Reflexively, I covered my ears. “Nope. Nope. I swear if you finish that sentence I will kick you in the balls, Elliot Petropoulos. Not everyone does that.”
Elliot didn’t answer, just picked up his book and continued reading.
“Do they?” I asked weakly.
He turned his head to look at me. “Yes. They do.”
I was silent for a moment while I digested that. “So… you do that, too?”
The flush crawling up his neck betrayed his embarrassment, but after a few seconds, he nodded.
“A lot?” I asked, genuinely curious.
“I suppose that depends on your definition of ‘a lot.’ I’m a fifteen-year-old guy with an awesome imagination. That should pretty much answer your question.”
I felt like we’d discovered a new hallway door leading into a new room, which contained a new everything. “What do you think about? When you do that, I mean.”
My heart was a jackhammer beneath my ribs.
“Kissing. Touching. Sex. Parts I don’t have and things people do with them,” he added with a wiggle of his brows. I rolled my eyes. “Hands. Hair. Legs. Dragons. Books. Mouths. Words… lips…” He trailed off and buried his nose in his book again.
“Wow,” I said. “Did you say dragons?”
He shrugged but didn’t look at me again. I eyed him curiously. The mention of books and words and lips had not escaped my attention.
“Like I said,” he mumbled into the pages, “I have an awesome imagination.”
now
saturday, october 14
“
O
kay, is it possible I’m beginning to appreciate my scrubs?” I groan.
Sean pokes his head into the bedroom. “What’s the problem, babe?”
“Nothing,” I say, throwing another shirt onto the pile of rejects on the bed. “It’s just – I haven’t seen some of these people in forever. And we’re having a picnic. I need to look all cute and frolicky because I never get to wear actual clothes. I think I’ve forgotten how to dress.”
“I thought you got dressed up for your dinner last week with him?”
“I don’t just mean Elliot.”
Sean’s playful smirk tells me he thinks I’m full of shit, and it makes me laugh but then immediately gives me pause. It actually isn’t about looking cute and frolicky for Elliot; he’s seen me in everything from formal wear to frumpy overalls to nothing at all. And maybe it’s just a chick thing – and explaining it makes it sound absurd – but I want to look cute for my girlfriends. But if Sean thinks I’m agonizing over what to wear for Elliot, shouldn’t that bother him, even a little?
Apparently not, because he ducks back out, returning to the basket of food he’s packing for the day. I love how much he loves to cook, especially because it is in direct proportion to how much I hate it.
I hear him mumble something quietly, and then Phoebe comes in, taking a leap and soaring onto the pile of clothes in the middle of the comforter.
“When are we going to the Bojangles garden?”
I plant a kiss on her forehead. “Botanical. And we’re leaving in…” I glance at the clock on the nightstand. “Oof, twenty minutes.”
“I like what you’re wearing,” she says, waving vaguely in my direction. “Daddy says it’s wasteful when I change clothes too often.”
There are moments I feel it’s my job to impart some sort of feminist wisdom to Phoebs, but, as usual, Sean’s way ahead of me.
Having lost interest in my fashion dilemma, she flops over dramatically. “I’m hungry.”
“Want me to get you something? There were some strawberries earlier.”
She wrinkles her nose. “No thanks, I’ll ask Daddy.”
She stands, just as Sean calls from the other room, having heard us, “I’ve got a banana you can eat, Applejack. All the strawberries are already packed up for the picnic.”
And before I get any more of her, Phoebe is already out the door and back in the other room. When I think about it, I’ve had maybe a half hour with her this entire week. I always tell myself that just having a Mom Presence is a big deal for her, but as we’ve just witnessed, am I even that? And does she need it? I half wonder whether what Sean mumbled to her before she came in was a reminder that she needs to make me feel welcome here, and to come say hi.
God, I’m being ridiculous. But really, Sean and Phoebe seem entirely self-sufficient as a little twosome. I never felt that way about me and Dad. We loved each other, of course, but without Mom we were both sort of lost, arms outstretched as we tried to fumble through each day.
For about the millionth time I wonder about Ashley, and what kind of wife she must have been to Sean, back during a time before he was the hot new artist in San Francisco, when he was still just a starving artist, marrying a woman on her way to MBA stardom in finance. I know Phoebe came before they’d planned to have kids, and when Ashley was still climbing the ladder. Was she ever home? Did Sean raise little Phoebe, hands-on every second until she started school, the way Mom raised me?
How would my life be different if Dad had been home more when I was little? How would it have been different if he died when I was ten, not Mom?
I feel sick at the thought, as if I’ve just wished for some alternate reality that would kill my father first. Guilt-stricken, I say a quiet “I didn’t mean it” to the air around me, wanting to take back whatever bad thing I might have just thrown out. Even though he’s already gone, too.
Sean and Phoebe entertain themselves with a game of I Spy during the short drive to the park. Sabrina and Dave are waiting for us with little Viv in a complicated stroller-ish contraption when we arrive. Sean, Dave, and the kids go into the park to find a good spot, while Sabrina waits for the others with me closer to the parking lot.
I watch the two men walk away, admiring them from behind.
“Those are some fine men,” I say, and then turn to find Sabrina watching me intensely. “What?”
“How’re you doing?” she says. “You look sexy today.”
I glance down at what I finally settled on for the unseasonably warm day: a white tank, cute cuffed jeans, and a chunky gold necklace. Having pulled my long hair up into a very intentionally and artfully messy bun, I suddenly wonder if I look like I’ve tried way too hard – I knew the necklace was too much. Sabrina is wearing old cutoffs and a nursing shirt. “Did I try too hard? I always worry that I’ve forgotten how to dress myself.”
“Nervous?”
I shake my head. “Excited.”
“Me too. I’ve never met him.”
“I meant I’m excited for a day off, you little enabler. But since you mention it, you’ve never met Nikki or Danny, either,” I remind her.
Sabrina laughs, stepping closer so she can put her arm around my shoulders. “I know you’ve known them since grade school, but I think we both know who I’m most curious about.”
I glance behind us, to where Sean and Dave have disappeared from view. “Sean seems zero percent weird about the Elliot thing.”
“Isn’t that good?”
I shrug. “Sure. But I still feel guilty for how much I’m thinking about Elliot and the past, then when I talk to Sean about it, he’s like – ‘It’s cool, babe, no big deal.’ But maybe it’s because I’m not being totally honest with him about how it feels to see Elliot? Though,” I add, thinking out loud, “Sean assumed right away that it was more than just catching up with an old friend when I brought it up, but it didn’t even really rankle him. Is that weird?”
Sabrina answers my babble with a helpless look. At least I’m not the only one who’s confused.
I groan. “I’m probably just overthinking it.”
“Oh, I’m sure you are.” I hear the twist in her voice, the complete lack of conviction, but I don’t have time to question it because I see Nikki and Danny walking down the path toward us. Taking off at a jog, I run to them, throwing my arms around Nikki first, and then Danny.
Although I’ve
been back in the Bay Area for about six months, I haven’t seen them yet, and it’s wonderfully surreal to see how they’ve changed, and – even more so – how they haven’t. Nikki I met in the third grade when we were tablemates, and her parents clearly did a better job than most at coaching her through having a friend who lost her mom the following year, because while Nikki didn’t always know what to say, she never stopped trying, either. Danny moved to Berkeley from L.A. when we were in sixth grade, so he missed the worst of my heartbreak and subsequent social fumbles, but he’s always been on the low-drama, oblivious end of things anyway.
And to eyes that haven’t seen her in nearly seven years, Nikki looks amazing. We both have South American blood, but whereas I inherited my mom’s small stature and dark skin over Dad’s height and fair complexion, Nikki is light-skinned and green-eyed, and has owned her naturally curvy body type her whole life. Now she looks like the captain of some high-octane competitive sport.
By contrast, Danny looks like every other twenty-eight-year-old guy living in Berkeley: slightly underweight, smiling, mildly unshowered.
We’re just starting our catch-up – turns out Nikki is coaching women’s basketball at Berkeley High, and Danny is a programmer working from home – when my attention is caught over Sabrina’s shoulder.
I see a figure climb out of a well-loved blue Honda Civic, grab a sweater from the back seat, and begin his even, long stride straight toward us. I know he’s seen me, and wonder whether his limbs go all wobbly the way mine still do when I see him.
“Elliot’s here,” I say, catching the jittery waver to my words a little too late to stop them.
“Here we go,” Sabrina sings to herself, and I can’t even pull my eyes away long enough to glare at her.
“Elliot-Elliot?” Nikki asks, eyes wide. “As in secret Elliot?”
Danny turns and looks. “Who?”
“Oh, my God,” Nikki whispers, “I am so excited right now.”
“Same!” Sabrina claps, and I realize now Elliot is facing a wall of women – and Danny – all waiting with giant smiles for his arrival.
“Is Elliot Macy’s boyfriend?” Danny asks out of the side of his mouth, and then turns to Sabrina of all people, adding, “Oh, wait, this is the guy from the vacation town.”
“Elliot was her boyfriend,” Sabrina confirms in a delighted, scandalized whisper.
“For about ten minutes,” I remind her.
“For about five years,” she corrects me. “And considering you’re only twenty-eight, that’s a big chunk of your dating life.”
I groan, wondering for the first time whether this is all a terrible idea.
Sabrina has met Sean three times now, and while she insists that she likes him, she thinks he’s “oddly shallow for an artist” and “doesn’t give her very warm vibes.” It doesn’t help that she met Dave our freshman year at Tufts and they dated for seven years before getting married, so a two-month dating span pre-engagement is unfathomable to her. It just sets off her alarm bells.
Before Sean, I had a few relationships, but as Sabrina reminds me, I was “that annoying friend who could find fault with anyone.” She’s not wrong. To review: Julian was weirdly attached to his guitar. Ashton was a terrible kisser, and no matter how adorable or fun he was, it was impossible to move past that. Jaden had a drinking problem, Matt was too fratty, and Rob was too emotional.
After meeting Sean for the first time, Sabrina asked me what I thought I was going to find wrong with him. And of course, being only a couple of months into it and deep in the infatuation stage, my answer was a semi-tipsy “Nothing!”
But in the private space of my own thoughts, I can’t really blame her for thinking Sean isn’t very warm. He’s great in social situations, but I do know there’s something arm’s-length about him. He answers questions using as few words as possible, shows limited interest in my friends, lets emotional conversations go for about three minutes before he changes the subject, and outwardly isn’t very affectionate with anyone but Phoebe.
But, I don’t know. There’s an element of comfort in that reserve. It makes sense to me, because as much as I let Elliot into my emotional headspace, I was never able to let anyone else in afterward. It was too hard. Maybe it’s the same for Sean with Ashley; we are broken in the same way. On the spectrum of progressive men, Sean and Elliot are about as different as they could possibly be.
I need a Sean in my life.
I need an Elliot about as much as I need a hole in the head.
Elliot comes up with a smile that mirrors ours, looking at each of us in turn. “I assume this is the welcoming committee?”
Sabrina steps forward, hand extended. Her words come out high and breathless. “I’m Sabrina. I was Macy’s college roommate, and I have wanted to meet you forrrevverrrrrr.”
He bursts out laughing, looking at me with raised brows.
I put my hand on her shoulder, stage-whispering, “Take it down a notch.”
Elliot opts to give her a hug over a handshake. Sabrina is on the tall side, but Elliot dwarfs her, wrapping her in arms that are surprisingly muscular, running tan and toned beyond the short sleeves of his black T-shirt. He tucks his face close to her as they hug, and I realize, with that one movement, Elliot has just endeared himself to Sabrina for all eternity. No one loves a good hug more than she does.
“Well,” he says, stepping back and smiling at her, “it’s nice to finally meet you.”
Sabrina looks like she is going to pass out from elation. Turning, Elliot gazes at me expectantly.
“Nikki,” I prompt, pointing. “And this is Danny.”
I see the reaction move across Elliot’s expression, the response to names he’s heard for so long but faces he’s only ever seen in photos. “Ah, okay,” he says, smiling and shaking Danny’s hand before embracing Nikki. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I laugh, because what he’s heard is all from the drama of high school. I wonder if he’s thinking what I am, about Nikki’s wild side and Danny’s awkward boners. Elliot catches my eyes, and the glimmer there tells me I’m right. He suppresses a smile, and I bite my lip to do the same.
“All right,” I say, “let’s go find the food.”
Dave and Sean have a nice little spot set up in the shade. Phoebe is drawing quietly on a blanket, Viv is asleep in the stroller, and the two guys are talking, but I can see Dave throw Sabrina a rescue me look as we approach. It makes protectiveness for Sean flare inside me, but the feeling is drenched by a flush of adrenaline when he stands, wiping his hands on his jeans and moving toward us. Toward Elliot.
What am I even doing?
I introduce Sean to Nikki and Danny first – the easy ones. Danny is clearly bewildered about what the hell is going on when he hears me say the word fiancé, and glances to Elliot as if he’s missed something important.
Sean turns to Elliot, and static hums all around me. The tension is clear in Elliot, too: in his shoulders, and across his brow. Sean is as relaxed as ever.
“Sean, this is Elliot,” I say, adding inexplicably, “my oldest friend.”
“Hey!” Nikki says, and Danny choruses the sentiment as soon as it sinks in what I said.
I laugh. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just —”
Elliot comes to my rescue, saying, “Nice to meet you, Sean,” as he reaches to shake Sean’s hand, and God, this is so awkward. On so many levels.
Sean smiles easily and winks at me. “I thought I was your oldest friend?”
Everyone laughs cordially at this, and Sean releases Elliot’s hand, turning to lay an enormous kiss on my mouth. And seriously, what the hell? Is Sean jealous, or not? It catches me so off guard I don’t even close my eyes, which fly to Elliot’s face. His chest moves backward with the force of his shocked inhalation. He recovers by moving away quickly, sitting down beside Phoebe and Dave, introducing himself. As Sean steps away from me, I hear the deep tenor of Elliot’s voice asking what Phoebe’s drawing.
Nostalgia wipes over my thoughts, taking me back to when Elliot would sit with baby Alex like this, gently observing, quietly praising. Now he picks up a crayon, asking if she’ll show him how to draw a flower like she does.
“Ovary explosion,” Sabrina mumbles in my ear, pretending to be kissing my cheek.
“Something like that,” I whisper, wiping my hands on my jeans. I think I’m actually sweating.
We unpack the food, handing out sandwiches, drinks, and fruit to everyone. Conversation eases as soon as Nikki starts talking basketball, because Dave is a former basketball player himself and thank God for the two of them being here, because they carry the enthusiasm required for any good picnic. When Viv wakes up, Phoebe gets to hold her, and the joy in her eyes turns us into cooing, adoring messes. All in all, it goes how a picnic should: eating, talking, a few minor insect battles, and the semi-discomfort of sitting on blankets in the grass.
Love and Other Words Page 11
