by Claire Adams
“Sure, why not.”
“Get your head straightened out. You don’t know if you’re coming or going.” A slightly cynical smile crossed her face. “Well. You’re not coming, we know that. I’ll see you later, Graham.”
And then she left, too, much in the same manner Chloe had.
*****
After they were both gone, I tried to find something to busy myself with, but Helena had closed up last night and left the shop in good shape. I didn’t want a customer to come in; I wasn’t in the right state of mind to do any tattooing at the moment.
The last thing I probably needed was a coffee, but I didn’t care; I needed something, and I wasn’t about to start drinking on the job. I stepped outside into the hot, humid air and locked the door behind me. There were several cafes to choose from within walking distance, but I chose the closest one, despite it being trendy and probably overrun with tourists.
Inside, the air conditioner was blasting and the air was icy.
I grabbed my coffee from the counter and turned, almost bumping into Tara, who was looking down, tapping away at her phone. “Oh,” she said, her eyebrows shooting up. “Hey.” She looked back down at her phone and then up at me. “I was just texting with Chloe. She said she just tried to go and talk with you.”
It was hard to read the expression on her face; I couldn’t tell if she was about to just turn around and ignore me or try to throw that frothy iced drink of hers in my face.
“But before I leave,” she continued, “I see an empty table over there; will you come sit over there with me for a minute?”
We went over to the table and sat down.
“So, obviously I don’t know all the details yet of what happened, but I feel like the two of you are kind of amateurs about this whole thing.”
I raised my eyebrows. “What?”
“Chloe is because you’re really the only guy she’s ever been with, but you—you might have been with a lot of women before, but I can tell that you’ve never really done the whole relationship thing, am I right?”
“Never felt compelled to.”
“Until now.” She gave me an even look.
I took a sip of my coffee, not fully wanting to answer that statement.
“Not that I’m trying to make up excuses or anything, but I never had that positive, loving relationship modeled for me as a kid. My mother isn’t someone who you’d nominate for any mom of the year awards, I can guarantee you that. And my stepfather and I never got along.”
“What about your dad? He not in the picture?”
“No. Definitely not in the picture. So, it always just seemed like a smart idea to steer clear of any relationships, and just stick to the casual stuff.”
“Which is all well and good until you meet someone you actually like.”
I thought back to Danielle. We were supposed to just be casual, but then she said she’d fallen for me. It was a fine line, I was realizing, one that up until this point I’d always done a good job of navigating, but now I seemed to have found myself on the other side.
“It just seems like you’re denying yourself something that you actually want,” Tara said. “I mean, I can tell you like Chloe. Pretty much anyone can—all they have to do is see you guys together. So, maybe just stop being afraid and go for it. You don’t really strike me as the type of guy that would let fear hold him back from anything.”
“I’m usually not. Which is why this is kind of throwing me for a loop.”
“Listen,” Tara said. “You should just talk to her, okay? Just go over there. You probably don’t know where she lives, do you? Here, I’ll tell you. It’s not that difficult to find.”
She grabbed one of the napkins from the holder and pulled a pen from her purse. She wrote down the address and then slid the napkin across the table. I took it and looked down at her bubble print.
“Just use Google maps if you don’t know where it is,” she said. “Well! I’m glad we got that out of the way. Now, there’s one more thing that I wanted to talk to you about.”
“I really should get back to the shop.”
“Okay, okay. This will only take a minute. I don’t know if Chloe mentioned this to you, but I had ... I had posted a picture of you on Facebook.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I took it down. It was only up for like a day. Maybe two. I didn’t put your name or anything, and you could barely even see your face anyway. So you don’t have to feel too violated or anything. But, I am sorry.”
I shrugged. “It’s fine. I actually do have a Facebook page. Well, it’s for the shop, but I log on there sometimes. Customers like to post pictures of their tattoos, and Helena says it would look bad if we didn’t at least like the post. I’m not one of those people who’s completely paranoid about social media.”
“Oh.” She brightened. “So would you care if I re-posted those pictures?”
“Why do you want to post a picture of me?”
“Because you’re hot. And because I’m trying to make someone else jealous.”
“I see. You think that’s a smart idea?”
“Seeing as he left me for someone else, hell yeah I do. Especially because I was actually considering spending the rest of my life with this person. Not to mention that we’d talked about this, like, had many conversations. All the while he’s planning on leaving me. I mean, who would do something like that?”
“You’re a little young to be settling down with someone, aren’t you?”
“People settle down all the time. I know some girls my age are having babies and shit.”
“Yeah, but not you. You don’t seem the type. At least not for a long time, anyway. And let me tell you this: I might not know a lot about being in a relationship with someone, but I have seen what jealousy can do to a person, and it ain’t pretty. If your ex is out there having a good time, I’d let it go if I were you.”
She gave me a patient smile, as though I had no clue what I was talking about. “Right, but Michael always comes out on top, you see. He thinks he can get away with anything.”
“Then maybe you should just let him keep on thinking that.”
“If I was a nice girl, maybe I would—but I’m not. Or if he had actually been up front with how he felt, I’d probably be a little more gracious about the whole thing, but I really can’t stand that shit. Especially considering we were together for almost two and a half years. That’s a long time to spend with someone just to have them decide one day that they’re completely over you, despite having just told you recently that you were going to spend the rest of your lives together.”
“Fair enough.”
“Anyway, enough about that whole situation. Take a day or two to think about it if you want, but talk to Chloe. Okay?”
I nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
28.
Chloe
I tried not to think about him. I tried to keep myself preoccupied. Down at the art center, I worked on my sculpture, but now everything seemed all wrong. I sat on the stool and remembered him there, next to me. I remembered the day after we’d had sex, how emboldened I’d felt when he’d shown up here, how I’d just decided to give him a blow job, even though I’d never done something like that before. And yes, a part of me had been nervous, had been afraid that it would be obvious I had no clue what I was doing, or he’d tell me to stop or that I wasn’t doing it right. But then I started doing it and it hadn’t seemed that difficult, and I could tell he liked it—a lot. And I wanted to keep doing those sorts of things with him, but now it seemed like that might’ve been the last time, and I didn’t even really know what had happened.
I rested my forearms on the work table and then put my head down on my arms. There was a tightness in my chest and an ache in my throat and I felt like I needed to do something but I didn’t know what. It was an awful feeling, actually, wanting to go back in time and do something differently to make the current situation somehow different. But I’d gone down there and tried to
talk to him, and he hadn’t wanted anything to do with me. And then that woman had walked in, who was about a thousand times hotter than I could ever hope to be. Neither of them had to say anything—it was pretty obvious what was going to happen. Was this what dating people was all about? All this fucking drama and turmoil and shitty feelings?
I thought about Tara and all the shit she was going through with Michael, whom she wasn’t with anymore. Maybe I hadn’t really missed anything, not going out with anyone when I was in high school. Because I sure as hell didn’t like feeling like this.
I picked my head up. The first part of the mermaid tail was on the table in front of me; I’d been adding detail to the fin and liked how it was coming out, but I reached out and grabbed it and squeezed, feeling the damp clay give beneath my hands. I kept squeezing, squashing it back into a formless lump.
*****
I went home not long after that because I was just getting frustrated. That’s how it worked with art—sometimes you could channel all your frustrations and anger and anxiety and whatever other negative feelings you were experiencing into productive energy; other times it just crippled you. Nothing productive was happening for me today and I could overhear other people laughing and talking about their works-in-progress and everyone sounded like they were having such a good time that I decided I should just go home.
But I couldn’t even find any respite there. I went upstairs to my room and lay down on my bed. A nap might be good. No sooner had I shut my eyes, though, when there was a soft knock on the door. Before I could even respond, the door opened and my mother breezed in.
“Are you not feeling well?” she asked, perching at the edge of my bed.
“I’m not sick.”
“You don’t usually lie down during the day, though. Just catching up on a little beauty rest?”
“I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“Is that really all that’s going on?” she asked. “You look so glum. Is everything all right? Are you having a hard time with your art project?”
“I’m fine,” I snapped. I knew she was just trying to help, but I hated how trite she made it sound by saying “art project.”
She gave me a surprised look. “Well, you don’t sound fine. Is there something you want to talk about? Talking about it helps sometimes, you know.”
“It’s ...” I hesitated, part of me insisting that I not elaborate any further, but a larger part of me wanting to just talk to someone about it. My mother waited, looking at me expectantly. “I just like someone, is all. Or liked someone, and I don’t think he feels the same way. And, as you’re so fond of reminding me, I don’t have much experience when it comes to dating, so I’m not used to feeling like this. I don’t think I actually like it much, to be honest.”
My mother patted my leg. “Oh, Chloe, I’m sorry to hear that you’re feeling like this. I remember all too well what it was like to be interested in someone and not have the feeling reciprocated. It’s not a great feeling; you’re right.”
It was the first time in quite a while that I could recall saying something about how I truly felt and having my mother just agree with me. I turned my head and looked at her. “Thank you for saying that.”
“But that’s just the way it goes. You’ve got to risk feeling bad because if you don’t, you’ll miss out on all the opportunities that you have to feel great. And sometimes things don’t always work out how we want them to. But that’s okay—it’s a learning experience.”
“I know. I’m not trying to be dramatic. I just thought ... I don’t know what I thought. I guess I realize that I have no clue about any of this.”
“That’s no reason to give up or get discouraged. Sweetheart, you’re young. You’re beautiful. But more importantly, you’re a good person and you’ve got a kind heart. There is no doubt in my mind that you will meet someone—the right person for you. You will. This guy that you’re talking about—how well did you really know him? He just doesn’t sound like your type. And you may not want to hear this, but I know you better than anyone else. I’m your mom, after all. And I know that the right person is out there for you. Like Parker. How is everything going with him?”
“Nothing is going on between us.”
“Well, you went to that ... what was it? A bike thing?”
“A bike race.”
She smiled. “Right. The bike race. You went to that with him, and it sounded like you guys had a fun time. When are you going to see him again?”
“I really don’t know, Mom. He’s been bugging me to hang out this week and I told him that I was busy. Because I am.”
She waved a hand. “Oh, I’m sure you could find some time to see him. Even to just grab a quick bite to eat?”
“Why are you so intent on me seeing him?”
“Because he’s a good kid! From a good family! Just like you. I can tell that you want to be dating, and I’m trying to encourage that. I want that for you. You don’t think that I want to see you unhappy like this, do you?”
“No, of course not.”
“Well good, because I don’t! In fact, I’ve got a great idea. Let’s go do something fun. Just the two of us. We’ve hardly spent any time together and the summer is halfway over. It’s a gorgeous day; there’s no reason for you to spend it moping in your bedroom.”
She sounded so enthusiastic about it that I couldn’t help but feel a little bit better. Maybe I did just need a change of scenery, something to get my mind off of Graham, and the fact that when it came to dating, I had absolutely no clue what I was doing.
*****
We drove up to Provincetown, which someone in college had once told me was the “gayest city in the U.S.,” even though it wasn’t actually a city. It was a funky, little, seaside town, the very tip of Cape Cod, an artist’s enclave, as well as a mecca for all things gay. Just a fun spot, overall, though for my mother, certainly a bit out of her comfort zone.
“Oh, my,” she said under her breath. Two, well-muscled men, wearing little more than leather thongs and flip flops, walked by us, holding hands. We passed by another man dressed as a woman, in a long, sequined evening gown and impossibly high heels. My mother’s eyes widened even further. “Let’s go in here,” she said, tugging me into a restaurant we were walking by. “I heard this place is supposed to be pretty good, actually.”
“Sure,” I said.
The restaurant had a distinctly European feel: minimalist décor, everything very modern. We were seated on high stools at a round table for two. “Abigail will be right over to take your drink order,” the hostess—who may have actually been a man—told us.
“Great,” my mother said, and we both began looking at the menus.
Abigail turned out to be a pretty girl with a pierced nose and very short, spiky hair, dyed bright pink. Except in the front, she had left her hair long and had side-swept bangs. Both her arms were covered in colorful tattoos, from her shoulders all the way down to the backs of her hands. I tried not to think about Graham.
“Now that’s quite the look,” my mother whispered to me after she’d taken our order.
“I kind of like it,” I said. “She doesn’t have to worry about brushing her hair every morning.”
“Now,” my mother said. “Let’s talk about something nice, shall we? How is your sculpture project coming along?”
“Uh ... it’s okay,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her that it actually wasn’t coming along at all.
“Your father and I will come to the opening. I want you to know that. It’s important to us that we be there and see what you’ve been working on.”
“Great,” I said, feeling even worse about the whole thing. I just had to not think about that right now, either. There didn’t seem to be anything safe to think about. I started ripping my napkin into little bits, wishing that I had just stayed at home in bed.
29.
Graham
I decided to do what Tara said—I’d give it a few days before I got in touch
with Chloe. Maybe I’d even decide that I didn’t feel like talking to her after those few days had passed, which was nothing more than wishful thinking. I couldn’t, in fact, seem to get her out of my mind.
I had her address; I’d go over to her house and talk to her. I’d tell her I was sorry and that I hadn’t really felt like this toward someone before and I didn’t quite know how to handle that. Maybe that sounded lame, but it was the truth. If she wanted to know what happened between me and Francesca, I’d tell her that too: absolutely nothing.
My phone rang as I was pouring my first cup of coffee of the day. I looked at the screen. My mother.
“Something is up with my car again,” my mother said. “Are you at work?”
“No, I’ve got the day off.”
“Oh, good! So you can come down there. Can you come down here now?”
“Just because I’m not going into work doesn’t mean I’m just sitting around on my ass—I’ve got things I need to do.”
“It will just be a few minutes, sweetie, please?”
“There’s no one there who can help you? I find that hard to believe.”
“If you left your house now, you’d be here in under five minutes. I think it just needs a jump again.”
“It sounds like you need to invest in a new battery if it’s going to keep dying.”
“Yes, I know. And I will. But for now, will you just come down here?”
I should’ve known better, but I agreed.
*****
My mother was sitting on the hood of her car, smoking a cigarette. Another woman that I didn’t recognize stood next to her.
“See, that hardly took you any time at all,” my mother said. “Now, come over here; I want you to meet Charlotte.”
She grabbed me by my forearm and pulled me over.
“Charlotte, this is my son Graham. Isn’t he as handsome as I told you? Graham, this is Charlotte.”
“Hey,” I said. Charlotte smiled. She was one of those women that might have been pretty, but it was hard to tell because she put so much makeup on.
