by Kat Fletcher
We do a lazy circuit of the pond. There are some turtles sunning themselves on a log. My mother also points out a water bird that looks like a giant blue jay. There’s nothing even close to the big white bird. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite that graceful.
After we explore the pond, we head back to the river and let ourselves drift quietly back down to where we started. While the current takes over navigation, I think about how I want to come out to them. Humor? A serious chat? I go over it again and again until we reach the docks.
After turning over our paddles and life jackets to the office, the three of us walk back to the parking lot. When we get to the SUV, I run ahead and get into the driver’s side. Not going to let my parents forget that one.
“Mom? Dad?” I start nervously. “I just wanted to… I wanted to tell you something…”
What? What do I want to say?
My dad peers over from the passenger seat looking all concerned. That’s too much for me. If I ever had the nerve, I’ve lost it. “I wanted to say thanks for taking me kayaking. It was great.”
He smiles. I adjust the seat and start the engine. Before putting it into gear, I pull out my phone to see how Rach is making out, but the new message box is empty. Blah.
* * *
When we get back to the house, I go up to my bedroom and pull out my iPad. We’d stopped for lunch and I’d gotten something called a Chicago Hot Dog. It was totally weird. I want to find out if its real or something the hot dog stand came up with. Apparently, it’s real. What else is real is that Rachel still hasn’t replied. I shoot her another message. At my place. Let me know when you’re back.
I rest the tablet in my lap for a moment in the hope a response will come, but no such luck. Disappointed, I flick through a couple of apps, trying to get interested in something, but I keep popping back and finally shoot off another message, this time to Justin. Need 2 Talk U there?
It doesn’t take more than 30 seconds. The video chat request lights up and his dark hair and smiling face appear on the screen. “Hey girlfriend, how’s the scenic wonderland?”
“It’s…” I pause for dramatic effect, “not so great.”
“Going to to the beach can’t possibly be that bad,” he says as if it’s obvious.
I can tell he wants to cheer me up, but I’m not in the mood. I’m not sure what I want from him or why I’m doing this, but I’m going to do it anyway. “Justin. I need to talk for real.”
“Sorry Sarah, what’s going on? Sounds serious.”
I look at the open door to downstairs. “Hold on,” I get up off the bed and close it, then sit back down. “The Gills’ daughter, Rach. We’ve been hanging out and she’s gay.”
“Um, so am I. I fail to see a problem?”
My stomach starts to turn. I’d practiced all of this in my head, but now I can’t get it out. “Justin, what’s it like to be gay?”
“What’s it like to be straight?” he quips back.
“Okay, good return,” I admit.
“I told you. I’ll be at Wimbledon some day.”
“Really Justin,” I can hear desperation creeping into my voice, “just what’s it like? How did you know?”
“Actually, I was being serious. I have no idea. It’s just how I am. What’s going on Sarah? Sierra is the one with the angsty personal issues. If you’re talking to me like this, something is seriously wrong. What’s the deal?”
“Rach is the deal. She’s. I don’t know. She bothers me.”
“Bothers you?” He wasn’t making this easy. I thought I was being so obvious.
“She just… it’s stuff she does…”
“Is she hitting on you or something?” he asks.
I close my eyes and lay the tablet on the bed so I don’t have to see it, and force the words out. “No Justin. She’s not hitting on me. That’s the problem. I’m totally crushing on her. We went out for ice cream and I thought for sure she liked me and we fell asleep on the couch together and it was so great, but this morning she was so cold and I’m confused and I don’t know what to do.”
“Fuck me,” Justin blurts out.
“That’s sounding even more unlikely than it was a week ago,” I shoot back.
“So you haven’t entirely lost your sense of humor. That’s good. Really Sarah? So, is it just this girl? Or do you think you’re gay?”
I pick up the tablet again and I can see that he’s clearly surprised. You’d think with him being gay, it wouldn’t be that much of a deal. Correction: with him being gay too.
“You don’t think I am?” I ask back.
“I did for a long time, but when I came out and you didn’t say anything, I figured you weren’t. Sierra still thinks you are.”
“Wait a minute.” This was all getting way too weird. “Sierra thinks I’m gay?”
“Totally. We even made a bet. I owe her a pizza. If you chat later, ask her what she wants on it.”
“You did not!” I laugh, but he just smirks. Oh. My. God. They did. I want to kick them good and solid. Then I want to hug them. I wasn’t sure what made that okay, but suddenly I felt better. It was just Justin and I goofing about stuff and it was all going to be all right and nothing was going to change between us. Except something had. Everything had.
“So Sierra’s not going to hate me?” I ask.
“I don’t think so, Sarah.”
“Do you hate me for not telling you?”
“No,” he says in a serious tone, which I’m completely not used to from him. Usually he’s all jokes. “I get it. Really. It’s okay though, and it’ll be fine with Sierra. Conference her in. You’ll see.”
I nod to him. Okay, Sarah. I try to psych myself up. One down and one to go. I drag Sierra’s picture to the call window. It rings for what seems like forever and then her face comes on.
“Oh, hey guys,” she says, “how’s Cape Cod?”
“It’s complicated,” I say, “really complicated.”
“Really?” Sierra says in a sardonic monotone, “Because that sounds complicated. Really complicated.”
My mouth is suddenly dry and I purse my lips and sort of don’t say anything.
“Knock knock?” Sierra says, impatient with me.
“I’m being serious Sierra.”
“Sorry,” she says, sounding chastened.
“I’m having a hard time. That is…” I pause, trying to steel myself to do this a second time. “I’m trying to think of how to say this. Justin? Help me?”
Justin laughs and blurts out, “Let me put Sarah out of her misery. What she is trying to tell you is you have won our little bet and you and I are going out for pizza tonight.”
Sierra’s image on the screen suddenly tumbles and I’m looking at the ceiling fan in her bedroom, but I can hear her squee. I am being completely honest: she’s actually squeeing. After she finishes, the picture rights itself and her face reappears. “God Sarah, it took you long enough…”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m just kidding. I know you had to figure it out,” she says, smiling into the phone camera.
“I guess.”
“It’s that girl there isn’t it?”
I make an audible sigh. “Yes. Rachel.”
“I knew it. Ha! I guess that means you’re getting along. Spill. I want the whole story. We’ll mute Justin for the gory details, but I want ‘em. What have you been doing?!”
“Not much, that’s kind of the problem,” I begin, blathering out the whole sordid, or maybe not sordid enough, story of the last three days and my crazy crush on my mandatory, if temporary, companion. The feeling of getting out it out there and being able to talk about it is this huge relief.
Of course, he’s Justin and totally useless on dating advice and twice as useless about girls. So while he’s great for the “getting it off the chest” thing, not so much on the “where do we go from here” thing.
Sierra is sympathetic, if a bit disappointed at the lack of details.
She assures me that if Rachel was a guy, I’m doing the right things. Rachel isn’t a boy though, so her advice is not nearly as helpful as you might hope.
We finally run out of things to say, but it doesn’t matter. It’s going to be okay. Whether she likes me or not, I still have my friends and my life isn’t going to end.
Before we disconnect, I want them to know how thankful I am for them. I put back on my serious voice. “Sierra. Justin. Just thanks. Okay?” Justin nods, Sierra smiles, and I blow a kiss to the screen then tap the window shut.
As good as I feel about talking to my back-home friends, Rachel has still not responded to my messages. Come on girl, a text or something!
* * *
My parents decide to go out for dinner at this funny little restaurant. I say it’s “funny” because when we arrive, I can’t even tell it’s a restaurant. The building looks like a normal suburban house rather than what you’d think of as a business. There’s only a half dozen tables inside and I wonder if it can possibly be any good or if it’s just someone setting up a restaurant in their living room to make some extra money. I don’t share my fears with my mom and dad and order a lemony chicken thing over pasta that turns out to not just be good, but absolutely amazing. It doesn’t compare to dessert though, because while the molten chocolate cake is good, the phone beeping with a message from Rach is even better.
Sorry parents took phone. Back now.
Take her phone away? Control freak much? I figure I shouldn’t say. Instead, I message back that I’ll stop by when we get back from dinner.
When we arrive at the cottage, I beg off from my parents and head straight down to see her, both happy and nervous at the same time. I get there and can see her through the sliding door sitting at the breakfast bar. She’s sitting on one of the stools, sipping coffee. I stand there watching her for a moment and before I get a chance to knock, she sees me and waves for me to come in.
“Hey Sarah,” she says. “Do you want an espresso?”
“You can make espresso? Were you a barista or something?”
“No, I read the instructions on the side of the machine, so don’t get all excited. It might not be very good compared to what you’re used to.”
“And where was this supposed espresso this morning when I needed a jolt? Hadn’t you read the instructions then?”
“No I had not,” she says dryly, “because some idiot stuck it in one of the cabinets and I only found it this afternoon.”
She does her thing with the steam and everything and hooks us both up with fresh cups and we sit.
“Are your parents around?” I ask.
“They’re down at the beach watching the sunset.”
“Good,” I say, not thinking.
“Good?” she asks, twirling her stool a bit to face me and raising an eyebrow.
I’m trying to work up the courage to say something while my stomach does flip flops at how close we are.
“I wanted to talk…” my voice slowly drops in volume and speed, “about us.”
“About us?”
There’s a nervous hint in the way she says it and doubt creeps into my mind. My hands are sweating and cold and I wipe them against my jeans. Am I making a fool of myself? Maybe she doesn’t like me? Or only as a friend?
“God Sarah, are you okay? You just went pale,” she says.
“I was wondering after last night. Rach, do you like me?” I blurt the question out and immediately panic overtakes me. My heart pounds. A thousand thoughts fly through my head. A single terrible fear keeps coming to the surface of my thoughts. What if she says no?
What if she says yes?
Instead, she doesn’t say anything at all, just bites her lip. There’s a long moment of silence as we’re staring into each other’s eyes. My pulse is strong enough that in the absence of any reply, I can sort of hear my blood throbbing. She has to say something. I need to know how she feels even if it means the worst.
She’s so close, just on the next stool, but she’s still not saying anything, just looking at me.
“How do you mean ‘like you’?” she asks hesitantly.
Something breaks inside me and I have a moment of perfect calm. She’s there and only a foot or two away. And we’re looking at each other.
I lean my head in and kiss her on the lips.
She doesn’t pull away, but for a second, nothing happens. I’m kissing someone who’s not kissing back. It’s not a good feeling. Panic starts to well back up, but before I can pull away, she begins to kiss back. For a wonderful and all too short moment, it’s all softness and the touch of her our lips, the taste of her espresso still lingering on them.
I breathe out in relief and lean back, but when I see her face, I’m plunged into despair. Her mouth is open and her visage is a grim blankness. There’s not a hint of happiness there, only shock and possibly disgust.
I’m horrified, ashamed, and embarrassed all at once. I should never have pushed it. I should have let her answer and found out how she felt before kissing her. I know better than just kissing someone unexpectedly and I’m so mortified that I can’t bear to meet her eyes.
I slide off the stool and mumble “I’m so sorry. I thought you… I’m so sorry.” Then I head for the door. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so humiliated. I virtually assaulted her. Not only isn’t she interested in me, but I’ve probably lost any chance of keeping her as a friend.
What if she tells my parents?
I knew she was way out of my league. Totally knew it.
I walk briskly down the road toward our rental house, each footstep deliberate and strong, kicking up dust from the gravel, and punctuated with a mental I Will Not Cry.
Chapter 9
It’s early when I wake up. No, I didn’t cry myself to sleep. I haven’t cried at all. I’m numb. It’s like I can see the world, but I’m not actually there.
I just lie there going over the scene again and again. I see myself lean in, I feel her lips, and then for a brief moment, I let myself pretend it ended differently. Eventually, I can hear my parents downstairs. I can see through the window that the sun is higher in the sky, but I have no sense of time or how long I’ve been here fretting.
I check my phone and, overnight, Rachel has sent me a series of messages asking me to call her, but I don’t think I can deal with that right now. I decide to torture myself and read through the whole message log between us. As I scan each one, this time I can see now how I was mistaking friendship for affection. What I thought was flirting was her wicked sense of humor.
No, actually, I don’t see it at all. I read it and all I see is flirting and it hurts.
Maybe if I could just make it all go away it would be better, but I can’t press the red button that would delete the messages—our messages. Instead, I read through it again and feel even worse.
I can hear my mother’s feet on the stairs and she knocks and calls through the door “I’m making pancakes if you want any.”
“Sure,” I say without any real enthusiasm.
“See you downstairs,” she says smiling, oblivious to how I feel. That’s good because I most certainly do not want to talk about it. None of it. Not ever. I know someday I’ll have to come out to my mom and dad, but this is one mistake I already know I’m going to bury.
I send a group message to Sierra and Justin. It’s simple. She’s not interested.
Justin’s reply is nearly instant. R You OK?
Hell no. Of course I’m not okay. I don’t say that though. Instead I say, I’ll live.
What happened?
Kissed her and she freaked, I reply.
Ouch. So Sorry.
I hear my mom’s voice and I drag myself out of bed and head down. I get my coffee and sit at the table, feeling vaguely ill.
“Morning honey,” my mom says and kisses me on the head, putting a plate of pancakes in front of me. I poke at them and start to eat mechanically. I don’t want them and they’re making me feel vaguely nauseous, but the la
st thing I need is for her to figure out something’s up and begin asking questions. One humiliation for the vacation is more than enough.
My dad walks in and sits next to me. “These are great hon,” he says shoveling breakfast into his mouth.
“What are you and Rachel doing today?” my mom asks.
I remember only a day ago when hearing her name sent such a nice feeling through me, but now it’s just painful. Plus, it brings up the completely new disaster I have to figure out. How am I going to get through another week of this without my parents finding out what’s going on.
“Oh, I think she’s going out with her dad today,” I say noncommittally.
“She’s still coming tomorrow though?”
“I don’t know, I guess.”
My parents exchange glances.
“Is everything all right?”
I feel the blood drain from my face. “I miss Sierra.” It rolls off my lips without a hint of duplicity. “She was out on a date last night and I haven’t heard from her.”
“Is this another new boy?” my dad asks.
“Another? She’s not that bad. But yeah. It’s their first date.”
“I feel bad for any boy she gets her hands on. She doesn’t keep them long,” he says smiling and shaking his head.
I feel bad for the boy too since he’s entirely made up, but I have to thank him because it seems to have distracted my parents. Then finally, I’m down to the last pancake and finish, washing it down with the light sweet coffee.
“I need to answer my email, but if you have nothing else to do, would you like to come with us to Falmouth? We were going to do some shopping. There’s a walk Carol and Jim say is quite something.”
“Sure,” I shrug. Anything to get away from here for a little while.
* * *
Falmouth is almost an hour away from where we’re staying and as my dad gripes about the traffic in the front seat, it gives me a lot of time to think. Why didn’t I wait for her to answer before I lunged at her? I couldn’t stand it though; I was so sure she felt the same way. I know I haven’t been with a girl or with anyone else, but I’m not stupid. How could I have gotten things so wrong?
