Our Demented Play Date

by Kat Fletcher

  The day with my parents is good enough. We do a little bit of shopping and go to the aquarium in Woods Hole. It’s not big, but it’s a good way to kill time and we get to watch them feed the seals. On the way home, we stop in Hyannis and walk for a bit along the waterfront, admiring the motorboats and yachts, then grab ice cream cones in town.

  For the first time in forever, I haven’t touched my phone all day. I just didn’t want to deal. So while we’re eating our ice cream, I check my messages. Sierra and Justin are both asking if I’m okay. That would be no. Then there’s another group of messages from Rach wanting to talk and that brings it all up again.

  Damn it Rach, you kissed me back, I think. She didn’t at first, but then she did, and not a little. So what’s up with that? Why if she wasn’t into me didn’t she pull away? Why did she kiss back?

  I start to type out a message telling her I can’t talk yet, but I erase it and put the phone away, trying to push it all out of my mind. The day has been good for that. It’s the kind of corny thing I rolled my eyes over when my parents first said we were going to Cape Cod, but somehow it seems very soothing. Just being their daughter again for a day.

  It’s dark by the time we’re back to our rental. “You should give Sierra a call,” my mom says helpfully as I’m walking up the stairs. That worries me a little because it means she must know something’s wrong and I don’t want to deal with any of it right now. I guess there’s no way my parents are going to spend the whole day with me and not notice something is going on though.

  I flop on the bed and close my eyes for a moment. There’s a cool breeze coming though my open window and I can hear the surf. I just try to clear my mind, but it keeps swirling around. I hear light steps on the stairs and a knock at the door. “What is it mom?” I say, trying not to be annoyed.

  It’s not my mother though. It’s Rachel. She’s standing there, leaning against the doorjamb, her shoulders slumped low. She’s not looking at me, so I can’t tell for sure, but I swear her eyes are puffy. Whatever’s going on, she looks terrible, something I wasn’t sure was even possible for her.

  “Hey,” she whispers, her hands at her side, nervously fidgeting. “I saw the lights come on when you got home and needed to talk to you. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah, sure. Come in and shut the door. I don’t want my parents to hear.” She steps in and the door clicks shut. When our eyes meet, I glance away. I can’t stand it.

  “I’m sorry. There’s nothing to say. I shouldn’t have done what I did.” I manage to force the words out, but then the tears come. I’d been able to beat them back for the last twenty-four hours, but it’s too much for me.

  “Come on Sarah, we have to talk about this,” she insists, her voice stronger and strained. I can tell she’s trying to be mature about this. It’s not her first rodeo after all, but I can’t do that right now.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. I know because you’re gay doesn’t mean you like every other girl. I need some time before I can be just friends with you.”

  “Why do you think I don’t like you? I don’t want to be just friends. I like you Sarah. A lot.”

  It takes a moment before it registers in my brain.

  “What?” I gasp out, looking up at her. She’s shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot and chewing her lip. I still can’t make any sense of it though. “You could have fooled me. You were staring at me like you were horrified.”

  “I’m so sorry.” She raises her head and our eyes meet. “You surprised me that’s all. I wasn’t expecting it and I wasn’t sure what to do.”

  So she likes me? I let it really sink in. I still don’t get it, but thank God or Goddess or the Flying Spaghetti Monster.

  She sits down on the bed next to me, her hands folded in her lap. We’re close enough that we touch at the hips, just barely, but it feels wonderful. Now I can’t look at her. I’m too nervous and still confused.

  “I like you. For real,” she says softly. “A lot.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say softly. “I’m not good at this like you are.”

  “Sarah. That’s the whole point. I’m not good at this.”

  “Better than I am,” I mutter.

  “Can you kiss me again?” Her voice surprises me. She sounds nervous, almost timid.

  I take a deep breath and lean over. Our lips touch. Her mouth is so soft, even though it was only a day ago, I almost forgot how soft. We draw the kiss out, lips sliding gently together. I feel lightheaded. Elated. Drunk on happiness all at the same time.

  “Well, you kiss pretty good!” I say as our mouths part. It’s meant as a joke, but it falls flat.

  “Good to hear. I’ve never kissed anyone before,” she whispers.

  “What?” I ask, completely confused.

  “When you kissed me yesterday. It was the first time I’ve kissed another girl. First time I’ve kissed anyone I wasn’t related to. I guess it kind of made me freak out.”

  “I thought you were out and everything.”

  She laughs nervously. “I am out. Just because people know I like girls doesn’t mean I’ve done anything with one. It’s so easy to be out at Valley. It’s sort of expected. Everyone’s weird and nobody cares. We all wear it on our sleeves, but I never…” She shrugs. “I’m not even sure some of the other gay kids at school are really gay.”

  “That’s why,” I say, the pieces suddenly sliding into place.

  “Why what?”

  “Why you didn’t do anything!” I laugh. “I liked you so much and I kept trying to make you like me and expecting you to make the first move because you were out of the closet and stuff. But you didn’t do anything and I couldn’t understand it because you were totally out and stuff.”

  “No, I’m just a big fake alt-girl who wears weird stuff and watches Doctor Who. I wanted to say something or do something, I didn’t know you really liked me. I thought so, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t even know if you were gay for sure.”

  “Come on. You knew I was gay. You kept teasing me about it. Why did you think I was trying to hold your hand on the steps?”

  “I don’t know.” She intertwines her fingers with mine. “Speaking of holding hands,” she starts and laughs nervously. “Okay, I was scared. Happy? I’m not as good at this as you think.”

  “You are good at kissing,” I say and lean my face to hers again. I kissed a boy once. There was stubble and I hated it. This feels right, with her smooth skin and the wonderful way she smells. This time our kiss doesn’t break. It’s a long glorious exploration and when we come up for air, we hover inches away from each other, our eyes locked. She caresses my face, her fingers sliding gently across my cheek, down my neck, across my shoulder, and then she’s leaning me over and we’re lying on the bed.

  And, of course, kissing. She is a good kisser. And I think she thinks I am too.

  Chapter 10

  The morning sunlight is shining through the windows of my bedroom and I’m soaking it in, drifting between half-asleep and half-awake when her voice pulls me into the new day.

  “Hey, Sarah. You awake?”

  I’m confused for a moment because I definitely remember her leaving. I didn’t want her to. I wanted to have her stay all night so I could keep kissing those soft wonderful lips.

  Coming a bit more to my senses, I realize the voice is coming from the iPad on my nightstand. We’d set up a video chat after she got back and let ourselves fall asleep to it. The haze of sleep is still clouding my mind so my only response is to moan in response.

  “Hey, none of that,” she says and I laugh. No Rach, I think to myself, not that I haven’t thought of you when I’ve done that, but I am not sexting you. At least not right now. And definitely not on video.

  “I’m waking up Rach,” I mumble, picking up the tablet and holding it in front of my face. I’m guessing she beat me to waking up by about thirty seconds. For once her hair isn’t perfect. Instead of the usual oh-so-perfect straight layers, it’s frizzed up and f
lying out at odd angles.

  “So that’s what you look like when you wake up,” I joke.

  “You did sleep over here the other night. It’s not the first time you’ve seen me with bed head.”

  “You were already awake when I got up.”

  “That’s right,” she says, then a mischievous expression comes over her face. “I watched you sleeping for a while. I hope that’s not too weird.”

  “No,” I answer. “Not too weird. Kind of thrilling actually.”

  She smiles back. “I would have stayed until you woke up, but I’m afraid my boundless lust for coffee overcame even my intense affection for you.”

  “Mmm. Coffee,” I close my eyes, savoring the thought. We stayed up and it’s pretty early. Definitely need some.

  “We still have that espresso machine, if you want an early morning jolt. Just give me fifteen minutes to put myself together?”

  “I suspect you’re always together.”

  “Good,” she jokes, “I’m still fooling you then.”

  Rach has nothing to worry about in terms of time. It takes me longer than fifteen minutes to wake up, shower, and get my long dirty brown hair into something resembling sanity. It’s never easy to work with, but the salty air and moisture is turning it into a complete mess.

  It’s already warm and when I get to their house, her parents are out on the deck, having coffee and something I can’t quite see hidden in a bakery box. “Good morning Sarah, what brings you over?” her mom asks.

  I hesitate for a moment. They know about Rach, but I don’t think I want them to know about us. Not until—my stomach turns from even the thought—not until I tell my parents. “You have an espresso machine. Rach said I could come over for a morning cappuccino.”

  “She’s inside, go on in,” her dad adds. His voice, as usual, is friendly, but her mom is giving me an odd glance like she’s puzzling something out, which makes me nervous. I try to think about whether she and my dad are supposed to be working together today, but I think he said they were done with the work stuff. Honestly, with Rach around it’s hard to think about my parents or anything else.

  Oops. I need to catch Sierra and Justin up with the news.

  Through the window, I can see Rach behind the breakfast bar, looking amazing despite still being in the same shirt she wore to bed. Her face lights up when she sees me through the glass door. What seeing her does to me is one thing, but when she looks the same way at me is different in a way I can’t describe.

  I slide the door open and go in.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “Hey,” I reply. It’s not quite the same as her cool girl hey though. It’s more of a “I have no idea what to say because I’m so nervous and overwhelmed.” I don’t tell her that. Despite her claims otherwise, I think she’s pretty amazing, and it’s intimidating.

  “You look fantastic,” she says. What hits me is the casual way she says it. As if it’s obvious to her. I don’t see it at all. I’m just wearing a pair of jeans and this strappy-in-the-back T-shirt I got at Aero. My hair is still wet and I’m not even wearing makeup, other than some BB cream. Despite it all, her eyes scan up and down my body, taking me in and clearly approving.

  “I believe I was promised espresso?” I say, changing the subject.

  “Just a sec, I have to grab something,” she says and scoots out of the kitchen into the living room. I wait, but she doesn’t return.

  “Sarah?” she draws out my name entreating me to join her.

  I wander in, feeling a little confused, and she pounces on me, drawing me into her arms and crushing her mouth against mine. I squeak at first, but the surprise quickly dissolves and I put my arms on her hips and kiss back, savoring her lips. “Sorry,” she says as our mouths part, “I didn’t want my parents to see us.”

  “Thanks. I know it must be a pain. They know about you, but I need to figure out my parents and I don’t want it getting back to them.”

  “Nah, it’s not a pain. My mom gets weird. I don’t want to deal with telling them either. I just want to enjoy things for now.”

  We kiss again and with mutual sighs, go back to the kitchen where she sparks up the machine. A minute later it’s spewing steam and an amazing coffee aroma. She puts the mug in front of me and I put a spoonful of sugar in it. I never know if I’m supposed to do that to cappuccino or if you’re supposed to drink it with just the milk, but I’ve tried and don’t like it unless it’s sweet. She doesn’t say anything though, so it must be okay. Or maybe she doesn’t know either?

  “So are you doing anything today?” I ask, trying to sound casual as I’m sipping the coffee.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’m sleeping over your house tonight so we can watch Doctor Who, or have you forgotten about that?” she says, letting her hand brush against mine for just a moment.

  I stare into the foam on my cappuccino. I had sort of forgotten and when I think about her sleeping over, I start to feel a little dizzy at the prospect.

  “Sarah?” Her voice is serious and I look up at her. Her eyes are opened wide and affectionate concern has replaced the cool girl jaded expression on her face. “It’s just Doctor Who. Don’t freak out.”

  “Sorry,” I say and stare at my coffee in embarrassment.

  “You know, you’re beautiful,” she says as if it was the most normal thing in the world to say.

  “Not like you,” I mumble.

  “That’s kind of the point. You do you. And what you do is pretty damned hot.”

  “So what are we doing until tonight?” I ask.

  “Well, it’s warm.”

  “Gonna Be A Hot One!” I joke, speaking the well-worn expression with a fake heavy Massachusetts accent.

  She laughs. “Well, the beach is nice. And the tent is private. If you know what I mean.”

  “It’s not a tent. It’s a Sport-Brella!”

  She makes us each a second coffee, brings out a bakery box of danish, and we spend an hour having a quiet breakfast together until her parents come in. Our little private moment broken, we agree to adjourn to the beach.

  * * *

  I head back to the cottage alone and go up to my bedroom to change. I remember leaving the blue bathing suit over a chair to dry, but it’s not there and my clothes have managed to spread out, not only across the spare bed, but cascading onto the floor.

  Well, neat packing and organizing is something Rach and I have in common. That’s something.

  I start sorting through the pile and come across my other swim suit. It’s turquoise and green and a two-piece. For me, at least, it’s also kind of skimpy, so revealing that I’ve never worn it in public. That is until today. Some little gear or switch deep in my brain flicks on and I skin my clothes off and put what little of the suit there is on.

  There’s a full-length mirror and I inspect myself. There’s a lot of skin and the tiny breeze against my skin doubles the feeling that I’m just not wearing enough. I grab the gauzy white shirt I wore and slip it over my shoulders. It comes down just past the bottoms of the swimsuit. Perfect. I go through another bag and pull out sunglasses and go back to the mirror. I look good. Different. But good. Almost Rach levels of good.

  I hear steps on the stairs and peek through the door. It’s Rach. She’s got the same blue one-piece on from the other day and I regret for a minute that we aren’t both wearing the same thing because I thought that was kind of cool. I guess I never thought about that, but if you’re dating another girl, you can share clothes and stuff. Sierra always wants me to try on her things, but our styles are so different that I’ve resisted.

  She gets to the top of the stairs and slips into the room. “My God Sarah, do you have anything on under that?” she jokes.

  I open the white shirt quickly and flash her.

  “Does your mom know you have that on?”

  “My mom,” I emphasize the words, “is the one who bought it for me. I have no idea why. We were out shopping and she really pushed for a two-piece a
nd I picked this one.” I laugh, remembering the moment. “I couldn’t believe she wanted me to get it. I’ve never even worn it before.”

  “Well, you are totally on fire.”

  I blush, and thinking for a second, awkwardly step forward and kiss her. After our lips part, we stand for a moment, not doing anything before she puts her hands on my hips and pulls me into an embrace. I wrap my arms around her head and we have a more intimate kiss.

  Our bodies being so close is strange in a sort of wonderful way. Our breasts touch as we hold each other and I’m crazy aware of the contact. It’s silly because it’s not like I haven’t hugged a girl before, but everything is so different. I’m so focused on every place our bodies connect. It’s only a hug. How can it be just so…hot?

  I release her and step back. “I am so up for a swim.”

  “Yeah, it’s getting kind of hot in here,” she lifts her eyebrows suggestively.

  * * *

  Once we’re down at the beach, getting the Sport-Brella thing up is a lot easier this time. Despite the heat, we work together quietly and efficiently. In moments I’m lifting up the pole so she can slide a blanket under it for us.

  “Swim?” I ask, feeling overheated from even the few minutes in the sun.

  “Yeah. Big time,” she says, stripping off her cover-up and scooting the board shorts down.

  I take off my top and reach in and get the sunscreen. Three days ago I was so grateful it was a spray, but now I kind of wish it was the kind you have to apply by hand. Oh well. I spray my front and get her back, then hand it to her. She gets herself first, goes over my back, and when I think she’s done, gives me a squirt close up at the top of my bottoms. It’s cold and wet and starts to run down my skin. I squeak in surprise and turn around. She flashes a smile and tosses it back under the tent and runs for the water.

  “You!” I scream and pad through the hot sand after her and we stumble into the surf and both of us leap at once and swim out.