by LN Cronk
I responded, Wanna go somewhere and make out?
She glanced down at her phone and looked back at me, her mouth dropping open in disbelief. She started punching away at her phone.
Marco! We’re in church!
I know, I answered. I bet we could find a storage closet somewhere.
She covered her mouth with one hand, trying unsuccessfully to hide a laugh. We’re in CHURCH!
She watched me as I read that message, and when I finished I looked back at her and gave her my best “You can’t blame a guy for trying” shrug.
She smiled at me again and I sent her one final text: Will you go on a picnic with me for lunch?
I’d love to, she texted, and she smiled at me once again.
I smiled back at her, and then we opened our Bibles to get ready for our lesson.
A major tourist attraction in Melbourne was Fitzroy Gardens. There were fountains and sculptures and trees and flowers and even a little lake. There was a preserved trunk called the Scarred Tree that had a scar on it from where Aboriginal people had removed bark to make something, and another one called the Fairies Tree that some famous artist had carved a bunch of gnomes and fairies and stuff in. I had never been there before but had always meant to go, and I figured that today would be a good day to try it out.
As we got closer, however, Josette got quieter and quieter, and when we finally arrived and I started looking for a parking spot, she turned to me and put her hand on my arm.
“I don’t want to go here,” she said. I glanced at her, surprised by the distressed look on her face. I stopped the car, not caring about the traffic behind me.
“Why?”
“I just don’t want to,” she said quietly. “Please?”
Impatient drivers began pulling out to go around me.
“Sure,” I said, and I moved forward until I found a place to turn around.
“I’m sorry,” Josette said after we were back on the main road, headed away from the gardens.
“It’s okay,” I assured her.
There was a moment of silence before she spoke again.
“We went there,” she said softly. “When we came to look at flats and stuff . . . we took Jamie there.”
“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
“No,” she replied, putting her hand on my arm again and shaking her head. “You didn’t know. I’m the one who’s sorry . . . I’m ruining all your plans.”
“It’s no problem.”
“You went to so much trouble,” she said miserably.
“I picked up a bucket of chicken, Josie,” I said, tipping my head at her. “It’s not that much trouble.”
“No,” she said. “I mean planning where we should go and everything.”
“It’s not a big deal,” I assured her. “You can have a picnic anywhere.”
She looked at me skeptically.
“You can,” I said. “As long as you’ve got a place to sit and some sunshine, you can have a picnic.”
She gave me another doubtful look so I drove two blocks farther and turned into a deserted parking lot, pulling my car into a spot.
“What are you doing?” she asked when I turned off the ignition.
“Proving that you can have a picnic anywhere.”
“At a bank?”
“Uh-huh,” I said. “See that grass?”
She nodded.
“See that sun?”
She nodded again.
“Looks like an excellent picnic spot to me.” I shrugged and opened my door.
Josette didn’t argue when I asked her to carry our drinks. I set the chicken down and spread a blanket on the grass, and by the time we had lowered ourselves onto it, she was almost smiling.
“I’m sorry I ruined everything,” she said, nodding back in the direction of Fitzroy Gardens.
“You didn’t ruin anything,” I said, shaking my head. I leaned forward and kissed her lips gently, bringing my hands to the sides of her face.
When I was finished, I pulled back and looked at her.
“If anyone needs to apologize,” I said, “it’s me.”
“You didn’t know,” she said.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Not about that.”
“About what then?”
“About yesterday.”
“Yesterday?”
I nodded.
“What about yesterday?”
“I tried really hard to make things special,” I began.
“You did,” she said. “It was wonderful.”
“But you worked really hard too,” I said. “Didn’t you?”
She tipped her head at me curiously and didn’t say anything.
“But I didn’t even mention it,” I went on.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“That was a new dress you were wearing, wasn’t it?”
“I borrowed it from Brenda,” she explained.
“Well, you looked beautiful in it,” I told her, and she smiled at me appreciatively.
“And your hair,” I went on. “It was all in a . . .”
“French braid?” she suggested.
“Yeah,” I agreed. “A French braid. That looked beautiful, too.”
“Brenda,” she said again.
“Did you use some of Brenda’s perfume?” I asked.
She nodded. I reached out and took her hand.
“And did she do your nails, too?” I asked.
She nodded again and smiled sheepishly.
“Did you and Brenda have an extreme makeover day or something?” I asked as a car pulled up to the ATM.
Josette giggled and nodded a third time.
“So that explains why your makeup looked so good,” I mused, rubbing my chin thoughtfully.
“Hey!” she protested, swatting me.
“I’ve seen how you put on makeup,” I reminded her, catching her arm and pulling her toward me. She laughed again.
“You don’t need a makeover at all,” I said quietly, “but I wanted to let you know that I noticed everything you did yesterday and I should have said something.”
“It’s okay,” she assured me.
“No, it’s not,” I argued. “A good boyfriend would have said something.”
“Are you my boyfriend?”
“Well, I want to be,” I said, and she smiled. I smiled back, but then I turned serious, leaning closer to her and whispering, “I want to be a good boyfriend to you.”
“You already are,” she whispered back, and she put her hand on the back of my neck and pulled me toward her for a kiss.
The car at the ATM blew its horn.
“What’s their problem?” I asked, pulling away from her and glancing toward the car. “Haven’t they ever seen somebody having a picnic before?”
Josette laughed and drew me in for another kiss.
~ ~ ~
THAT NIGHT, BACK in my own bed, I lay quietly, staring up at the ceiling once again and thinking about everything that had happened since we’d sat on the front porch the evening before. I lay there and thought for a long, long time until finally I forced myself to get out of bed and go into the hallway. I knocked lightly on Josette’s door.
“Come in,” she said, and I saw the light come on underneath the door.
“Sorry,” I said. “Were you asleep yet?”
“Not hardly,” she answered, smiling at me. She sat up, drawing her knees to her chest so that I could sit down on the end of her futon, which I did.
I looked at her for a long while. Her hair was falling down around her face and spilling onto the t-shirt she was wearing. I reached up to brush a strand of it from her cheek.
“We need to talk about something,” I said, tucking the hair behind her ear.
“What?”
I held her gaze for another moment and then leaned forward, pulling her toward me and lightly touching my lips to hers.
She kissed me back gently at first, but soon there was nothing light or gentle about what we were doi
ng, and any desire I’d had to talk was quickly replaced by something else. After a moment, however, I somehow managed to stop, and I pulled away from her, amazed at how quickly she could leave me breathless. I rested my forehead against hers as I had the night before, eyes closed, one hand wrapped in her hair, the other around her waist.
“One of us has to move out,” I finally said, opening my eyes to look into hers.
She was looking back at me and she gave me a little smile.
“I know.”
Of course it pretty much had to be Josette who moved out since my dad owned the house, but I wasn’t going to let her go unless we found something decent. We started looking the very next day, perusing notice boards at the student union and several sites online.
“I’m actually hoping for another male flatmate,” Josette mentioned as I peered over her shoulder at an ad. “I’m pretty pleased with how things worked out with my first one.”
“Um-hmm,” I said dryly, and I rested my chin on the top of her head.
I didn’t like anything we looked at, and by the third day Josette forbid me to go with her anymore.
“You’re too picky,” she explained after I’d nixed yet another apartment.
“Nothing’s been good enough yet,” I argued.
“I’ll find something I like and then you can give it your final approval,” she suggested.
I frowned at the idea but grudgingly went along with it.
She found something the very next day and I went to look at it with her on Friday. It was nicer than my place but I still didn’t think it was good enough for her. I grumbled about a floorboard that squeaked, insisting that there was probably dry rot in the floor joists.
She shook her head and rolled her eyes.
I continued checking things out while she went into the kitchen to sign a rental agreement with Patricia, her new landlord and roommate . . . er, flatmate. Both of them came running when I pushed the test button on the fire alarm.
“Marco!” Josette scolded, hitting me lightly on the arm.
“Do you have carbon monoxide detectors?” I asked Patricia, ignoring Josette, who rolled her eyes at me again.
“Just one,” Patricia said, pointing. “It’s by the back door.”
“Marco,” Josette complained, after Patricia headed back into the kitchen. “You don’t even have a carbon monoxide detector!”
“I’ve been planning on getting one.”
She raised an eyebrow at me and put a hand on her hip.
I looked at her for a moment.
“I’m sorry,” I finally said quietly. “I just really don’t want you to move out.”
“I know,” she whispered, stepping closer to me.
“And I want to make sure you’re going to be all right,” I went on softly. “I want to take care of you.”
“You’ve been taking care of me since the day we met,” she smiled, and she wrapped her arms around me and held me tight.
The next day, even though it was chilly, Josette and I went to the beach and had another picnic. After we had finished eating, I produced a small package and held it out toward her.
“Happy one-week anniversary,” I said.
“One-week anniversary?”
I nodded.
“Does this mean you’re going to give me something every Saturday?” she laughed, taking the package from me.
“Yes.”
She smiled.
“Oh!” she said after she opened it. “This is the same perfume I wore last week!”
“I know,” I said. “I called Brenda and asked her what kind it was. You were sitting right there next to her at the desk and didn’t even know it.”
She smiled again.
“You didn’t know,” I said worriedly, “did you?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and laughing.
She took the bottle out of the box it was in and spritzed some on one wrist and then rubbed her wrists together.
“I love the way this smells,” she said, holding a wrist up to her nose. She extended it to me. “Do you like it?”
“It reminds me of our first date,” I said. “So yes.”
“Our second date,” she corrected me, squirting some perfume on her neck.
“The first one didn’t count.”
“But you like it?”
“That smell will always remind me of the first time I kissed you,” I said, “so, yes. I love it.”
She smiled again.
“Here, let me smell,” I said, leaning forward and putting my hands around her waist. I pulled her toward me and burrowed my face into her neck.
She squealed as I kissed her, but then I pulled away quickly, sputtering and wiping my mouth on my sleeve.
“Yuck!” I said. “That tastes awful!”
“Well you’re not supposed to taste it!” she chided.
I continued sputtering and wiping while Josette laughed. When the taste was finally gone I looked at her. She was smiling and her eyes were still laughing.
“I like it when you laugh,” I said seriously, reaching up and touching her cheek.
She looked at me appreciatively and I ran my hand along her lip.
She smiled.
“And I like it when you smile,” I went on.
“You make me happy,” she answered simply.
“Good,” I replied, bringing her lips toward mine. “You make me happy, too.”
I helped Josette move out the next day after church. It didn’t take very long to transfer all of her worldly possessions, and after she had arranged what few items she owned the way she wanted in her new room, we said goodbye to Patricia and quickly headed back (to what was now just my place) for dinner.
After we cooked linguini and toasted garlic bread, Josette and I took our usual places on the couch, eating in front of the television and watching Chances Are, like we always had. Josette was so quiet for most of the show, however, that by the time the final bonus round rolled around, there was no way she was going to be able to beat me.
“What is the incongruous name of this poisonous woody vine, a member of the nightshade family?” Wally Fletcher asked. Photos of a plant I’d never seen before flashed up on the screen. It had reddish oval berries and purple flowers, and I had absolutely no idea what it was.
“Bittersweet,” Josette said softly.
“Bittersweet,” one of the contestants answered.
“Congratulations,” Wally announced. “That is correct.”
Josette turned to face me.
“That’s how I feel,” she said quietly. “Bittersweet.”
I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close.
“I know that the only reason we’re having to do this is because things are going so great between us,” she went on, looking up at me, “but I’m going to miss you so much.”
“You’re going to see me every single day,” I reminded her, giving her a squeeze.
“It’s not going to be the same . . .”
“The only difference is that we’re not going to be sleeping under the same roof anymore,” I pointed out.
“But I like sleeping under the same roof with you!” she cried, pulling back to look at me unhappily. “And that’s not the only difference. I’m not going to see you in the morning when I get up or when I get home from school, and I’m not going to be able to say goodnight to you after I’ve finished brushing my teeth . . .”
We studied each other for a moment until I asked her quietly, “Do you want to stay?”
I absolutely would have let her if she’d said, “Yes.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “I mean I do, but I can’t. I need to go.”
“It’s going to be okay.”
“I’m going to miss you so much,” she told me one more time.
“Things are only going to get better,” I promised.
That week the two of us settled into a new routine. In the mornings, I would pick her up and take her to breakfast before dropping her o
ff in time for her first class. A few hours later we would meet back up for lunch, buying something from the cafeteria or eating leftovers from dinner the night before. Once we were both ready to leave campus, I would pick her up again and we’d head to my place, where we would spend the rest of the evening together: cooking, eating, and watching TV . . . among other things.
The following Saturday we spent the entire day at St. Kilda. It was chilly again but by far the nicest day I had ever spent there. I loved walking around with the prettiest girl in all of Australia, holding hands with her and kissing her whenever I wanted.
That evening we returned to my house. Josette immediately sat down on the couch and picked up the remote to search for the latest episode of our show that had recorded while we were out. As she got it started, I stepped into my bedroom to retrieve a tightly wrapped package and presented it to her when I returned to the living room.
“Happy two-week anniversary,” I said.
“I can’t believe you’re going to give me something every Saturday,” she said, pausing Wally in mid-sentence with the remote.
“I can stop if you want.”
“No, no,” she replied, taking it from me. “I wasn’t complaining.”
She opened it and held up what was inside.
“It’s an umbrella,” she stated.
“And to think I was beginning to doubt your intellect.”
“You were beginning to doubt my intellect?”
“No.”
The umbrella was covered with words and she immediately started to open it to see what it said.
“It’s bad luck to open an umbrella inside!” I cried, reaching my hand out to stop her.
“I don’t believe in luck,” she replied.
I didn’t either. I smiled at her as she popped it open and started reading the passage that began in the center of the umbrella, spiraling around and around until it reached the very edge.
For, though shy, he did not seem reserved; it had rather the appearance of feelings glad to burst their usual restraints; and having talked of poetry, the richness of the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of opinion as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether Marmion or The Lady of the Lake were to be preferred, and how ranked the Giaour and The Bride of Abydos; and moreover, how the Giaour was to be pronounced, he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the other; he repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness, and looked so entirely as if he meant to be understood, that she ventured to hope he did not always read only poetry, and to say, that she thought it was the misfortune of poetry to be seldom safely enjoyed by those who enjoyed it completely; and that the strong feelings which alone could estimate it truly were the very feelings which ought to taste it but sparingly.
