Our Demented Play Date

by Kat Fletcher

The radio fills the living room with the news from NPR as I sit waiting for Rachel to arrive. My dad has his laptop out and my mom has a book. I’m on my phone, texting madly back and forth with Sierra, filling her in on everything that’s happened.

  She is so happy to finally have some details, but it’s going to be really hard to look her in the face when I first get back.

  Rach knocks on the slider and when our eyes meet, she smiles in that “just so” way she has. I take a deep breath and motion for her to come in, still amazed anyone this hot would be my friend, much less my girlfriend.

  She has obviously put in a lot of work getting ready. When she left this morning, her hair was a mess. Okay, that was from me running my fingers through it a few million times. Now it’s perfectly set to show the sharp edges of the razor-cut layers. Black skinny jeans disappear into the tops of those leather boots I thought were so cute the other night. For a top, she’s got on a vivid purple tank under a rumpled black and white checkered button-up that’s so light, it’s almost translucent. Very on point. To finish it up, there’s a men’s canvas messenger bag slung over her shoulder.

  “Hello Rachel,” my mom says. Her voice is warm, but a little bit of a formal tone has crept in. My dad smiles and waves to her, looking her over as if he’s seeing her for the first time and making judgments, which I suppose he probably is.

  “Hi,” Rach responds, her voice a little tentative. Apparently she’s read the change in mood as well.

  “Rach? Just so you know, I told them it’s a date.”

  She looks confused for a moment and her facade drops a little. “Oh,” she nods, giving herself time to figure out this new social situation. “Definitely.”

  She straightens herself up and starts again, “Well, hello Mr. and Mrs. Fisher. It’s quite nice to meet you. May I say you’re looking very nice today.” She steps up to my dad and reaches out her arm, offering her hand to shake. Her faux black and white TV sitcom boyfriend-being-polite act is so on target that it breaks through the awkwardness.

  “Great to meet you. We’ve heard so much,” my dad quips back and there are chuckles all around. Slightly awkward laughter is still better than silence, right?

  She leans back, cool again, and smiles, and I suspect my parents are as utterly charmed as I am.

  “You…” I start and then just shake my head, walk over, and put my arm around her waist. My mom’s chin trembles just a little, but overall, they take that in with more ease than I would have given them credit for a few days ago. There’s nothing I want to do more right now than kiss her, but I decide that’s probably more than my parents can take.

  “Do you two have any plans?” my dad asks.

  Rach and I peer at each other and we both shrug in unison. “Not really,” I admit. “Hang out, find out what there is to do?”

  “I’ve never been there,” Rach says, “but I’ve heard it’s pretty fun.”

  “I’m sure you two will enjoy it,” my mom says with assurance and maybe a slight quivering in her voice. “If you run out of things to do, the last time we visited Cape, we went on a whale watch. That’s fun and gets you out on the water.”

  “That might be cool,” Rach says. “Want to watch a whale?”

  “Maybe,” I squeeze my hand against her hip, “or just hang out. Whatever.”

  My dad glances at his watch. “It’s not even eleven. You have plenty of time, but you should probably get going. Traffic can be pretty bad even on a Friday. All the people rolling in for the weekend.”

  “Yeah, we should get going,” I say.

  “Definitely,” Rach agrees.

  “Can I have a word in private for a moment?” My dad motions me toward the kitchen.

  I follow him in and he leans back against the counter and holds out the key fob. “Here you go. I need it back, but I’ll get another one of your own from the dealer when we get back to Sumner.”

  “Really?” I say, sounding possibly a little to surprised.

  “It’s about time. We’ll get you a set of keys to the Prius as well.”

  I nod, astonished.

  “Also, Provincetown is expensive. Even compared to the rest of Cape Cod. They hit you up for twenty bucks just to park. Don’t even waste time trying to find a meter. And get gas before you head out, it only gets more expensive as you go on.”

  He pulls out his wallet and starts peeling off twenty dollar bills. He looks up and peels one more off and hands me the wad. If I counted right, there’s two hundred dollars there. “There’s a lot of places to shop and you should take your girl out somewhere nice too.”

  “Wow, thanks,” I babble out. I think I’m more impressed with the casual way he calls Rach “my girl” than with the money or the impending set of my own car keys.

  He scrutinizes me and a slight smile crosses his lips. “Six days?” he shakes his head. “I should have been so lucky with girlfriends when I was your age.”

  If it was a movie, my mouth would have dropped open and a fly would have comically flown in. That’s pretty much how shocked I feel, along with embarrassed. Horrified and embarrassed. My mouth doesn’t actually hang open though. I smile stupidly and blush like crazy. He notices and laughs a little.

  “Like I said. You’ll be okay, kid. And be back by eleven or whenever Carol and Jim say she has to be home.”

  “Sure Dad,” I say and reach out and hug him. “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Chapter 15

  We climb into the car and I press the button and the engine starts up. “Sorry, I should have shot you a text and told you that I came out to them.”

  “Dork,” she says. “I’m glad you did though. Congratulations. Telling them wasn’t as bad as you thought?”

  “I sort of fucked up and ran off at the mouth. So… they kind of know we slept together last night.”

  “Holy shit, you really do bring the fun don’t you?” she laughs. “No wonder your mom was so freaked out. I guess I should tell my ‘rents too. So your parents seem to be pretty okay with you being gay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “See? Told you.”

  “You did,” I say and start to fiddle with the car’s navigation thing. “Let me set this and you have an important job during the drive as well.”

  “Distracting the driver?” she reaches over and strokes my thigh.

  “No. DJ. It’s got Bluetooth. Link your phone and run the tunes.”

  “Definitely,” she smirks.

  I put the car in gear and pull out onto the road. Within a minute, she’s flipping through her phone and the SUV is filled with Sleater-Kinney’s Jumpers. I’m usually about pop, but, score one for me, I actually recognize the song.

  It only takes a few minutes to get out to Route 6, the main road down Cape Cod that eventually wends its way to Provincetown. The navigation system tells us its going to be about an hour drive. I’m dubious though because traffic almost immediately bogs us down.

  A car pulls up next to us and Rach nods towards them. “Totally lesbian. I’ll bet they’re going to P-Town too.”

  I inspect the other car, but I don’t see anything unusual. “N’uh.”

  “I’m telling you. No question,” she replies.

  “How can you tell?” I ask, incredulous.

  “Subaru with two middle-aged women with short hair wearing baseball caps? Are you serious?”

  “Yeah right,” I say completely dubious. “Short hair definitely makes you gay. Like me,” I say turning my head to toss my shoulder-length brown locks.

  Traffic begins to move and the car in question pulls ahead and Rach starts to laugh. “Okay, short hair doesn’t mean anything. You’re totally right.” She points at the back of the car which sports a rainbow strip along the bottom of the tailgate and a “Love is Love” bumper sticker with a double-Venus symbol on the rear windshield.

  “You get that round,” I say grudgingly.

  Once we’re past the dense strip of restaurants and beaches in Eastham the traffic beg
ins to thin out and as the GPS tells us we are getting closer and closer to Provincetown, our game of “spot the gay people” begins to get serious as pretty much every other car fits the pattern. There’s the full-size pickup with two women with shaved heads, the Mini convertible with the two identically and impeccably groomed and dressed blond guys, the SUV with its back full of kids and the “Love Makes a Family” rainbow sticker on the back.

  “Rach, exactly how gay is Provincetown, because the cars are freaking me out.”

  “I think pretty damned gay,” she laughs. “Suze’s parents brought her there last summer and she said it was like a Pride festival. Not that I’d know.”

  “Who’s Suze?”

  “Someone I know from Valley. Her parents are a little scary supportive. They do PFLAG and take her to Pride and all that stuff.”

  “So she’s gay?”

  “Oh yeah,” Rach says casually. “Big time.”

  “But you two weren’t…?”

  “Jealous much? I told you. I barely have real friends at Valley and definitely no girlfriends. She’s not one who’s just trying to be cool. She really is gay. At least I think so.”

  “Your mom doesn’t think you are,” I blurt out. I’m pretty sure it’s not something I was supposed to pass on, but I think she should know.

  “Wishful thinking, Mom,” she sighs.

  “Sorry, it was something my mom mentioned to me. She says your mom thinks you’re doing it for attention.”

  “Like the show Faking It? Even my mom isn’t that oblivious. Are you serious? My sexual orientation is now the subject of light conversation between my parents and their friends. Just great.”

  She looks over at me and her voice turns serious. “You know I am. Right?”

  “If you aren’t, you sure gave it an enthusiastic try last night.”

  She gives a quiet and salacious laugh, “I hope so.” She puts her hand on my leg. I glance down, but I don’t stop her. Traffic is light and it’s more comforting than distracting.

  The road narrows and we go through a section of dunes, some of them so close that the sand is drifting onto the road. A little while after emerging the GPS tells me to turn left and we leave the single-lane highway and head toward town. As the streets narrow, looking for gay couples in cars is replaced by watching them walking on the side of the road. I try not to get too caught up because there’s a lot of cars, the roads are narrow, and I’m afraid I’m going to sideswipe one with my dad’s huge SUV.

  I’m also not sure where I’m going, other than reading the navigation screen, so I keep following it until we come to a stop sign and the car announces we’ve reached our destination.

  “Make a left,” Rach orders.

  “How do you know?” I ask, frozen at the intersection, worrying that the car behind me is going to start honking.

  “It’s the sign that says ‘Parking’ in big letters and has an arrow pointing to the left.”

  “Oh,” I say and make the turn.

  “Geez,” she says and gives my arm a little friendly punch.

  A little way down there’s a guy with a flag waving people into a parking lot.

  “Here?” I ask, not sure.

  “Definitely. Always trust the flag guy.”

  We fork over ten dollars, which we’re told is only a down payment and covers the first two hours—no wonder my dad gave me the twenties. I head into the lot, find a space, park, and take a deep breath as I turn off the car. “I guess we’re here!”

  “This is going to be awesome,” Rach assures me and pulls me toward her. As I strain against the seat belt, we share a long slow kiss. It’s reassuring somehow and I realize how nervous I’ve been getting. I’ve never done any “gay” thing. I sort of hoped Justin would push for us to sit with the Rainbow Alliance kids at school, but he never did and ugh, the closet. No way I was going to keep pretending to be Ms. Straight girl if I was the one asking to hang with the gay group at lunch.

  We get out of the car. It’s sunny with a few poofy clouds and I was right, the day has turned very hot. There’s a steady solid breeze off the water and even here in a parking lot, I can smell the ocean right away. I’m not sure why, but it seems slightly different than where we’re staying. Maybe because Provincetown’s at the tip and stuck way out into the Atlantic and the cottages are on the bay?

  Not knowing what else to do, we follow the other tourists across the street, and along a narrow sidewalk, until we stop in our tracks.

  Provincetown is hella gay.

  “Holy shit!” Rach says, bumping her hip into mine. “We are so not in Kansas anymore. This is awesome.”

  I do my best Rach impression nod my head at her. “Definitely.”

  I have no idea what I really expected, but this isn’t it. It’s like a big gay bomb exploded in a tiny little old-fashioned small town. There’s old buildings crammed with little shops. At the corner, instead of a stop light, there’s a cop directing traffic, most of it pedestrian. There’s rainbows everywhere. Flags hanging from shops, banners across the road. It’s absolutely mobbed, with crowds wandering up and down the sidewalks and spilling into the street and I can’t even count the number of couples I see holding hands or with their arms around each other. Gay couples. Everywhere.

  As we take it all in, a group of guys come up from behind, step off the sidewalk and walk past us, one of them casting a snobby glare back at us for blocking the way. Rach curls her hand around mine and I start to laugh, “Yeah, I guess it’s safe to hold hands. You think?”

  She cocks a look at me with a raised eyebrow, “Definitely,” then pulls me along and we head into the town.

  I can’t describe how amazing it is to be in public holding hands with her. It’s just this feeling of freedom that I can’t come up with the words to do it justice. Just suddenly so much clicks. We breeze past these two women about my parents’ age with a baby. I notice the one pushing the stroller looking us over, then her lips curl in a knowing smile and she nudges her girlfriend, and they share a moment. I give them both a smile back.

  “Hungry?” I ask Rach.

  “I could eat.”

  “There was that place in the center of town. Grab some Fried and sit on the beach?”

  “Fantastic, but one thing first,” she says.

  I gape around wondering what store she wants to go into. “Which shop?”

  “None of them. You,” she says, pulling me into an embrace and pressing her lips into mine. I forget where we are, close my eyes, wrap my arms around her shoulders, and give myself over to the kiss and for a moment, everyone is gone and we’re just alone.

  As the kiss fades, I open my eyes and I can feel the blood pouring into my blushing face as I realize the attention we’ve managed to attract. A couple of women are giving us approving smirks, there’s an older straight couple looking disgruntled and a guy, who I’m guessing is straight, staring at us and licking his lips like we’re some kind of delicious snack. Eww.

  I elbow Rach and drag her back up what I have now figured out from the signs is Commercial Street, not Main Street. We get in line in front of one of the two windows. The smell of fish dinners is everywhere and it’s making my mouth water.

  “What are you getting?” Rach asks.

  “I was going to get a hot dog, but now that we’re here I don’t know. It just smells so good. Nah, I want the hot dog. How about you?”

  “Make a guess?” she cocks her head.

  “Fried clams?” I make a wild guess.

  “Wrong!” she announces, pleased with herself.

  “What then?”

  “A fried clam roll.”

  I roll my eyes at her and fake scowl. “That counts as fried clams.”

  I can tell from her face that the woman behind the window is old, like older than my grandmother, but she isn’t letting it slow her down. She takes orders, checks the food, pours drinks and all the while she’s got this completely I’m-in-charge aura going for her. She arranges a few baskets of fries with
their associated orders, looks out of the window at us, and asks, “What can I get you girls?”

  “Clam roll and a root beer?” Rach says.

  “I’ll have a hot dog with fries and a root beer.”

  “That it?”

  “And an order of onion rings,” Rachel adds.

  “Sure honey,” the woman replies and writes it down on a plain white pad of paper.

  She rings us up on an old cash register, gives us the total, and I learn “market price” is a euphemism for really expensive. Rachel pulls a brightly colored wallet from the messenger bag, but I put my hand on her wrist. “I said I was taking you out, my treat. Okay?”

  “Sure,” she shrugs. “Thanks.”

  We wait around, dodging the mobs of other visitors who are coincidentally walking down the same sidewalk we’re standing on waiting for our food. When the lady puts it down, I can’t help but pop a fry into my mouth. It’s fresh from the oil and hot as anything. I wince and try to not let it burn my tongue. Despite how hot it is, it’s pretty much amazing. Actually, I think every french fry I’ve tasted on Cape Cod has been great. They’re all real in a way stuff from the fast food places never quite seems to be.

  Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any fast food at all. No McDonald’s. No Taco Bell. The only chain I’ve seen is Dunkin’ Donuts, but that doesn’t count. They’re a utility, not fast food. You have to have Dunkies.

  “Fries good?” Rach asks.

  “Wicked.”

  “I can tell. Your face. Well, I’ve seen the expression before. Once or twice,” she gives a knowing smirk, “and now I’m jealous.”

  I swallow and smile, trying not to break out laughing. The woman is already settling another batch of food next to ours, so we try to get out of her way. We gather everything up and head to the nearby beach, trying to balance our sodas and the brown paper half-boxes stuffed to overflowing with fries and onion rings.

  “Should have brought a bathing suit,” I joke as we sit on the sand and watch a whale watch boat head out of the harbor, its deck swarming with people.

  “That would be kind of gross with all the power boats.”