by Lara Avery
“How about the lamb?” he asked.
“Too rich,” Kelsey muttered. The smell of garlic from the kitchen was making her stomach turn. Or maybe it was anxiety. Or the fact that Gillian hadn’t said one word to her for the last four days. That she’d suggested that Kelsey was being unfaithful to Davis, and even though she technically wasn’t, she felt guilty. Or maybe she was guilty.
Davis smiled, clearing his throat. “All the more reason to eat them. These lambs led a good life.”
He paused, waiting for laughter. He hadn’t noticed she was upset.
“More time?” the waitress asked.
“Looks like it,” Davis said, giving the brunette with a bow tie an apologetic wink. Kelsey rolled her eyes.
“Sorry,” Kelsey said. “Sorry,” she repeated to Davis when the server had left.
“No worries, baby. We’ve got all night,” he said. “How about the gnocchi?”
“What’s gnocchi? It sounds like a mythical creature.”
“You don’t know gnocchi? Little potato things. The turds of the potato, if you will.”
“Gross.” Tiny, heart-shaped confetti was scattered in gold flecks on the tablecloth. She brushed them off.
Davis stood, bending over to kiss her on the cheek, and signaled the waitress. In his most soothing voice, he declared, “Eat the potato turds. They’re delicious.”
“If you say so,” Kelsey said, surrendering her menu.
“Plus,” Davis continued, “I’m getting my degree in psychology, and in my soon-to-be-professional opinion, you are beautiful. And you need to eat some food and enjoy this fake holiday. And now…” He bent to kiss her on the other cheek, his scruff brushing her face. “I gotta pee.”
Kelsey sat in the wake of his cologne. She was being sensitive, she knew that. But there seemed like no other way to be. Davis didn’t want to hear another weepy monologue. He wanted her to relax, to “eat some food and enjoy this fake holiday.”
This was Davis’s mode of operation, and Kelsey wasn’t about to change it now.
When she was in danger of failing all her classes junior year, he had responded to her panic by telling her not to worry, she could always get a job at McDonald’s, or as a magician’s assistant.
At Michelle’s funeral, Davis had suggested getting away, as if grief could be cured by fresh air.
He was perpetually on the bright side. He couldn’t help it. Sometimes his optimism was good for Kelsey.
But sometimes, when the dark was so vast, it was impossible to join him.
When Davis returned to his seat, Kelsey nodded along to a story about how he and his fraternity brothers broke into the backyard of the KU basketball coach, and put birdseed in the shape of a Kansas Jayhawk in the grass.
The food arrived.
“Why birdseed?” Kelsey asked, placing her napkin in her lap.
“Good question. To attract birds, of course.” Davis picked up his fork and dug into his lamb. With his mouth full, he continued, “So then all these birds feed on it, and it becomes a bird shape made out of several actual birds.”
“That’s…”
“An unconventional, creative way to display school spirit?”
Kelsey took a bite of her gnocchi. The noodles had the texture of large peas.
“Which is why we should have never been arrested,” Davis said.
Kelsey coughed. “Excuse me?”
Davis shrugged. “Yes, it was breaking and entering. Yes, the coach has a security system. Yes, I don’t know why we didn’t think of that. Then again, scouting the surveillance was not my job, that was Smitty’s job, fair and square—”
Kelsey banged her fist on the table. Finally, Davis was quiet. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you were arrested!”
Heads turned from the surrounding tables.
Davis lowered his voice, and leaned toward her with a sly smile. “It wasn’t a big deal. My dad called the coach, they’re not pressing charges, we’re all laughing about it.”
What was meant to be a whisper came out as a hiss. “Of course you’re laughing about it. You laugh about everything. Why didn’t you at least call me?”
Davis set down his fork.
“Would you have answered a call from the Douglas County Jail? Hello, it’s your boyfriend, I need provisions, please smuggle me a jar of peanut butter?”
Kelsey said nothing.
“Come on. I had to use my one phone call on my lawyer!” A laugh started to escape him. “I’m just kidding. I was only there for two hours. I didn’t even need a lawyer.”
There he went again, to the bright side. Without her. “I meant after, Davis. After the arrest. You should have told me, like, before now.”
Davis signaled the waitress. “Can we get the check?” he called to her, pointing at their table.
“Why are we getting the check?”
“Because I can see you’re upset, and you don’t like the gnocchi, anyway.”
The waitress nodded at Davis and started to lift Kelsey’s plate.
Kelsey put a hand on the waitress’s wrist. “No,” she snapped. “I want to stay.” It felt good to snap. To push against his wall of endless charm. The waitress looked at Davis with an awkward smile, as if Kelsey’s permission wasn’t enough. As if Kelsey wasn’t even there. She felt tiny nerves pricking all over her skin.
“All right,” Davis said, returning the waitress’s smile. They watched her walk away.
“So.” Kelsey narrowed her eyes. “What else have you forgotten to tell me?”
Davis stifled a laugh. “What?”
“What else goes on at these frat parties? Girls must be throwing themselves at you, right?” Kelsey knew she should stop, but she couldn’t. She was in a pit, alone, and she wanted to drag Davis down with her.
Davis lifted his hands. “Where are you getting this stuff?”
She kept her voice loud. “I’m curious.”
“You’re picking a fight.”
“Tell me, then.” Her chest was in knots, and she wished she could press it, smooth it, beat it all out. The liar that she was. The hypocrite. “If you’re so sure, then tell me.”
“I’m not going to fight with you, Kelsey,” Davis said, his eyebrows raised. “Yell at me, fine. I’m sorry I didn’t call you about the stupid arrest. But don’t accuse me of things I haven’t done.”
Kelsey’s stomach turned when she realized the real reason she was doing this. If Davis could admit he wasn’t the perfect boyfriend, maybe she wasn’t so bad herself. Her voice came out quieter this time. “You’ve never cheated on me?”
Davis’s face didn’t change. Kelsey couldn’t tell if he was hiding how he really felt, or if he just didn’t feel anything but disbelief to begin with.
“I’ve never cheated on you,” he said, and that was that.
Kelsey couldn’t fight anymore. And what’s worse, she knew Davis was telling the truth. She was already sorry. But she wasn’t going to show it. He didn’t seem to need the apology. He wasn’t even angry.
Kelsey shrugged and said, “Well, when you do, tell me. People tell each other these things.”
They finished their food without a word. Davis reached out for her hand, and Kelsey let him hold it, limp.
When the waitress brought the check, Kelsey stood up, walked through the tables, out the door, and waited, shivering, on the sidewalk.
A few minutes later, Davis emerged from the restaurant and put her coat around her shoulders.
“What do you want to do now?” he asked.
“I think I should just go home.”
They got into Davis’s SUV and sat as it idled, warming up. After a moment, he asked, “Since when have you been jealous? You’ve never been jealous before.”
“Things change,” she answered.
Davis took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Kels. I’m just not sure what I’m supposed to be sorry for.”
On the ride home, she wondered if he would ever bring it up again, or if he’d just try
to pretend the fight had never happened, like always. When they were a block away from her house, she looked over, trying to read his expression.
Davis’s face was outlined in light from the half-moon. His mouth was straight and resting, his eyes as calm as a stranger’s. She didn’t know what he was thinking, and wondered if she ever would.
2/19, 12:25 pm
From: Farrow, Peter W SPC
To: Maxfield, Michelle
Subject: Last one in a while
Beautiful Michelle,
We’ve stopped in Galuch Valley. It is HOT HOT HOT. I live in a big tent that doesn’t do much to keep the sand out. I’m like the walking crust man. There appears to be no plumbing, and hardly any food, but we have Internet. The advantages of military intelligence, I guess.
With all this Willy Wonka talk, you’re making me miss American candy. As I sit here, that’s what I miss most (besides you) (and my family) (and my dog). Nougat. Are you familiar with nougat? It’s the cloud of chocolate nonsense that fills a 3 Musketeers bar. It’s like solid but not quite. It’s almost salty, too. Just the slightest hint of hazelnut. Then the contrast of chocolate shell, hiding it but hinting at its presence little by little as you bite away, peeling the softness. And putting seven sour Skittles in your mouth at once. I used to just sit on my back patio and go through a whole bag of those suckers. Salty-sweet-sour-salty-sweet-sour. I think I’m hungry. Or maybe I’m thirsty. Sorry to waste an email on candy, meant to write more but there are like ten people behind me waiting to use this computer, including Sam so he can email his dogs back home. Just joking, Sam. You can’t email a dog. I think I’m hungry and delirious.
Yours,
Peter
2/20, 2:13 pm
From: Maxfield, Michelle
To: Farrow, Peter W SPC
Subject: Sexy pics (3 attachments)
Pictures of nougat attached. What did you think it was?!
Open at your own risk.…
xo
Michelle
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Several days later Kelsey was sitting on her side of the porch, trying to keep a pile of Art History notecards from escaping into the March wind as she studied. The smell of grilled burgers hung in the air, as it often did when her father tested recipes for the restaurants’ annual menu changes. Kelsey was happy to see him experimenting with portabella mushrooms for the sake of the vegetarians. It was in memory of Mitch, he told her. Meanwhile, her mother had attempted to organize the growing stacks of marked-up papers and books that now nearly hid her wild hair as she sat at her desk. “Organize” apparently meant “buy plastic bins from Target and let them sit near the stacks of papers,” but at least she was trying. They were all trying, even Kelsey. Midterms were coming up.
From Art Through the Ages, she read, “In Cubist artwork, objects are analyzed, broken up, and reassembled in an abstracted form—instead of depicting objects from one viewpoint, the artist depicts the subject from a multitude of viewpoints to represent the subject in a greater context.”
Like looking at an ice cube that has broken on the floor, she wrote in the margins. Looking at all angles of something three dimensional all at once.
It was nice to be at home in the afternoon.
Basketball season was over, so dance practice wouldn’t resume until after spring break. She and Gillian had been carefully toeing the line between the way they used to be and the way they were, just enough to convince everyone at school that nothing was wrong.
Kelsey and Davis had exchanged conciliatory texts, then emoticons and funny pictures, because that was the way they did things, and her senior year was passing so quickly, and the work was piling on, and it was easy to forget a fight when mint-green leaves were poking through the soggy ground. And today, Peter was supposed to call. When he called, nothing else seemed as important.
Right on time, bright beeps floated from the laptop beside her. Out of habit, Kelsey wiped her eyes, then remembered she wasn’t wearing makeup today. Her hair was already down, too, waving just like Michelle’s in the cool, wet air.
Peter was in a gray army-issue T-shirt, the too-powerful floodlights casting definition on his chest, the tattoo on his forearm. It was night there. When he saw her, he clapped his hands together, giving her the biggest smile Kelsey had ever seen.
“Guess what?”
“You’re not in your uniform,” Kelsey observed.
“These are my pajamas,” Peter said, dismissing them with a pluck of his sleeve. “So, I’ve got—”
“When do you get to wear the fancy version of your uniform, the one with the hat?”
“Privates don’t get fancy uniforms, and I think you’re thinking of the Marines. Anyway, I—”
“You do have a hat, though,” Kelsey said, her smile growing as Peter got more and more flustered. She liked to tease him, especially since she could tell whatever news he had was good.
“Hey!” he called out. “Yes, I have a frickin’ hat! But, that’s not what I want to tell you.”
Kelsey waited, folding her hands calmly as if to say, I’m all ears.
Peter looked at her, cautious, waiting for another ridiculous question. When it didn’t come, he started again. “So, I just found out—”
“What is it that you wanted to tell me?” Kelsey jumped on him again before he could finish, her face innocent.
Peter couldn’t help but laugh, and said, “Oh my God, forget it! Check your email.”
“No, what is it? I promise I won’t interrupt.”
Peter made an I-give-up expression, and lifted his hands. “Check your email. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Okay…” Kelsey muttered, and brought up her browser to sign into Michelle’s email.
The newest was from Peter, and the subject line read: “Fwd: Your American Airlines Itinerary.”
American Airlines? Someone was flying.
Everything in Kelsey’s body seemed to speed up as she clicked into the email. It was a plane ticket. For Michelle. The date was next week. The point of origin: MCI, Kansas City International Airport. The destination: CDG, Charles de Gaulle Airport, Paris, France.
She screamed, high and fast, and put a hand over her open mouth. She could hear Peter’s laughter, and clicked back over to his image on the screen.
“We were given a three-day leave. Sam and another buddy and me are going to Paris. And you are, too. So, there it is.”
Kelsey removed her hand from her mouth, and tried to keep her panic from showing. “How could you afford this?”
“U.S. military flies free on air force planes if we ride up top, with the cargo. Your ticket wasn’t so bad, trust me. I had some money saved up.”
“Peter, this is amazing, but I have school. My parents won’t let me. I don’t know where my passport is. I…”
Kelsey was shooting off excuses, all except for the most important one: It hadn’t been her dream to go to Paris, it had been Michelle’s. Michelle spoke French. Michelle loved art museums. Michelle sang Edith Piaf (out of tune, of course) in the shower.
“It’s only for a weekend,” Peter said hopefully. Disappointment was beginning to edge in on his open face, but he didn’t give up. “Come on,” he said quietly.
Kelsey’s heart was breaking. She had to look away, to think. Because Michelle’s ghost was back again, her outline and coconut smell, made of memories she’d never have, egging her on from the empty side of the porch. Come on, she heard Michelle’s voice echo in her head. For me.
Then she looked back at Peter, who was not pressuring her, just sitting in his pajamas with that faraway look in his blue eyes. “Please,” he said, his smile returning as if he already knew her answer.
“Yes,” Kelsey said, and the wind picked up, tossing her Art History notecards into a flock of white squares in the air, like a sign from something invisible, though she wasn’t sure if it was good or bad.
“Yes!” Peter shouted. He stood up and shouted, “Yes! Yes! Yes!”
Ke
lsey laughed at his antics and stood to catch the notecards, which were now scattered all over the porch. “Hang on!” she called to him.
“I’m going to bed before you change your mind,” she heard him say from the computer. “Good night.” The call dropped.
Kelsey had a lot to do.
Midnight rolled around, and Kelsey took her place at her parents’ door. She would tell them she wanted to go on a Prospective Student weekend at KU, where she would have to stay overnight in the dorms. She would ask them at their most vulnerable and sleepy, so they wouldn’t ask too many questions. She cleared her throat, so her voice would be soft and unassuming. She was wearing her old bunny slippers. It was all a part of the plan.
“Mom? Dad?” She cracked open the door.
Startled snorts from her father, and a quiet “What?” from her mother.
“Can I come in?”
Five minutes later, it was done, and her parents had gone back to sleep. Kelsey lay in her bed, her mind racing. Michelle’s passport, which she’d have to use to match the name on Peter’s ticket, was still in her desk drawer. She had Googled the details—the passport wouldn’t have been canceled unless her family sent in a request. And as far as Kelsey knew, they hadn’t. Even if she were to get questioned at the airport, she would cry and say she had taken it by accident. She would pack dark colors and high-heeled boots. She would let her eyebrows grow out. She could be Michelle—for a little while. For long enough to get there, then do the thing she was dreading. The only thing left to do was waiting for her in Paris, and though the time had finally come, the thought of it made her stomach feel like a nest of coiling snakes.
There, in person, she would tell Peter the truth.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The plane hummed to a crescendo and air began to close on Kelsey’s ears. She watched the cement meadow of Kansas City International speed past her, and wiggled her toes in her boots. They were cleared for takeoff. As the ground fell, her stomach dropped with it. She clutched the armrests tight and let her neck unhook, her head lolling on the hard cushion, hoping to sleep. She wanted time to pass quickly.
