Mind the Gap (In Too Deep)

by Casey McMillin

  "Definitely nothing before the games," he said.

  That seemed to mollify her. "Okay good," Candy said. She looked at me. "I'm still mad at this one for leaving," she said, poking her finger into my shoulder. "If any more of my favorite customers move to L.A., I might have to pack up and go there myself." Then just like that, she was off to talk to another customer.

  Ethan had plans to stay in the apartment we shared after I moved to L.A., but we were almost at the end of our lease, and I knew he wasn't planning on renewing it. "Did you ever decide about moving back to your mom's?" I asked.

  "It makes the most sense," he said. "That way I won't be locked into anything if I decide to come up to Los Angeles after the Olympics."

  "I can't believe you're thinking about leaving San Diego," I said. Ethan's family was a part of the elite social scene in San Diego, and his parents always assumed they'd pass the benefits of the family's status to Ethan and his little brother. Ethan had a good life in San Diego, and no one would have ever expected him to leave.

  We smiled at Candy as she set the plates in front of us. She returned the smile, but rushed off without saying a word, and Ethan and I both dug into our food. "It's cool that you and Collin are both going to be up there," he said around a mouth full of food, "but I'd still be thinking about moving if neither of you were there."

  "Damn, dude, you are so whipped," I said.

  Ethan didn't bother denying it. He shrugged. "I don't know. I want to hang out with her all the time. I guess this means I'm in love or whatever." He said that last part in an accent like Jack Black as Nacho Libre, so it was more funny than heart-warming, but I hadn't missed the fact that Ethan just told me he was in love.

  "Ethan Erickson in love?" I said.

  He just shrugged again.

  I liked Emily and was glad to see him happy, so I decided to quit ribbing him about it.

  "I have a lead on an apartment," I said. "It's about ten minutes from Joel's place. It's a new development he knew about—pretty nice."

  "What's your mom gonna say? She wanted you to live in Orange County."

  I laughed. "What she wanted was for me to just go ahead and move in with her and dad in Lake Elsinore and commute."

  "It won't be that much further for them to come visit you," he said.

  "It's the same distance," I said. "My mom just hates driving into L.A. with Dad. It makes her nervous."

  "Aw, she'll get over it," Ethan said. "I think it's a good move for you. Not just for the job, but, well with Facebook and all."

  He was talking about my wife of one year, Kayla, who left me for an old flame she reunited with on Facebook. He and Collin both just called her Facebook instead of Kayla.

  "I know," I said. "I can't say for sure, but I think I'll enjoy not feeling like I might run into her around the next corner."

  "You deserve it, bro," Ethan said. "I think you'll like L.A. I'm happy for you."

  "You're talkin' like a man who's moving there himself," I said.

  Ethan smiled. "Never know."

  I suddenly remembered an appointment I'd made yesterday. I glanced down at my watch. "Oh no. You're gonna have to come to the barbershop with me dude. I don't think I have enough time to run you home," I said, taking another bite of home fries.

  "You just went to the barbershop like three days ago," Ethan said, giving me a confused look. "I think you have a problem, Josh."

  "It was a week ago, and I don't have a problem, I just try to never go more than ten days."

  Ethan laughed again. "Whatever, J. I guess it won't take long since there's no hair up there in the first place."

  "You don't know what you're talking about," I said, rubbing at the area right above my ears… the patch of hair that drove me crazy when it had more than ten days of growth. "My hair looks crazy when I let it get long. I tried it one time my freshman year of high school then again in college. Something's wrong with it. It doesn't lay right."

  Ethan gave me a skeptical look. "I remember when you let it grow in college, and that hardly counts. I think you only skipped a few haircuts."

  "Well, I'm not trying it again, if that's what you're getting at. It's all curly and stuff."

  "Chicks dig curly hair."

  "It's not curly. It's more wavy, unruly. Whatever. I don't know why we're even having this conversation since I'm going to get my fade either way."

  Ethan reached up and ran a hand through his longish messy hair. "I could use a haircut too," he said.

  "Damn straight," I said. "That's the biggest understatement I've ever heard. Ronnie will fit you in after me. I see him squeeze in walk-ins all the time.

  Ethan looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. "I love you dude, but I'm not getting my head shaved by Ronnie. I let a girl cut my hair with a pair of scissors while my hands get dipped in hot wax and then massaged by some hair assistant named Heidi."

  "That is seriously the gayest thing you've ever said," I said, laughing. "Ronnie does it right for fifteen dollars. Then I just call Zoey for the massage."

  "Are you still seeing her?" Ethan asked.

  "Not really," I said. We text a little everyday, but it's no big deal."

  "You text with her every day?" Ethan was slightly shocked, I could tell. "Girls don't think like we do, Josh. I'll bet she thinks she's your girlfriend."

  "What are we, in middle school? She doesn't think she's my girlfriend. We just mess around a little bit. Besides, she knows I'm moving."

  "Okay, but don't say I didn't tell you so when tears are shed," he said.

  I assured him there would be no tears and we paid the check and took off for Ronnie's Barber Shop. Candy was in the middle of doing the Dougy when we walked out so she just waved and winked at Ethan and me.

  Chapter 3

  Brit

  I was working on a piece of art that was neither for school nor the restaurant project. It was a work in progress that I used to cleanse my palate from the art I was doing for other people. Not that I minded working on assignments, I just needed to slip in a little something just for me every now and then. I was working on a huge, abstract piece with lots of small repetitive shapes and bright colors when I got a text from Trevor.

  Trevor: "What's up? Ya old lady working?"

  It was an inside joke we had that came from one of our friends who'd been asked in this manner if his wife had a job. We thought it was hilarious, and always asked "if ya old lady was working" as a way of seeing what the other was up to.

  Me: "Not right now. I'm just spacing out on this fractal looking piece I started a while back."

  Trevor: "Is it 4:20 already?"

  Me: "Ha ha, very funny. I'm caught up with school and making progress on the restaurant stuff, so I get to play for a few hours."

  Trevor: " I have good news to add to your fun. Curtis is covering for me. I get to go this weekend."

  Me: "That's awesome! Do you have to work Sunday?"

  Trevor: "Yeah, is that okay?"

  Me: "Of course. Let's head down Friday, spend Friday night and come back Saturday evening sometime."

  Trevor: "Sounds like a plan. I got us a room at The Loft Friday night."

  Me: "Perfect. Thanks. Do I owe you anything?"

  Trevor: "No, I had enough points in the system to get up to three nights somewhere."

  Me: "We'll take the next two in Maui, please."

  Trevor: "Sorry, no hotels in Maui. We could try Vancouver. ;) BTW, Who's driving?"

  Me: "I'll drive, but you know my stereo situation."

  Trevor: "It's three hours. Maybe I should drive."

  Me: "Up to you. I'm paying for gas either way."

  Trevor: "I'll drive. I'll pick you up at around noon on Friday."

  Me: "Great. I'm excited you get to come. See you tomorrow."

  Trevor: "Me too and yep."

  ****

  Trevor was at my apartment at ten till noon the next day wearing dark grey skinny jeans, a vintage T-shirt with a big boom box on it, and a pair of beat-up Chu
ck Taylors. I had on skinny jeans and a T-shirt also, only mine was navy blue and said mind the gap across the front. That was another one of my big personal jokes. My parents named me Britney, but I could count on one hand all the times I'd ever been called that. Nobody ever called me Britney—my name had always been Brit with one t, and nothing else. They should have just named me that in the first place.

  Going back to the original point about my T-shirt…

  I got asked all the time if I was British simply because my name was Brit. It was a running joke in my family that I should have been born British to match the name. A few years ago, my cousin bought me the mind the gap T-shirt when he went to London. It was and still is my favorite shirt in the world. I wore it so much that it was slightly threadbare in areas, but that only added to its appeal.

  "Ahh, are we British today?" Trevor asked, taking in my shirt. He was speaking with a bad British accent, which we did quite frequently just for kicks.

  "You're bloody well right we aah," I said in an equally terrible accent.

  Trevor kissed me on the cheek before blowing right past me and into the kitchen where he found the fridge and opened it. "Can I heat up one of these black bean burgers," he asked. He was already in the process of taking it out of the packaging, so I didn't even bother answering. He knew I'd want him to help himself. He popped it in the microwave and stood there watching it go around the carousel.

  "I've been meaning to tell you," I said. "I'm thinking about trying to get a little gig sometime soon, just for fun. I was talking to a guy at school who knows someone who owns a little restaurant. He has live music on weekends—mellow, acoustic stuff like I do."

  "Oh my God, that'd be great for you. Do you feel like you're ready to play in front of people?"

  "Well, yeah. I mean I did. Why? Do you feel like I'm not ready?"

  "I never said that," Trevor said as he took a bite of the black bean patty he'd just taken from the microwave. He just picked it up barehanded and ate it with no bread or anything. "Unfortunately, I haven't really heard enough of your playing to be a good judge. But it's pretty freaking rock star of you since you just picked up a guitar for the first time a year ago."

  "Fourteen months," I corrected.

  For more than a year, I'd been completely obsessed with learning how to play the guitar. Don't judge, but I'd been learning by watching YouTube videos. I was getting better and better by the day. When I wasn't at school, I spent equal amounts of time making art and playing the guitar. That was a lot of time spent doing those things since I literally never did anything else—no shopping, no Facebook, no TV. Okay, so maybe a little TV and a romance novel every once in a while… but mostly I made art and played the guitar, and I felt like I had a really happy existence. I felt confident with vocals since I'd been singing for as long as I could remember, but adding an instrument to the mix was something I thought would probably never happen. I always said I wanted to learn how to play something, but it wasn't until fourteen months ago that I decided to give it a try.

  I was finding that, although getting better at anything took hard work, when you really enjoyed what you were doing, it didn't feel like work at all. I had no doubt that I could pull together a set for a restaurant gig. Especially since everyone at a restaurant would be too preoccupied with eating to really care what I sounded like.

  "That'd be a blast," Trevor said, finishing off the last bite of bun-less bean burger. "You'll have to give us plenty of notice so we could get a group together to go out and watch you."

  "I'm not so sure about getting a group together," I said.

  "Why?"

  "Because it'll be my first gig, and playing in front of strangers is almost easier than playing in front of friends."

  "It's always easier," Trevor said, "but you better get used to it, because we're gonna come out and see our little fine arts friend turned folk singer. Talk about a triple threat!"

  "What's the third thing?" I asked.

  "Your hot body, obviously."

  I batted my eyes at him.

  "Let's get on the road," he said. "The swim meet will already be going by the time we get there."

  "Listen to you. Sounds like somebody did his research," I said.

  "I had to do a little since I didn't even know where we were going. All you told me was Portland."

  "Oh good, so you know where we're going?" I asked.

  That brought a laugh out of Trevor. "Why am I not surprised that you have no idea, Brit?"

  "Because there's no need to know that yet," I said. "I know to head to Portland. Everything else can be looked up on our phones on the way there."

  ****

  Trevor's GPS took us right to the hotel where we'd be spending the night. It was only a few blocks away from Northwest Swim Club, the place where the swim meet was being held. Neither of us were in a huge hurry to get to the swim meet right on time, but we still decided to head straight there without even checking into our room.

  Trevor handed his keys to the valet at The Loft and asked the team of people who greeted us to bring our things to up to the room. He hadn't met the concierge previously, but they spoke the same language and once Trevor let him know he worked the same job, they were pretty much best of friends. Gill, the concierge in question, gave us walking directions to what he described as a coffee experience we must not miss. He said they have live jazz music every evening and the best coffee and desserts in town.

  A cup of coffee sounded like just the right thing to pick me up before we walked to the swim competition. There was something to be said for the comfort a warm paper cup provided. I told Trevor so, and he agreed that we would grab up a cup before heading to the meet. I was a little nervous about walking into that place since I'd never been to a swim meet before, but having Trevor there put me at ease.

  He and I made our way to the coffee shop Gill described. It was indeed a cool place—my kind of place. I would definitely try to get a gig playing there if I lived in Portland. From the entrance, I could clearly see the stage on the far wall. It was a tiny replica of a theater stage complete with wood floors and velvet curtains. On the stage there was a simple empty chair and a vintage microphone on a stand. The whole set up made me wish I had my guitar. I would have taken it out and played at that very moment, if for no other reason then to take a photo up on the wonderful little stage.

  "Aw, that's a cool looking stage back there, did you see that?" Trevor asked as he noticed it for the first time.

  "Yeah, I noticed it," I said. "I've already had time to fantasize about being up there."

  "I can help who's next," came a voice from behind the counter. Trevor and I had been so busy looking at the stage that we hadn't even noticed it was our turn. We each placed our order, and since we both get the same exact thing every time we go to a coffee shop, it was a quick and painless process.

  "Do you ever have open mic night?" I asked the barista as she handed me my change.

  "Not on weekends," she said with a regretful expression. Then, with a smile, she added, "but we do on Monday and Tuesday nights. You should come back."

  "I'm just here for the night," I said. "Plus I didn't bring my guitar. I was just wondering because I saw the little stage, and—"

  "I know, isn't that the cutest thing? I can't carry a tune in a bucket, but I've thought about getting up there to read some poetry or something just because I want to stand on that stage." She thought for a second before continuing, "Oh, who am I kidding? I'm so afraid of public speaking, I'd never have the guts to walk up there on open mic night… but a girl can dream, huh?"

  "Of course you can dream," I said. "And for what it's worth, I think you'd look great on that stage."

  Trevor nodded in agreement. She had a cool look. The whole dread lock, crochet hat type of hippie with a really cute face full of freckles. I fit right in here in Portland, but I wasn't quite at the same level of hippieness as that girl. She was really cute and sweet, and I promised her I'd try to bring my friends back to
night to see the band. Apparently, the musicians were all jazz faculty at a local university, and always sounded really good. I thought everyone might be open to it since most of the group couldn't be out partying anyway. I tucked jazz night at the coffee shop in the back of my mind as a possibility for later in case we found ourselves looking for something to do.

  We walked the five or so blocks to the swim meet, drinking our coffee and cracking each other up. I was relieved to see familiar faces as we opened the door. Gretchen and Joel were sitting with a few employees at a booth that was selling his line of goggles.

  "You guys missing the action?" I said as we approached the booth. Gretchen came around the table wearing a huge smile.

  "I need a hug," she said.

  "I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing, but I think I'm starting to see a little bump." I smiled and gestured her midsection.

  "It's totally a good thing," she said, patting and rubbing her tummy. "I love seeing this bump. I worked hard for this bump."

  "Are you feeling better?" I asked.

  "Oh yeah, I've been over the pukes for a while now."

  "How far along are you?"

  "Tomorrow I'll have four months exactly till my due date," she said. I looked down at my watch which told me tomorrow would be April twelfth. My fingers twitched one by one as I counted off the months in my head. May, June, July… "August twelfth?" I asked.

  "Yep!" she said. A smile was plastered across her face.

  "Did we tell you it's a boy?" Joel asked coming up behind Gretchen and putting his arms protectively around her.

  "Nooo, I didn't know. Aw, that's so sweet! How'd you find out? I thought you guys were waiting."

  "We had them put the proof in an envelope just in case we decided to cave, and we totally caved," Gretchen said. "I thought we'd at least make it till seven or eight months."

  Joel made a noise like that was a ridiculous statement. "I knew you wouldn't be able to wait," he said, "but I don't care. I'm glad we found out. I love knowing it's a boy. I feel like I'm already getting to know him while he's in there." Gretchen looked adoringly at Joel, and I though I might just die from ushy-gushy cuteness. Just then, someone called Joel's name and he crossed to the other side of the booth to speak with them.