by Carrie Mac
It was growing dark as they made their way back to the house and knocked on the front door. Lucy barked on the other side, only settling when Jeremy let them in.
“In the kitchen,” he said, and then headed there himself.
Royce was standing at the oven, his cane leaning on the counter beside him. He slipped his hands into a pair of oven mitts before removing a tray of hot biscuits from the oven.
“Sit,” he said as he brought the tray to a small table under a window overlooking the river, almost black in the dusk. “I have borscht, with sour cream to put on top. And great big slabs of butter and chunks of nice sharp cheese for the biscuits. Heavenly, if I do say so myself.”
Not surprisingly, Jeremy didn’t say much while they ate, leaving all the talking to Royce, who was obviously the more social of the two. Over dinner, he told them how he and Jeremy had met back in the ’60s when Jeremy had come to London to intern at the movie studio where Royce had already worked on three of Stanley Kubrick’s movies, as a production assistant at first, and then as assistant director.
“Jeremy was a scenic artist. Doing the sets.” He pointed to an arrangement of framed art hanging on the wall above the table. “He did those, too. A very talented man indeed, my Jeremy.”
“It’s an honour to meet you guys,” Wade said. “Honestly. I have a million questions.”
“Ask away. And if not today, then you’re welcome to come back.” Royce coughed, and then struggled to catch his breath. “Anytime. Really. I love company.”
“You want your oxygen?” Jeremy grumbled, his mouth full of biscuit.
“No, ta.” Royce sat back, a hand on his chest. “I’m good.”
Junie studied the men’s faces while Jeremy scrutinized Royce, clearly not believing him. She was curious about them both, and the life they lived there at the edge of the river, in such an unlikely little town. She would like to come back, she thought. And if Wade’s awed expression was anything to go by, he was thinking the same thing.
Jeremy got up from the table and came back with a bottle of wine. “Helps with the breathing, sometimes,” he said by way of explanation.
Royce smiled as Jeremy poured him a glass of the crimson liquid. “Especially if it’s a good vintage.”
Without asking, Jeremy got two more wine glasses, filled them a quarter full and set one each in front of Wade and Junie.
“Jeremy,” Royce scolded, “they’re children.”
“Old enough to drive,” Jeremy said as he filled his own glass nearly to the brim. “Old enough to drink responsibly. I only gave them a wee bit. No harm.”
“And I won’t even finish it, but thank you.” Wade raised his glass, readying for a toast. Junie marvelled at his ease, at his smooth ability to go along with whatever came at him. If it was possible, he was even more attractive to her now than he had been just hours earlier. “To Jeremy, and Royce. And Lucy—” Here he bobbed his glass in her direction, where she lay on a dog bed by the back door. “Thank you for your hospitality and mad skills with a wrench. Cheers.” They all clinked glasses.
“Slainte!” Royce said and took a swig. Jeremy took a sip too, and so did Wade.
Junie brought the glass to her lips and took the tiniest of sips. She’d tried red wine before, but hadn’t liked it. She fully expected not to like it now, either. But maybe it was the kind of wine, or the day in general, but it was lovely. Tasted like smoked cherries, and warmed her throat as it went down.
“Cheers!” she said. Her cheeks felt warm. And her belly full with the fragrant soup and warm biscuits. She grinned. She couldn’t help it. This Very First Date had been nothing like she’d expected. And yet it had been perfect. Absolutely perfect.
TEN
It was dark by the time they left, the lights streaking by at the highway exits as they drove back to the city. Junie and Wade talked about Jeremy and Royce almost all the way home. Sharing their assumptions that they were gay, trying to figure out how they’d got from London to Chilliwack, what made Royce so frail. Wade, the child of doctors, suggested congestive heart failure, while Junie placed her bet on AIDS. Then it seemed suddenly very sad to be discussing his health so lightly, and Junie said so, so they changed the subject. Wade talked about his English term project due at the end of the school year, a short biopic of Virginia Woolf.
“You’re my muse now,” he said as they pulled off the highway, back in the city. “I didn’t even know that I was looking for one until today. But you’re it. Definitely.”
Junie didn’t know what to say. She loved the idea of being his muse but was too shy to say so. “But I don’t look anything like Virginia Woolf,” she said instead, thinking of the poster in her English classroom, the dour-looking woman with the horsey face and plain hair.
“No, you’re far, far more beautiful than she was.”
Junie leaned forward and gasped silently, the wind knocked out of her by what he’d just said. She was thankful for the dark covering her reaction.
“You are,” Wade continued, a hint of nerves in his voice now. “She was gangly and plain, with those buggy, uneven eyes.”
But Junie was gangly and plain too. Although her eyes were just fine. Still, she couldn’t think of anything to say. Not one thing.
Sensing her unease, Wade babbled on, getting more and more nervous himself, judging by how fast he was talking, and how much.
“She was mentally ill. Definitely. A genius. But tortured. Did you know that on the day she died she wrote a note to her husband, and one to her sister, too? Her sister’s name was Vanessa. I was thinking I could use Tabitha as Vanessa, if you think she’d go along with it. They were really close. Vanessa and Virginia, I mean. I don’t know why I want to do Virginia Woolf. I mean, she’s on the list that Mrs. Hooper put up of writers we could choose, but I totally thought I was going to do Jack Kerouac. You know, On The Road. Which has got to be one of the best books ever.”
Junie knew she should try to say something, if only to knock him out of his nervous babbling. She opened her mouth. Closed it. Tried again.
“All I know about Virginia Woolf is that she killed herself.” That would do. And it did. Wade shut up. “But I didn’t even know how until you told me.”
“So you’ll do it?” Wade turned to her in the dark. They passed a streetlight. Then another. She could see him grinning at her. “You’ll be my Virginia Woolf?”
“Wade,” Junie said, quite seriously amazed at herself, “I’d pretty much be your anything.”
Silence.
Junie’s gut churned with regret.
Seconds dragged themselves by, like war casualties. They came to a red light. Wade slowed the van to a stop. It was a bright intersection, not far from their school. Junie was afraid to look at him. She’d blown it. Too much. Too soon.
But then Wade reached for her hand, took it gently in his and turned it over. He kissed it. A sweet, slow kiss on the palm of her hand, which seemed so much more intimate than if he’d kissed her anywhere else, even her lips. That one kiss set off a cascade of delicious shocks that zinged up her arm and radiated through her whole body.
“Perfect,” Wade said. “Perfect.”
As far as Very First Dates go, Junie couldn’t think how it could have been any better. It had been perfect. Absolutely perfect.
Until Wade turned onto her street, and Junie saw her house. Her real house. With the blue light of the television shimmering behind the living room curtains, the rest of the house dark. It was almost nine. She’d gone several hours without thinking about home. About her mother. Her father and That Woman. And the big fat lie she’d told Wade.
She should tell him. Right now. Junie could practically hear Tabitha ordering her to get Wade to stop at her real house. The house of doom and decay. The house of a compulsive hoarder and superior slob. The house so full of junk and crap that you had to make your way from room to room along narrow trails burrowed out of the heaps of debris, like a rat living in the city dump.
She couldn
’t tell him. Not yet. Not after such a perfect Very First Date.
Wade stopped the van in front of Tabitha’s house. The living room was brightly lit behind the curtains. Mrs. D. didn’t allow TV in the living room. She said it had nothing to do with living. It was down in the basement. But the basement windows were dark. Junie glanced up. The light in Tabitha’s room was on. The curtains parted, and there was Mrs. D., looking out for just a moment before tugging the curtains closed again.
“Making sure we’re not making out,” Wade blurted into the dark.
Junie sucked in her breath. “Guess so.” She put her hand on the door handle, all of a sudden desperate to get out of the van. But she didn’t know how to exactly end the date, so she just sat there. She wanted to make out with him. Sure she did. But she thought if she did, she might shatter into a million pieces of crush and never be put back together again. Considering the shock of just the kiss on the palm of her hand, she doubted that she was ready for his tongue down her throat. Her face flushed at the thought.
She turned the door handle. “I should go.”
“Wait.” Wade threw off his seatbelt. “Let me.”
Junie watched him get out and come around to her side of the van. She felt like a girl out of the ’50s, out of one of Wade’s beloved black-and-white films, as though she should be wearing bobby socks and a poodle skirt. She didn’t know guys still did that stuff—hold doors, stand up when girls came into the room. But then Wade was cut from a different cloth than most guys. Which was why she liked him.
He opened the door and offered her a hand. “Virginia.” She took his hand and let him help her down. “It has been a pleasure.”
“I had a really good time too.” Junie felt an okey-dokey moment coming on. As though she might burst into a fit of giggles, or trip on the step up to the walk. Wade kept holding her hand as they walked up to the front door.
Junie desperately hoped that Tabitha had told Mrs. D. to expect Junie to come “home” that night. The porch light was on. Junie glanced at her watch. It was five minutes after nine. She was supposed to be at her own home five minutes ago. She heard the phone ring inside. That would be her mom, looking for her.
“I’d better get inside.” Junie took her hand back, but then wasn’t sure what to do with it. She dropped it to her side, but then thought better of that and put it on the door handle. “It’s after nine.”
“Okay. Thanks for coming with me.” Wade stepped backwards, nearly toppling off the stoop. Junie laughed, and immediately felt bad for doing so. Wade bowed. “And for tonight’s finale . . .” He took a step forward and kissed Junie on the lips. It lasted long enough that Junie blinked several times, surprised. Wade’s eyes were closed. And then he pulled away, eyes wide open. “See ya.”
And he sprinted back to his van, got in and drove away. Just like that.
Junie turned in a dazed little circle. Her skin felt loose, as if it might slide off and pool around her ankles. Her mouth felt tingly. She put her fingers to her lips, wondering if they would feel any different now.
The door opened, and Mrs. D. appraised her with a stern look.
“Your mother is looking for you.”
“Can I come in?” Junie heard Tabitha thundering down the stairs. “Just for a minute.”
Mrs. D. opened the door wider. “If you call your mother.”
“I saw!” Tabitha screeched. She grabbed Junie and yanked her inside. “Oh my God, I saw! He kissed you!”
Mrs. D. handed Junie the phone. “Call your mother. Now.”
Her mother wanted Junie home immediately. Tabitha walked her there so Junie could tell her the short version of her Very First Date along the way. They said goodbye, and Junie went inside, still floating from everything that had happened. She found her mom in the living room, of course, where no doubt she’d been all day.
“I am in love,” she announced, sliding to the floor at her mother’s feet. “I am absolutely in love.”
“You had a good time, then,” her mother said with a chuckle as she muted the Shopping Channel. The woman selling the Miracle Scissors fell silent, but still her collagenplumped lips kept flapping.
“I had a great time.” Junie and Tabitha had decided not to tell either of their moms about Jeremy and Royce. Neither of them would be okay with Junie having spent several hours at a strange house in the middle of nowhere with strange men. Her mom might not let her see Wade again. And there would be a next time. Junie could feel it in her bones. “The best time ever, actually.”
“I’m glad.” Junie could hear something else in her mother’s voice. A coolness that shouldn’t have been there, considering.
“You could be a little more excited for me, Mom.” Junie stood up. She kicked off her boots and picked one up in each hand. If she left them down there, there was no telling if she’d ever find them again.
That was when she realized that she was wearing the same dress that she’d accused her mom of losing.
“I found it,” Junie said as a sheepish lump formed in her throat. “Just before I left.”
“Clearly.”
Junie wished that she wanted to apologize to her mom. But she didn’t. She really didn’t. But she should. Even if she didn’t want to. “I’m sorry.”
“Mm-hmm.” Her mom turned her eyes back to the TV.
Junie had apologized, but it hadn’t sounded genuine. Not at all. She didn’t blame her mom for brushing it off.
“I am sorry.” That was better. “I jumped to conclusions. When, really, I’d brought it upstairs this morning, when I brushed my teeth.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me that this afternoon, when you came home?”
Junie just stood there, feeling like an ass.
“It would’ve been nice to know. Instead of sitting here all this time, thinking that I’d ruined your date.”
“You didn’t ruin it.”
“But I thought I had.”
Junie felt the elation of the day slip away, and in its place came the steady anxiety she usually felt. Her constant undercurrent of unease. Her miserable, exhausting normal. “That was crappy of me. Sorry.”
“Apology accepted.” Her mother looked as though she was about to cry. Great. “And I’m sorry too. For being the kind of mom you feel the need to lie to.”
If she only knew. Junie was pretty sure that she’d just shrunk a few inches. She looked down at the white dress, a pink cowboy boot in each hand. It felt stupid all of a sudden. Like she’d been trying too hard, and Wade knew it. The whole world knew it. Like she should just forget about being anyone’s “anything” and go back to being a liar. It was what she was best at, after all.
Junie pursed her lips shut, trapping all of the ugly things she could say to her mother. Leave it to her to wreck Junie’s Very First Date. Instead, and wisely, she pinched out an icy “Good night” and then went upstairs to bed.
Junie woke up the next day to the sound of the phone ringing. Her mom never answered it, so Junie leapt out of bed and grabbed the one in the hall.
“Better get over here,” Tabitha said. “Lover-boy just called and left a message saying that he’s going to stop by on his way to school to see if you want a ride.”
“Crap!” Junie knocked herself on the forehead with the phone. “I’ll be right there.”
“This has got to stop, Junie.” Junie could practically hear Tabitha shaking her head with disapproval. “Really.” And then she hung up.
Junie got dressed as fast as she could, washed her face and brushed her teeth, grabbed her backpack and slammed out the front door without so much as a “good morning” or “goodbye” to her mother.
The phone was ringing when Junie walked into Tabitha’s house, breathless. Mrs. D. handed it to her. “Your mother.”
“Good morning, Juniper.”
“Sorry, Mom. I was in a rush.”
“That’s no excuse.” Her mother sighed. “I’m of half a mind to make you come back here and try that again, with manners this
time.”
“I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”
“I certainly hope not. You’re getting pretty stroppy, young lady. Maybe this Wade business is going to your head.”
Oh how Junie wanted to tell her that she was the root of all of this. But there was no time. Outside, a horn honked. “That’s Victor, I’ve got to go.”
“Who’s Victor? I thought we were all about Wade?”
Not we. Not ever we when it came to her and her mother. Junie bit her lip. Stay civil. Get off the phone.
“Victor is what he calls his van. Victor Van Go-Go. Get it?”
“That’s cute.” Her mother laughed. “I’m looking forward to meeting this Wade character.”
Not on your life. Not a chance in hell. Never in a million years. Hell would have to freeze, thaw and freeze again several times before that would happen.
“Gotta go, Mom. That’s my ride.” Junie hung up.
Mrs. D. and Tabitha stared at her, both of them with their arms crossed and frowning.
“I know, I know.”
But she didn’t know. Didn’t know how to get out of it. Didn’t know how to fix her mom. Didn’t know how to bring her dad back home. Didn’t know how to act around Wade. Didn’t know what to do next, about anything at all.
ELEVEN
One thing was for sure, Junie thought: life was better when you were in love. Everything was shinier. Prettier. Easier. At least some things were, anyway. Junie’s lie was still dull and ugly and difficult. She worked hard at hiding it, like a big nasty zit.
Two whole weeks went by with the new normal: starting the day at Tabitha’s, getting dropped off at Tabitha’s, letting the phone go to voice mail whenever Wade called. The façade was so well maintained that it started to feel real. As though Junie could live like that forever.
And that wouldn’t have been so bad. She and Wade were an acknowledged item now. Like Ollie and Lulu. As a result, Junie’s status at school had skyrocketed. To be a part of a couple was a big deal. And to be Wade’s girlfriend was an even bigger deal. Not that he was the coolest guy in school in the traditional sense. He didn’t play sports or host kegger parties or drive a hot car or strut around being the reigning class asshole. But he was the guy that the girls actually liked. Smart and artistic. Funny. And handsome. There was very clearly something about him, a charisma that no one could resist. Even the guys wanted to be his friend. Even the ones who made misanthropy a part of their image, along with death metal and a matching pallor.
