat another to make it even. Crap, time to meet Jett.

  “You have something on your face,” Jett says even before I get a word in. Crap. Busted with cannoli all over my face. I wipe, but he shakes his head.

  “You missed. Here.” He steps close to me and raises his hand to wipe away the cream from the cannoli (eww, I can’t help but make that sexual) and then his tongue darts out and gets it instead. I can’t help the gasp that escapes my mouth as he smiles at my shock, gives me a quick peck and then says, “I hope that was frosting or something.”

  “Well, you should have asked before you licked my face, idiot,” I say, sounding breathless.

  “Maybe I should have. Should we add that to the list? No licking of the Fake Girlfriend’s face unless you ask her what is on her face first?”

  “I think that’s a plan. Hi.” I pop up on my tiptoes and kiss him again. Can’t resist.

  “Hi,” he says, holding my face and stroking my cheeks with his thumbs. Boy, I am glad to see him. The feeling seems mutual.

  “I got you something,” I say, rustling the Dunkin’ Donuts bag with the CD in it. My other hand has the bag with the cannolis and so forth. I had to set the coffee cups down on the table next to me.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” he says, letting go of my face and backing up so I can give him the bag. I sit down and pull out another cannoli.

  He pulls out the CD and turns it around. It’s Leaving Through The Window from Something Corporate. I noticed how much he liked them when they were on the radio and then he mentioned them again when he told me about his family.

  “I figured you should be able to listen to freedom. Even if freedom sometimes sounds a little emo.” He stares at the CD and I can’t read his face. Uh oh.

  “Thank you,” he says quietly. I start eating my cannoli, waiting for him to emote.

  “You’re welcome,” I say with my mouth full before grabbing a napkin. “It’s not much, but I just thought you should have it, even if you already do.”

  “This is . . . really special, Shannon. I love it.” He looks up from the CD and gives me such a heart-shattering smile I almost can’t stand it.

  “You really like it?”

  “I do. I wish my car had a CD player.”

  That’s right. I forgot the thing he calls a car doesn’t have one of those. It doesn’t even have a tape deck, that’s how awesome it is.

  “You really need to get a new car, and not just to play that one CD,” I say, finishing my cannoli as Jett puts the CD down and starts sipping his coffee.

  “Can’t afford it. When my parents cut me off, they really cut me off. If I didn’t get scholarships, or have a lot of help from Javi and his family, I would be living in a box on the street.” God, I can’t imagine. He’s so young to have to deal with shit like that. Yes, I deal with a similar situation, but at least if I had a real crisis, my parents would bail me out. My brother would give me some of his pot money, and mom would offer to get me a job at whatever fast food joint or restaurant she’s currently working at, and Dad would tell me that’s what I get for going to college and not getting a job right out of school before he would start hiding dollar bills in my purse, or in my jeans pockets.

  “You wouldn’t have to live in a box on the street. I wouldn’t let you. You could just move in with me.” As soon as I say it, I realize it’s true. He’s practically living with me already, so it wouldn’t be that big a deal. Except he’d have no place for his stuff. That would be an issue.

  “Well, barring any disaster with Javi, we won’t have to think about it.” He smiles, but it doesn’t feel genuine.

  “So I think we should fight tonight,” he says after I hand him a cannoli. Ugh, I was afraid of that. For some reason, Javier has hatched this plan that we should all go over to his and Jett’s apartment and have a big lovely non-family dinner.

  I think this is just an excuse to grill me in front of Jett. Or maybe hit on Hazel. Or maybe get someone to make him a home-cooked meal, since I have “volunteered” to cook. I kind of have to since they’re hosting it at their house, so I feel obligated. Sigh.

  It’s only going to be me, Jett, Javier and Hazel, but I am adamant that it is NOT a double date and Hazel agrees. She doesn’t date. Like, ever. Her feeling is that dating is serious, that you use it to get to know your future mate, and she’s not even close to doing that, so for right now she’s just “being young and having fun.” I do not judge.

  I’ve decided to make lemon garlic tortellini with chicken, a Caesar salad and an éclair cake for desert. Javier better like it, because that’s the best that he’s getting. Jett
has also agreed to help, even though he said he has never cooked tortellini in his life. At least he’s willing to try.

  “That would probably be a good idea,” I say as my heart twinges in despair. “It will be broadcast to all my friends by the time we’re finished saying ‘Fine!’” If there is one thing you can count on Hazel for, it’s spreading relationship drama around to all our other friends, so they can discuss it and decide what to do about it and how to intervene and somehow make it better, while also making it worse. She means well. I think.

  “So what should we fight about?” he says.

  Okay, so despite not wanting to fight, I’ve actually made a list of topics we could fight about, and I bring it out of my bag. I work on it whenever I have in between time, or I’m insanely bored in class.

  “You have a list?”

  “Well, we did make a list when we started this. I thought we should end it with a list. Okay, first: you don’t like my hair.” Yeah, I know it’s lame.

  “But I love your hair.”

  “Two: we disagree on whether women belong in the kitchen.”

  Jett puts his hands up as if I’ve held a gun to his head.

  “Whoa. I am not touching that. There is no way I can say the right thing.”

  “Three: you think I’m fat.” This one makes him burst out laughing. Not sure what’s so funny about it. I glare at him over the list.

  “And that is funny because?”

  “Because I would never, ever, call you, or any woman, fat. Not even if she was. That’s the first rule of dealing with any woman. Besides, it’s an asshole thing to do. So no, what’s the next one?”

  I grab another cannoli. Who knew we were going to disagree about what to fight about?

  “Four: You don’t like it when I talk in my sleep.”

  “But you don’t talk in your sleep.”

  “I know that, but I might. And you could have a problem with it. And then I can freak out and then it can be one of those things that starts small and explodes into something else and we just start yelling random things and boom. Fight.”