by Halli Gomez
“ ‘We’d like to get to know Troy a little better, that’s all,’ ” Khory said, imitating her mom’s squeaky voice.
I got it from their point of view, but from mine, it felt like an interview. The idea sent me into a tic frenzy. Besides being at a table with new people and their plates, her parents would study me, quiz me, and most likely ask about the Tourette. I could ignore them, but what if they pushed? And then a crazy thought, what if I talked about it and checked another item off my list? That idea sent an electric-shock-type pain down my left shoulder blade all the way to my butt. Who would have thought me kissing a girl would have been easier than telling someone, who probably knew anyway, that I had Tourette?
“They said if we ever want to go on a real date, we have to do this first,” Khory said. “But I’m sure, then, they’ll come up with another excuse to keep me home.”
Khory was upset and tried to convince me, and herself, that tonight would be fun. I already decided I’d do whatever her parents asked. Their daughter had gotten me to stop counting by just being herself. I knew I couldn’t let her go. Yes, I’d have to at some point, but that time wasn’t now.
When I got to her house, the kitchen table was set for four, one on each side. Two plates to touch. I stared at it. My neck twitched. I had to make it through this.
“Hello, Troy, I’m Hank, Khory’s dad.” Mr. Price stuck out his hand. I turned from the table and shook it.
“Hello, Sir.”
“Please, call me Hank.”
I nodded, but that wouldn’t happen. We sat at the table, Khory to my left, and Mrs. Price to my right.
“It’s almost like a real date,” Khory said. “Just pretend this is Stefano’s Pizzeria, my parents aren’t sitting across the table, and we’re not eating orange chicken.”
That got the look from her dad. You know, the one that said, “Do you want to lose your phone?”
I didn’t argue. This was my idea of a perfect date anyway, hanging with the girl you really liked without worrying about offending strangers or having them think you were a psycho. Well, except for the interview.
“So, tell us about yourself,” Mrs. Price said.
Let’s see, I was in tenth grade, I offered to tutor you daughter in math so I could get to know her, and was extremely grateful you didn’t let her go to movies. Oh, and I wanted the Los Angeles Dodgers to win the World Series. They were due.
“Khory and I have Chemistry together. I prefer astronomy,” I said. Was that the kind of thing she wanted to know? Really, I had no experience.
“Yes, Khory did tell us that,” Mrs. Price said. “And what do your parents do?”
“They’re police officers.” I thought the short versions would be best. The one that didn’t involve a runaway parent, divorce, and remarriage.
“Well, we’d love to meet them,” Mr. Price said.
“See what a great guy he is? A police family. It doesn’t get any safer than that,” Khory said. “Please, enough of the interrogation. I still need his help in math.”
She winked at me and smiled. Her lip gloss was replaced by the shine of orange sauce from the chicken.
I focused on my own chicken and listened to her parents talk about gardening, photography, and Khory. They liked to talk more than they liked to ask questions, which helped me relax. Unfortunately, not enough to forget about Mrs. Price’s plate and the pieces of rice balancing on the edge. I sat on my right hand and ate with my left. Not easy, especially with the hand squeeze, but I didn’t want to mess things up.
After dinner Khory and I cleared the table. She washed the dishes, and I dried. Mr. and Mrs. Price went upstairs and gave us a little privacy.
“Do you think they like me?” I asked.
“Of course they do. How could they not?”
Khory leaned over and kissed me. Right here in the kitchen with her parents one staircase away. My neck twitched. She laughed. Then I laughed, too.
After dishes, we rented Passengers, because who isn’t a Jennifer Lawrence fan? We sat on the couch; I was in the corner, and Khory was next to me. She scooted even closer to me and covered us with a big red-and-white blanket. Even someone as socially stupid as I was knew a clue when it curled up next to you.
Khory focused on the movie, which turned out to be mostly Chris Pratt. While I waited for Jennifer to wake up, I ran my left hand along Khory’s thigh. Then up the side of her body. Her sweater was soft, and I imagined her skin silky like her hair. My hand slid higher on her body and skimmed the side of her breast. Her arm moved away, pulling the blanket to her neck and giving me complete access.
My neck twitched and my face scrunched. My brain fought with itself. One part pushed my hand to squeeze while the other part craved the smooth, soft caress and the tingle of newness. The light side fought the dark side. One, two, three, four. . . . My hand moved up and down like it was acting out the “Itsy Bitsy Spider” song. Five, six, seven. The dark side was winning.
Three seconds before my hand clenched and groped her like a pervert, I forced it away and rested it on her thigh. Eight, nine, ten. The urge took over, as if I could stop it. I made a fist that rested on her leg.
My mind was like a tornado. Thoughts swirled around and made me queasy. Did she think I was scared? Could she feel the tic coming? Should I say something? What do you say in a situation like that? Sorry, the TS part of me wanted to squeeze your boob because it was completely inappropriate. But don’t worry, I fought the urge. Your boob is safe. Was that insulting or complimentary? Or creepy. Did I say boob too many times?
I let out a big breath. Even my own thoughts exhausted me sometimes. Could you just calm down for even a second? I screamed inside my head. No, no I can’t.
. . . . . . . . . .
Mr. Price drove me home, and as soon as the garage door closed, I did a little dance. I didn’t even know my body could move like that. I tapped my feet and spun around, then skipped to the bathroom. I was supercharged. I went the next step with Khory without getting smacked in the face. Wow, the feelings that zoomed in and out of my brain were just as intense as the ones that lurked in the darkness. If only I could keep the good ones. Bottle them, then chug it or pour it over my body.
What did Khory see in me? Literally. I snuck a peek in the bathroom mirror. Longer than the five seconds it took to wet and pat down any hair sticking up, and check for pimples.
This time I studied my face. Three sets of ten so far. On the plus side, I wasn’t ugly, and by that I meant I looked like most high school guys. Not counting the three-tenths of a percent who shouldn’t be wasting their time at PH High because they were destined for TV commercials about new school supplies.
On the negative side, the more I stared at myself, six counts of ten now, the less my average looks mattered. No one would see my chocolate-ice-cream-colored hair or the makings of a mustache. It was human nature for your eyes to be drawn to movement, which meant my neck and shoulder first. And how would anyone notice I was currently pimple free if my face was all scrunched up? I turned away. Ten sets of ten were all I could take.
I took my meds, then crawled into bed. My body was heavy, almost too heavy to move, even for me. My eyes closed, and Khory smiled at me. Did she see past the movement? I thought I knew the answer. And if I was right, it would make it very hard to leave her.
MARCH 6
“Can I tell you a secret?” Khory asked Saturday morning.
I loved that she wanted to talk first thing in the morning after watching episodes of The Office with me until eleven o’clock last night.
“Sure.”
“I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”
I grinned. “I’m your first?”
“Yup.” I could hear the smile in her voice, and just as it always did, it warmed my body.
“Can I tell you a secret? Although it’s pretty obvious,” I said.
“You only want me for my math skills.”
I laughed. “Shouldn’t I be the one to say that?” I asked.
“Oh, yeah, right. The truth is, I just keep you around because you’re a really good kisser,” she said. “So promise you’ll keep doing that, or I’ll have to do something drastic like fail math tests.”
“You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
I wasn’t sure if this was what boyfriends and girlfriends did, but the words rolled out of my mouth so naturally.
“Of course not. Hey, can I tell you another secret?” she asked.
She breathed heavily into in the phone like something sat on her chest and she was trying to get air in. My heart stopped. Her smile was gone. And even though I couldn’t see her, I knew the sadness and shadow had taken over.
“I don’t know why I made up Krista’s List, because I’m too scared to do any of it.” She let out a big exhale. “Phew. That felt good to admit.”
I thought it was her parents who were scared to let her out. I never guessed she was, too. She seemed so brave, like Katniss.
“What about talking in court and bungee jumping and going on trips?”
“Well, I talk a big game. I am working on a speech, but I don’t know if I’ll read it. And trips? I doubt I’ll even go away to college. The University of Richmond is right here, and if I stay close, it’ll make my parents happy.” She sighed. “Okay, enough of me. It’s your turn to tell me a secret. A real one.”
Just like that spill my secrets? Boyfriend or not, you can’t just ask someone to do that like you’re asking which movie they want to see on Friday. Plus, I had so many, which would I choose?
I thought about my List of Ten and the last ten years of my life since the diagnosis. There were so many things. I took a breath, then let it out. My neck twitched. My hand squeezed together. Another inhale and exhale. Neck twitch. Hand squeeze. Repeat. I wanted to do the sequence ten times.
“Troy? You don’t have to answer.”
“No. It’s fine. Here goes. I used to see a psychiatrist. When I was younger. After my mom left.” Inhale. Exhale. Neck twitch. Hand squeeze. Did I ever tell her Mom left? “Dr. Hadley Quentin, but he was so clueless, I called him Hardly Qualified.”
She laughed. “Hardly Qualified, I like that.”
“He was the one who suggested the counting to ten and breathing. I blame him for my number ten obsession,” I whispered. The invisible hand creeped toward my chest.
The silence was heavy. Was that too much? Did she think I was a psycho and now she’d break up with me? My biggest achievement in life was being someone’s boyfriend for eight days. At least it was an even number.
“I saw one, too,” she said. “I blamed myself for what happened to Krista. And before you tell me that’s stupid and I was just a kid, I know all that. In my head I know it, but the heart doesn’t heal as quickly.”
“The only smart thing HQ ever told me was to acknowledge what I felt. No one can take your feelings away, but some people can teach you how to live with them.” HQ wasn’t a complete idiot.
There we were, two messed up people. Neighborhoods away. Experiences completely opposite, but somehow we connected. I listened to her breathe, and a new fantasy started to form. Khory and I stayed together. She made me forget to count. And we both lived happily ever after. The most important part being lived. Could it come true?
. . . . . . . . . .
Was an arranged dinner between your parents and your girlfriend’s parents a common event or just a necessity when one set of parents suffered the loss of a child and desperately held on to the other?
Of course, Dad and Terri understood why the Prices would be overprotective. Not only did they remember what happened to Krista, they had also helped in the search for her. Everyone did. Terri told me there was nothing worse than losing a child. A sharp pain went through my chest. I didn’t want them to go through that, but I wasn’t completely sure my fantasy of happily ever after with Khory would save me.
I stared at the clock. Two hours left. I focused my energy on neck twitches, face scrunches, hand squeezes, and getting just the right feel of the carpet on my fingertips until that no longer satisfied them and I moved to the hardwood floor.
“Calm down, Troy. Everything will be fine,” Terri said. “Why don’t you put that nervous energy to work and dust the family room?”
Not what I had in mind, but any distraction would save me from tearing a ligament in my neck and spending dinner in the emergency room. So I kind of straightened up the family room, put Jude’s toys in the toy box, and fixed the pillows on the couch. Then I swiped a damp rag over everything horizontal. One hour and forty minutes left.
I took a shower and let hot water pound my neck and back and soothe my muscles. I went to my room and spent more time than I’d like to admit on my clothing choice. Of course, Mr. and Mrs. Price had met me a few times already, but tonight was the make-or-break of meetings. The one to decide if Khory could come to my house. The one Khory and I called the final answer.
“So, Captain and Officer Hayes, why should we let our daughter go to your house after school and on weekends. Why can we trust you to keep her safe?”
“Uh, hello, we’re cops? We protect and serve. We have guns. How are those for reasons?”
“Yes, yes! She can go to your house any time. She can even spend the night.”
Ha! That was a fantasy I didn’t dare dream. But, just in case Khory was allowed to see my room, I made sure it was neat. The books were on the shelves neatly organized by author, and my clothes were in the drawers and not sticking out. I even took out my trash and had time to change my shirt again, this time to a blue button-down one, before the doorbell rang.
Terri got to it two seconds before I did and waved me back so that she could open the door.
“Hi. I’m Terri, please come in.”
Khory was so pretty I felt like an astronaut in space. Terri nudged me. I came back to Earth and moved out of the way.
“Thank you for inviting us tonight,” Mrs. Price said. “I’m Helen, this is my husband, Hank, and our daughter, Khory.”
“Nice to meet you. Clark, Troy’s dad is finishing up Jude’s bath. He’s our eleven-month-old.”
Khory and I followed them to the kitchen. “Excited?” I whispered in her ear.
“Freaking out,” she admitted. “I hope my parents don’t say anything embarrassing.”
I actually expected Terri to swing the door open and greet them with “what a relief it is to meet you. We never thought Troy would have a girlfriend, and to be honest, we thought he was making you all up.” Understandable, but still, it was a thought better kept to herself.
Dad came down the hallway with Jude bathed and in pajamas. I took him so Dad could do adult stuff like handshaking and drink offering. And when everyone met and we all had drinks, we went to the family room so Terri could cook and talk at the same time.
Khory and I sat on the floor with Jude, a toy rocket, and blocks. He smiled at her and held out a block.
“I told you she was pretty,” I said to Jude.
Khory turned red. She took two blocks and tapped them together. Jude smiled, laughed, and held out the fourth block.
I leaned back and studied them. Jude scooted to her and maneuvered himself onto her lap. He obviously loved her as much as I did. And Khory was a natural. Talking baby talk and making stuffed animals dance. This was a match made in heaven.
“He really likes you. He doesn’t share his blocks with just anyone.” I bolted up. The best idea in the universe had just hit me like a shooting star. “Remember when I asked about a babysitter? Well, maybe you can be the one to babysit him.”
Khory looked up at me, eyes wide. The shadow had crept across her face.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
She took a deep breath and gave me a smile, but the twinkle she came in with was gone.
“I don’t know much about babysitting. I’m not good at taking care of anyone.”
Jude shoved a stuffed animal at her. He disagreed, but I knew this was about Krista and now wasn’t the tim
e to get into it.
We played with him, stacking blocks and watching the rocket blast off, and I caught pieces of our parents’ conversations.
“Tourette syndrome,” Dad said.
“Oh, yes, we are very sorry about your daughter,” Terri said.
I didn’t know if Khory heard, but adults talking about me when I was in the same room never ended well. That’s how I ended up with HQ.
Thankfully, Terri announced dinner before our parents got to the really embarrassing stories, although they could have been saving them for dessert conversation. I leaped up and scrambled to grab the seat between Khory and Dad, since they wouldn’t be offended if my hands invaded their space.
During dinner, the conversation moved to the mundane. Mr. Price’s job as a computer science professor and Mrs. Price’s as a stay-at-home mom.
“To watch over me,” Khory whispered.
Of course, they talked about Dad and Terri’s jobs. Where they worked, how long they’d been police officers, and how they felt about the way society viewed them. Dad and Terri were awesome. They answered all the questions and told a few stories about crimes gone wrong, like the guy who left his driver’s license in the car he had stolen. Mr. and Mrs. Price smiled, laughed, and even stopped eating. Who knew law enforcement could be so funny or that Dad was so entertaining?
Then Dad and Mr. Price turned to the topic of sports. Both loved baseball and the LA Dodgers, and war movies, but only if they portrayed actual events and weren’t heavy on the love story.
I put my hand on Khory’s leg. “Everyone’s having fun.”
. . . . . . . . . .
Khory and I cleared the table after dinner, left our parents in the dining room, and snuck out to the patio. The weather was on my side tonight, not cold, but chilly, so when we sat on the couch, Khory scooted close to me for warmth. I rubbed her hands between mine. I loved Richmond in March.
