The Romantics

by Leah Konen

  She and his mom both burst into giggles.

  Gael sighed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.

  His mom pursed her lips. “So what did you show her, then?”

  “Nothing.” Gael pushed past them, nonplussed.

  He didn’t want to talk about Sammy with them. He didn’t want his every move to be on display. Nothing was even happening between them, and yet his mom was already freaking out. Imagine if something did.

  And then imagine if it didn’t work out? The whole thing would be a total disaster, Gael was sure of it.

  It had been bad enough that his mom had become friendly with Anika. There would have been no surprise appearances at birthday dinners if he’d properly compartmentalized his life.

  He thought about Cara, how safe she was. How his parents didn’t even so much as know her name.

  Maybe it wasn’t so bad that Cara was the one he was going to see the movie with after all.

  clueless: part two

  “Any plans tonight, dude?” Danny asked at lunch on Friday.

  Gael almost choked on his turkey sandwich. He hadn’t had “plans” with any of the old group since everything had so suddenly gone down.

  Jenna didn’t wait for a response. “We’re going to a party at Amberleigh’s house. Apparently she’s, like, trying to befriend the rest of the band now”—Jenna rolled her eyes—“whatever, but it sounds like her parents’ house is sick, and they’re chill.” She raised a hand to stop any objection he might have. “Don’t worry. Anika and Mason aren’t going.”

  Gael swallowed and took a sip of Dr Pepper. “I can’t. I have . . . err . . . plans.”

  The shocked look on both Danny’s and Jenna’s faces was insulting, to say the least.

  “I do have other friends, you know.”

  They both laughed at that.

  “I do,” Gael asserted. “It wasn’t a joke.”

  “I know, I know,” Danny said. “But the way you said it was funny. So what are you doing?”

  Jenna smirked, then turned to Danny, delighted. “He’s going out with a girl.”

  Gael shook his head. “How in the world—”

  She ticked off the points on her fingers. “Your face just got red. You’re acting totally weird about your quote-unquote plans. And I hate to break it to you, but we pretty much know all your friends. At least the ones good enough to have plans with.”

  “Wait,” Danny said. “Is it your sister’s babysitter?”

  And then Gael did choke on his sandwich.

  (That one wasn’t even me, I’ll have you know.)

  Danny patted him on the back, but Gael held up his hand to stop him. “I’m fine.” He drank the rest of the Dr Pepper. “But where did you get that idea?”

  “Mason says she’s hot,” Danny said. Jenna immediately smacked him on the arm.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Why are you talking about other girls being hot?” She pouted.

  “So I’m not allowed to ever think another girl is hot again?”

  “Guys,” Gael said, interrupting them. “It’s not her. It’s this girl I met on my birthday, and her name is Cara, and we’re not even dating, okay? We’re just friends.”

  Jenna winked. “Whatever you say.”

  Gael sighed.

  They were just friends, though maybe they wouldn’t be much longer. November was less than a week away, which was great, because he really liked Cara. She was cool and pretty and in college, and yet somehow she still thought he was cool enough to spend time with.

  She was the perfect girl.

  She was just what he needed.

  “Well, we’re happy for you, Gael,” Jenna said genuinely.

  And he was happy, too.

  Totally happy.

  Pharrell-level happy.

  And their pseudo-date at the movies was going to be great.

  what would wes anderson do?

  The movie was good. Really good. Like Rushmore and The Grand Budapest Hotel kind of good.

  And the date or nondate or whatever it was—well, that was good, too.

  Even though Gael and Cara hadn’t seen each other or spoken much since Sunday, suddenly it felt like all was back on track, like on Monday maybe Cara really had just had a last-minute group project, like maybe she did want to give it a shot with him come November.

  In the theater, as the playful music and too-bright colors had splashed across the screen, things had felt anything but friendly. Call him crazy, but Gael could have sworn that Cara had come on to him.

  A few pieces of evidence supported his hypothesis:

  First, when he’d picked her up at her dorm, she’d leaned right across the seats and kissed him on the cheek. It wasn’t the kind of thing you just did to anyone. She wasn’t French. Or even fake French, like Sammy.

  Second, unlike at the tiny Varsity Theater, the seats in the theater in nearby Durham were the kind that had the armrest that you could flip up for ultimate make-out access (which he and Anika had done more than once). The arm had been up when they had sat down, but Cara made no move whatsoever to put it back. What’s more, when Gael reached for it, she stopped him, claiming having it down would be too cramped.

  Third, in the concession line, she’d suggested they share a large Cherry Coke. Sure, this was economically sound, but it had emotional meaning, too, no? Certainly it did. Gael would never think of sharing a Coke with Mason. The only person he ever shared with had been Anika—and Piper, of course, but she was his sister.

  Finally, once the film started, and with each passing minute, Cara had scooted a little bit closer. At the beginning, she was all coy, legs pointed away, chin resting on her hand. But as the film progressed, as the symmetrical, shadow-box sets rolled into drawn-out tracking shots and iconic patterns, Cara kept inching closer and closer. First it was the way her knees were pointed. Then her Birks followed, landing just inches from his Chucks. Then, and he wasn’t even sure how she did it because it’s not like she was getting up and moving around or anything, but all of a sudden, her thigh was brushing his. They were both wearing jeans, so maybe she didn’t notice.

  But then again, maybe she did.

  Their arms still weren’t touching, and yet they too seemed to be moving closer together, like they had minds of their own.

  A chase scene ensued, and Gael wondered how it would go if this were a movie about his life. Where would it begin? With Anika dumping him? Or with him meeting Cara?

  Cara, his fun-loving, adorable costar.

  Cara, with whom he’d shared a perfect movie Meet Cute.

  Christ, he was starting to think in rom-com terms because of Sammy.

  He tried to focus. If this were a Wes Anderson movie, how would it go?

  Certainly, Wes wouldn’t have him pass up a vivacious, beautiful girl who stole hot sauce and liked to hike and was just generally awesome? Just because he was a little less than 100 percent sure she was the one for him? That was silly.

  Who said you had to be 100 percent, anyway? He’d felt that way with Anika, and look how that had turned out. Wasn’t romance about taking a little leap?

  (Sure it is. There are leaps of faith. Leaps into the great unknown. But you are certainly not supposed to “leap” when you’re just not that into the person you’re leaping for.)

  Gael leaned a little closer, let their elbows just barely touch.

  And yet, he couldn’t help but think of what Sammy would say—Wes Anderson, so formulaic. He couldn’t help but see her eye roll, that way she had of putting her hands on her hips when she wanted to make a point.

  And that’s why he was glad he was here with Cara, he decided.

  He turned to her, caught a hint of a smile.

  She may not be a movie buff, but on the upside, she definitely wouldn’t tear it apart.

  red light, green light

  Gael couldn’t stop talking about the movie the entire drive back to Chapel Hill.

  “Seriously, though, it was
amazing,” he raved. “What did you think? As good as James Cameron?”

  “Well, nothing’s as good as James Cameron.”

  He laughed, but he cringed a little inside because he knew she was at least partially serious. “Okay, but really?”

  “Honestly?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Honestly.”

  “It was kind of weird,” she said.

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “Wes is kind of weird. But did you like it?” He swore that she looked like she was enjoying it a little bit, at least, in the theater.

  Cara shrugged. “I mean, I liked being there with you.”

  Gael took a quick breath. “You didn’t like anything about it?”

  Cara bit her lip, thinking it over. “The girl had cool clothes, I guess.”

  Gael took a left onto Franklin and decided to try a new tactic. “So what did you dislike about it?”

  Cara’s eyes flitted out the window, and she fooled with the vents, flipping them back and forth. “It was just weird, like I said.”

  “That’s all?” he asked.

  Cara stopped messing with the vents and whipped her head around. “Yeah. And can we talk about something else, please?”

  Gael nodded, trying not to be disappointed. He knew she wouldn’t appreciate the movie like he would, he’d known she wouldn’t dissect it like Sammy would, but he couldn’t help wishing she had something more to say.

  (I watched as Gael proceeded to do what any good Romantic would do: He ignored his disappointment. Cara, in turn, being the Serial Monogamist she was, tamped down her frustration.)

  “Should we get something to eat?” he asked, changing the subject. “You like Spanky’s?”

  “I love Spanky’s,” Cara said.

  At least they had that in common, Gael thought. His relief at the notion was a little too great.

  They parked behind Cosmic.

  Gael checked his watch as they walked down the alleyway that bordered the dingy Mexican joint. Spanky’s was closing soon.

  “Hey, if they won’t seat us this late,” he said. “There’s always nachos.”

  “Yes,” Cara smiled. “We’ll always have nachos.”

  He laughed. “You sound like Rick from Casablanca.”

  “Huh?” she asked.

  “Never mind.”

  They crossed at the light, but a student on a bike breezed through the red. Instinctively, Gael reached out to stop Cara from walking forward.

  (I cursed myself for not seeing the biker coming, for allowing them to have this sweet, movie-like moment.)

  “You have to be careful,” Gael said. “So many assholes on bikes.”

  “Thanks,” Cara said, and then she cocked her head toward his. “You never know, some crazy girl might even hit you as she swerves away from a cute animal.”

  Gael laughed. “You don’t do anything the normal way, do you?”

  “Don’t I?” Cara slowed her gait, looked up at him.

  He shook his head no. “It’s not a very regular way to make friends, running them down in the road.”

  “No,” she said. “I guess it’s not.” She didn’t drop his gaze.

  But he did, before anything else could happen, because it was October still.

  “Come on, let’s see if Spanky’s will take us,” he said.

  The restaurant was fairly empty. A few couples looked like they were finishing up their meals, plus a few people were at the bar, girls in their Friday-night heels and frat boys in polos that barely covered their beer bellies.

  “Are you still seating people?” Gael asked the hostess.

  “We sure are,” the girl said with a bit of a forced smile. “Come on.”

  She seated them at the corner window, overlooking Franklin.

  Gael shut the menu immediately. “No need to look,” he said. “This is my favorite restaurant.”

  “I know,” Cara said matter-of-factly. “You told me the night I met you.”

  Gael smiled. Maybe it hadn’t all been him, that first night, he thought. Maybe even before he’d kissed her, she’d felt something, too.

  “You sure know how to make a guy feel special, Cara Thompson.”

  And the words were ridiculous—she laughed and so did he. But the sentiment, at least, was real.

  The upstairs corner table of Spanky’s was Gael’s favorite for a reason. A mass of windows looked out on the street below, peppered with students bustling—and occasionally stumbling—by. The upstairs was also perfectly in line with the swinging stoplights at the intersection of Franklin and Columbia, something Gael always loved to watch.

  “Isn’t it crazy how huge traffic lights are when you see them up close?” Gael asked.

  (I gave her a little nudge. Reminded her that in past relationships she hadn’t felt comfortable disagreeing with her boyfriend.)

  Cara stopped eating and dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “They don’t really look all that big to me.”

  Gael sighed. They did look big and he loved how it made him feel small. He had the tiniest thought: What would Sammy have said? He quickly pushed it away.

  “You have a little something right here.” He motioned to the corner of his mouth.

  Cara dabbed again with her napkin.

  “Other side.”

  She tried again.

  “Lower.”

  She pushed it at him. “Here, you do it.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Gael saw the light turn green, and he leaned across the table and dabbed at the bit of sauce just to the left of her bottom lip.

  (Their dinner was quickly turning into a full-fledged rom-com. I had to stop it.)

  The light turned red, and he handed her the napkin again, leaning back in his chair.

  Gael had ordered a steak sandwich, but despite his insistence that it was the best thing on the menu, Cara had chosen a pasta that she was picking at slowly.

  “You don’t like it?”

  She shrugged. “It’s a little bland.”

  (I may have tricked the chef into forgetting all the seasoning. Small victories, amirite?)

  “I told you to get the steak sandwich,” Gael muttered under his breath.

  “What?” Cara asked.

  “Never mind,” he said.

  Gael looked again at the traffic light and tried to gather his thoughts. If this were a movie (not a Wes Anderson movie, Gael thought, because Wes would find the whole idea very trite, but instead one of the movies that Sammy would probably like), the big giant traffic light staring them in the face as they ate their dinner would be a metaphor for their relationship. Like the game you used to play when you were a kid. Green light, go. Red light, stop.

  He had to stop thinking about the whole world as if it were a movie.

  The light turned green again, and his eyes drifted back to Cara, who was slurping sweet tea like her life depended on it, probably because she didn’t like her pasta. In some ways, she was perfect. So what if she didn’t like good movies? So what if she didn’t understand that there was one thing and one thing only you should order at Spanky’s? So what if she had a serious lack of childlike wonder when it came to traffic lights, which was especially strange for someone who regularly wore tie-dye shirts? Did it really matter?

  And yet Gael couldn’t help but think about what Sammy had said, about both of them being fresh out of relationships, about jumping in too fast.

  The light turned yellow, and Gael overheard the conversation of the two girls at the next table, one of them going on about a roommate of hers who “can never be alone” and “just latches herself onto the first guy she stumbles across,” which was particularly apt because Cara had literally stumbled across him. He marveled at the irony that “Fools Rush In” was playing from the speakers.

  Gael was scared of being hurt again, stepping out into the great unknown that was romance. He was scared of being wrong.

  He wondered what would happen if he started dating Cara, how it would end. If he would be hurt again.


  The light turned red.

  (I gave him a bit of a nudge, pushed him onto the edge of a decision.)

  “So do you still talk to your ex at all?” he asked.

  The question caught Cara off guard. She choked a little on her sweet tea, but then instantly cleared her throat, composing herself.

  “No,” she said. “Why?”

  “I was just wondering,” Gael said. “I mean, it wasn’t that long ago, right?”

  Cara shook her head. “It was a couple of weeks before I met you.”

  “Do you still have feelings for him?” Gael asked. “How long were you together again?”

  “Just four months,” she said.

  Gael had developed pretty intense feelings in less time than that. She seemed to sense his hesitation at her evasiveness.

  “And to answer your question, no, I don’t have feelings for him.”

  He nodded, but looked down at his mostly eaten sandwich.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He popped a fry in his mouth and ate it quickly.

  “Hey,” she said again.

  Gael looked up.

  She didn’t drop his gaze as she said the words. “You don’t have to worry about him,” she said.

  And just like that, the light turned green.

  cool hand fluke

  As Gael and Cara grabbed their coats, Gael heard an unmistakable voice.

  “But it says you’re open until ten. It says right there on the door.”

  Gael turned to see Anika, standing with Mason, just inside the restaurant door. The hostess’s back was to them, but Gael could hear the edge in her voice. “We don’t seat people past nine thirty, okay?”

  Anika sighed loudly. “What if we promise to be fast?”

  Gael had always thought Anika’s gumption was amazing, but right then, it just seemed kind of rude.

  (That’s what happens when you people put your partners on pedestals. The fall is just that much greater.)

  “Come on,” Mason said. “Let’s go somewhere that will take our money.”

  Cara turned to Gael and rolled her eyes, the kind of look that says, Who does this girl think she is? Can she get out of the way so we can get out the door?