“That’s Jackie Chan, Mike’s dog. You can pick him up; he’s nice.” I’d always wanted a dog, but my mom wouldn’t allow it in her pristine house. “Mike’s not home so make yourself comfortable. Kitchen’s there, bathroom’s there. This is my room.”
I stood in the doorway and looked in. There were three guitars in the corner: two acoustic and one electric. “You said you’d play that one song for me.”
He was looking in his open closet for a T-shirt. “You already forgot our song?”
I hadn’t, though I had a feeling he had. “ ‘Just Like a Woman,’ ” he said as he glanced over and smirked. “I’ll play it for you soon enough. We need to get those beers first.”
He did remember.
When he tore his T-shirt off, I almost passed out. He was built—thin but defined, and he had random tattoos everywhere.
His jeans were hanging low and I couldn’t take my eyes off his waist. Grabbing a T-shirt off a hanger, he turned and faced me as he pulled it over his head.
“Whatcha lookin’ at, P?”
Oh, just your perfect body, and your jeans hanging off your hips. “Nothing,” I said.
“Nothing?”
“Well, actually, I’m wondering what all your tattoos mean?”
“A lot of different things,” he said. He pointed to the word Kimbird on his chest. “This one was a mistake.”
“Are they all about girls?”
He laughed. “No. Are you kidding? That would be a lot of girls. I feel like you’re getting a bad impression of me.”
“Well, I know nothing about you.” Which begs the question . . . why am I in his apartment staring at his half-naked body?
“This one is definitely about a girl.” It was the word Carissa in script on the inside of his arm, just below his elbow. “The only girl I’ve ever loved.”
“What happened between you and Carissa?”
“Do you really want to talk about my exes?”
“Well, I’m asking about you.” And yes, I did want to talk about his exes.
Taking my hand and pulling me toward the door, he said, “We can talk about Kimber and Carissa over beers—that’s fine—but you have to tell me everything about you, too.”
A FEW MINUTES later, we pulled into the parking lot of the New Belgium. “I’ve never been here. Do you think they’ll kick me out for wearing sweats and slippers?”
“You make sweats look good. Anyway, look at me. I’m a grease monkey. And it’s a brewery: they don’t care.”
Once we were seated, we ordered a flight of beer to split. “So tell me about Kim and Carissa.”
“Kimber? Well, that tattoo was a mistake for sure because we only dated for five minutes. Impulse purchase, I guess you could say.”
“Next week you’re probably going to say that about my phone number on your hand.”
He smiled. “Never.” He swiveled on his barstool and turned to face me while putting his hand on my knee, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Carissa was different. I would have married that girl, but we were young. She broke up with me on my twenty-first birthday. She invited me to a restaurant for my birthday dinner and—”
“Wait, when is your birthday?”
“November eighth. I’m a Scorpio, can’t you tell?”
It was true, I would have guessed that. “Yes, Scorpio, I can tell. I’m a Taurus.”
“We’re perfect together!” he shouted, practically loud enough for everyone in the brewery to hear.
“No, I actually think those two signs are totally incompatible,” I said.
“Anyway, so she invited me to a birthday dinner, and when I walked into the restaurant I found her sitting at a table alone. I thought she’d invite some friends to celebrate, but it was just her. She was also wearing a do-rag, which I found peculiar.”
He was looking up at the ceiling in deep thought.
“And then what . . . ?” I asked.
He took a sip of beer. “And then she said, ‘I’m sorry I can’t be with you. I’m wearing this do-rag so you won’t be attracted to me and won’t be sad about us breaking up.’ ”
“What?” I said.
“Yeah, I swear. That’s what I loved about her. She was a freakin’ weirdo.”
“So how did you react?”
“I just stood up and walked out, and then I went and got drunk and showed up at her apartment in the middle of the night. I thought I would serenade her with my guitar, but she called the police on me.”
I started laughing but his frown didn’t crack. “I’m sorry,” I said.
“She ruined me. I mean, really broke my heart. I have no idea why she did it; she just said we were too young.”
“How old were you?” I took a sip of beer.
“Twelve,” he deadpanned.
Beer literally came out of my nose. “What?”
“I told you, it was my twenty-first birthday. Don’t you listen?” He handed me a napkin. I wasn’t even remotely embarrassed for some reason. He went on, “She graduated and wanted to move to Denver. She’s a writer . . . so she’s totally whack. She got an English lit degree and wanted to be a performance artist in the city. She’ll probably write about how she broke my heart. Then she’ll reenact it onstage dressed as a fucking grasshopper or something.”
“I still don’t get the whole do-rag thing.”
“That was just Carissa. Everything had to be for the sake of something else. I’m telling you, she’ll write a book about it. This extremely feminine and beautiful girl shows up to her boyfriend’s birthday dinner to break up with him while she’s wearing a dirty wife-beater, paint-splattered overalls, and a do-rag. She just wants to be able to tell the story over and over again with all the embellishments, you know? And, like, who the fuck does that?”
“And you liked this girl?”
“I loved her. The only one so far.”
Maybe Gavin didn’t have the best taste in women, which had me wondering what he thought of me. I needed to be responsible. I was not his type.
“I hate that Ouija board game, just FYI.”
His eyes shot open. “Where’d that come from?”
“You mentioned it earlier. See, I do listen.” He stuck his tongue out at me. “I think you might have me pegged wrong. I’m not this dark, interesting person. I basically have no hobbies, and even fewer friends—which is why I have to leave soon to get ready for Ling’s party; it’s already six, and I don’t want to miss it.”
“But you haven’t told me enough about yourself to even peg you. That whole Ouija board thing was just about your look. Anyway, I can drive you home and then to Ling’s, if you want? You probably shouldn’t drive anyway. And aren’t you starving? I’m starving. Let’s grab a quick bite.”
He was a fast talker, but not in a bad way. I loved that about him. I wanted to spend more time with him, but I didn’t do well eating around other people. “I don’t know . . .” I said.
“I know a burger place—”
“I don’t eat meat.”
“Are you a vegetarian?”
“No, I actually just don’t eat red meat,” I told him. My plan was not working. I needed to give in and just go with it or else I wasn’t going to have enough time to get ready for Ling’s party.
“Pizza?” he asked.
“Okay.”
On the way to the local pizza joint, San Filippo’s, he said, “So tell me about all your exes.”
I laughed. “That’s a short story. I’ve never really had a long-term boyfriend. I’ve just dated here and there. Anyway, like I told you, I’m not dating this year. It’s just too intense with dance and finals and everything.”
“You did mention that . . . like, five times. But here we are, Penny. Getting a drink and pizza . . . and now I’m gonna meet your parents in a few. I would call this a date.”
If I brought Gavin home to my parents, they would literally have me committed. He’d tattooed our phone number onto the palm of his hand! That would be enou
gh to put them off, never mind his other random tattoos and the fact that he was basically sex on two legs. I guess my parents didn’t have to know that we met by sucking face blindfolded, though.
Once inside San Filippo’s, I ordered another beer and a slice of cheese pizza. I never ate like this, but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself by not eating. Gavin had a Coke. I guess he was committed to being my designated driver, but I didn’t want him to go to the party with me. Already, we had taken the day too far. Or at least I had let my imagination take it too far.
He was currently rambling on and on about something, but I wasn’t listening because I was fixated on the flexing muscles of his forearms. I imagined how they moved when he played the guitar . . . and did other things.
I remember having the conversation with my dad when I hit puberty. Naturally, my mom avoided the topic because she wanted me and Kiki to be her dollies forever. But my dad wouldn’t have his eldest daughter walking around with her head up her ass.
He sat me down and proceeded to drone on about periods and reproductive organs like he was giving a goddamn lecture at the university. It was all things I had learned in sex ed at school, but I appreciated the effort. It can’t be an easy conversation for a father to have with his daughter. But one thing I do remember vividly is that when the topic of sex came up, he stopped talking about chromosomes and things you’d expect from a biologist and started talking about responsibility, love, and keeping my guard up against the kind of relationships that can be exciting and explosive at first. He said those relationships always fizzle out too soon, and that’s why you have to use your brain when your body is sending you such loud messages. I understood exactly what he meant.
When I looked at Gavin, I knew he’d give me that explosive, mind-blowing kind of experience in the backseat of his old car. I knew he could light me up. He’d be professing his love for me by the end of the night, and then the next week he’d be onto the next, telling her how his palm tattoo was an impulse purchase.
“Penny? Are you listening? What’s going on? Where’d you go?”
“I’m listening, I’m listening.”
“So I moved back in with my dad in Fort Collins after leaving my mom in Hollywood. I saw enough of that place and enough of my mom for a good two years. She’s come out to visit twice since then, but she’s all swept up in her noncareer career . . . and booze.”
He was really pouring his heart out to me, but I was still thinking about Kimber. I actually liked him and didn’t want to be just a tattoo on his palm with a weird story behind it. Maybe I liked him too much already. Too much, too soon. Explosive.
“Gavin, we’re going to be friends,” I blurted out.
Jerking his head back, he squinted at me and then smiled. “We are friends, Penny. Best friends, remember? That’s why I’m telling you my whole life story.”
“No, I mean, for the first time in so long, I’m having fun. I’d like to keep it that way.” I loved dancing but “fun” wasn’t the word I’d used to describe the feeling of moving across the stage.
“Yeah, we can keep things fun,” he said with a smirk.
I rolled my eyes. I’d have to dodge his advances for a while, but eventually he’d get that I didn’t want more than this.
I was officially buzzed and suddenly feeling anxious about overeating. Gavin reached over and grabbed my hand. “You’re a really beautiful girl and you have a perfect body. I hope no one has ever made you feel otherwise.”
He knows exactly what to say.
“Thanks. . . . That’s really nice of you. Dance is just really competitive. And you don’t have to say that if—”
“I think you need to hear it.”
“You don’t know what I need. You just met me.”
“You need a friend,” he said.
My eyes started to water. I nodded. “I do.”
“I’ll be your friend, and . . . I’m going to take you to Ling’s party, okay? If you want me to stay in the car at your house, I will. If you want me to wait outside of Ling’s party, I will. I just want to be there for you. And when we’re done hanging out today, I’ll be there for you tomorrow, if you need me. That’s friendship.”
“So we’ll be friends? You’re not asking for more?”
“Yep. You know where to find me.” He gestured toward me. “And I know where to find you.”
Tied up in a nice little bow. I reached up, threw my stinky arms around him, and hugged him like I had known him my whole life.
9. Nine Months Ago
PENNY
It had been two days since I’d heard from Gavin after he stopped by to tell me his dad was sick. Pasta sauce was cooking on the stove for dinner, and Milo was upstairs playing video games when my husband came home from his two-day business trip.
“Hey, you,” he said. He walked up and kissed me on the cheek. “I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” I said as I set down a spoon to give him a proper hug. He held me longer than usual.
“So, Gavin’s in town. I saw his car in his dad’s driveway.”
“I know,” I said. “He came by here on Tuesday. His dad is sick. Stage four prostate cancer.” I started getting choked up.
“Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that.” He was being totally sincere. We all loved Gavin’s dad, Frank. “Should we take some food over to them? Is there anything I can do?”
“I’ll text him and take them a couple of plates. I was going to see Frank anyway. Milo misses you, so you guys should probably catch up.”
He nodded. “Okay.”
I didn’t text Gavin, though, because I felt like he would say no. He didn’t like me cooking for him. He thought it was too weird. I understood why. I made him avocado toast once and he looked at it for five minutes before taking a bite. When I had asked him what was on his mind, he’d said, “I was just thinking about what it would be like.”
“How what would be like?” I had asked.
“If you and I had ended up together.”
“Well, I’d expect you to pull your weight around here. It wouldn’t be me serving you all the time. Count this as your Christmas present.” It was July when I had told him that.
He laughed and said, “I don’t want you cooking for me okay, P? Not even toast. Can you respect that?”
I did respect it. But this was a different situation. His dad was dying.
After I ate with my family, I made two plates out of the leftovers, threw on a jacket, and headed over to Frank’s. Gavin’s car was there and I could hear him on the porch, softly playing the guitar. Was it our song? His back was to me as I approached. The music stopped.
“Hey, P.”
I walked up the steps to where he was sitting in the swing. “How’d you know it was me?”
“Because your ankles crack so damn loud when you walk. Your knees, too. I could hear you coming from four houses away.”
I frowned. “Thanks.” I hated that I had abused my body so much in my teens and twenties. It was funny, though, that Gavin noticed things like that about me. It added to the long list of comparisons I couldn’t stop making between Gavin and my husband. Like how I could dye my hair orange and my husband wouldn’t even notice, yet Gavin noticed whenever I bought a new T-shirt.
I held out the plates. “I brought you and your dad some pasta with chicken and salad.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” He stood, put his guitar down, and kissed me on the cheek as he took the plates from my hands. “But thank you. Come on in, he’d love to see you.”
There was already a hospital bed in the center of the living room. Frank was lying in it, watching TV. “Sweet Penny,” he said, his voice strained. “I’m so glad to see you, honey.”
I hugged him and kissed the side of his face. “I’m sorry, Frank.”
“Well, I’m not dead yet. You don’t need to go moping around here. Gavin has that covered.” I turned around and looked at Gavin. In the light I finally noticed his eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
It seemed like Frank was too young to be dying. He wasn’t even sixty yet.
“Milo will want to see you, I’m sure,” I said.
“Of course. Bring him down.” Frank had occasionally helped me with Milo when I was in a pinch. My husband worked seventy hours a week most of the time. I could leave Milo with Frank when I needed to. The two got so close that he gave Milo his entire collection of baseball cards, and even took him to a Rockies game once. Gavin had never been interested in sports, so it was nice for Frank to have someone to bond with over baseball.
Gavin wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and put his chin on my shoulder. I went rigid.
“Sorry,” he said, but he wouldn’t let go. “Dad, are you gonna tell Penny your brilliant idea? Or should I?”
“I’ll tell her. Why not? It’s a great idea. Well, I just thought while Gavin’s in town, you know . . . maybe you can introduce him to one of your friends? He’ll have this house when I’m gone and . . .”
I jerked my head back, turned around, and glared at Gavin.
“Well, Frank—” I started to say, but he interrupted me.
“You know, ever since he screwed it up with that nice girl Jenn, he’s been back on the market.”
“Dad, I think we’re putting Penny on the spot here.”
That wasn’t really the role I played with Gavin; we generally tried to stay out of each other’s business in that way. The truth was that any matchmaking I did would end in disaster, especially while Gavin was dealing with his dying father.
“I know a girl. I’ll talk to her,” I said, just to make Frank happy.
Gavin laughed through his nose. He knew I was lying.
“Perfect,” Frank said.
A few minutes later, Gavin walked me out to the porch. “So, this girl—”
“Ha. You know I would never subject anyone I know to your shenanigans.”
“Just sit down with me for a sec, P.”
“I have to get back home.” I thought of my husband, waiting upstairs alone for me.
“Five minutes?”
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