Our Demented Play Date

by Kat Fletcher

  “I’m doing okay, but…”

  “What honey?”

  “I guess, just thank you for how you’ve been treating me? If you know what I mean?”

  “I’m not sure,” she answers. “Am I treating you differently?”

  “Yeah,” I almost laugh, “like I’m an adult.”

  “Oh that. Well, I suppose you have been acting like one.”

  Ouch. That kind of stings. What was I acting like before? It doesn’t seem like I’ve changed at all.

  “Is it because I’m seeing someone?”

  “Well, Rachel is certainly part of it,” she says, looking uncomfortable. “Maybe seeing you two together has made me realize exactly how old you’re getting. And, well, you’ve had to deal with a lot of adult situations.”

  I smirk for a moment before forcing the corners of my mouth to look more serious. Unfortunately, I can’t help myself blushing.

  “Not that kind of adult situation Sarah,” she chastises with an equally embarrassed smile. “How you told us about it and how you’ve dealt with Carol and her little snit.”

  I roll my eyes, which I suppose stands in direct contradiction to any claim I have to maturity, but I really don’t care.

  She tries to give me a look, but it’s only half-hearted. I give her one back.

  “All right, Sarah,” she says programming the address into the navigation, “I’m inclined to agree with you. She’s acting like a child.” She points at the time on the display. “But we need to get going.”

  “I don’t have anywhere to be,” I note.

  “Well, I’m hungry.”

  * * *

  When my mom said the restaurant was downtown, she meant downtown as in park-on-the-street, which requires what? Yes, my own personal nightmare from drivers’ ed: parallel parking. I barely survived it in the Prius, but in the hulking SUV and these tiny streets?

  It’s ugly and let’s not even talk about the psychopath behind me who lays on his horn after the second try. Maybe I should kiss those new sets of keys goodbye after this.

  From outside, the place she’s chosen is pretty plain. It has the wooden shingles you see everywhere on Cape Cod and a very plain hand-painted sign that declares it to be “Angie’s Grill.” Inside, it’s all stained pine tables with light streaming in from skylights set into a vaulted ceiling.

  A small sign indicates we should seat ourselves and I point toward an empty table in the front with a view of the passersby. “Sit over there?”

  “I don’t think so. Isn’t there somewhere else you’d like to sit?” She points toward the back of the room. “Perhaps over there?”

  There’s no empty tables, but then I suddenly get it as Rach waves to me.

  I turn to my mom, who’s got a ridiculously self-satisfied expression on her face. “Mum’s the word. I set it up this morning with Jim. Our table is over there and we’ll try not to cramp your style.”

  I hug her and mumble, “Thank you,” not able to come up with anything better.

  It’s hard not to run through the restaurant. She’s wearing black tight jeans, boots, and a slouched tee that reveals one shoulder, her black bra strap peeking out. It makes a pretty vivid contrast to the country inn sort of style of the restaurant.

  “Did you know about this?” I blurt out when I reach the table.

  She laughs, “I had not clue fucking one. This is not the way my dad does things. Shit’s getting real if he’s willing to go behind her back.”

  “She’s still being a…” I hesitate, realizing it’s probably not polite to call her mom a bitch. “Still being a problem?” I correct myself.

  “Yeah. She had a sour look when we went out. I think she knows that I’m meeting you, but doesn’t want to push it. The whole thing is a total disaster.”

  “How long do we have?” I ask.

  “My dad said lunch and a little time after to walk around town.”

  I’m filled with disappointment, which is ridiculous because five minutes ago I didn’t think I was going to have any time with her at all. I want to hold onto every second. Things have been so perfect, but somewhere, deep inside, I’m still haunted by demented play dates of the past and wonder if this will all disappear when we leave Cape Cod. I don’t want it to end when we get back. I don’t want it to ever end. I’d still be out and that’s a good thing. Justin and Sierra would never say anything, but it would be humiliating to be dumped so quick.

  “What happens when we go home?” I blurt out.

  Her face blanks for a moment, then breaks out in confusion. “What do you mean?”

  Fuck. This is just a vacation thing, isn’t it? She thought I understood that.

  “Just, like, are we going to keep seeing each other?”

  She looks horrified and I melt inside and try not to break out crying until she replies, “I thought so. I want to. Are you still worried or you do want to? Don’t you?”

  The tone in her voice is fearful and I can tell she’s afraid I’m dumping her. It’s like a life buoy thrown to me just before I go down for the third time. “Yes,” I gush in reply. “I totally want to. I just wasn’t sure with all this crap going on… I didn’t know if it would be the same when we get back.”

  “Fuck, you scared the crap out of me. Hella yes I want to be with you. Why wouldn’t you think so?”

  “Because I’m a dork?” I quip back, a bit embarrassed.

  She puts her hand on my leg and searches out my hand under the table. “You know you may be my dork, but you’re not a dork at all for real. I hope you know that.”

  I got nothing for that, but I’m rescued by the arrival of Anna-she’ll-be-our-server. She’s around our age and honestly seems a little bored. We order our matching root beers—I don’t think I’ll ever drink a root beer again without thinking of Rachel—and she leaves us the menus.

  I look up and study Rachel’s face.

  “What?” she exclaims when she realizes I’m looking at her. “Do I have something weird on my face?”

  “No,” I shake my head, suppressing a smile, “they have four kinds of fish tacos on the menu. I’m trying to guess which one you’re getting.”

  “Is that a lesbian joke?” she asks, cocking her head at me in the most wonderful flirty way.

  “No,” I say hesitantly. The funny part is I hadn’t even thought of that. I just know she likes fish and was sure she was going to order one of them.

  “Then why are you asking?”

  “I just know you,” I say with assurance.

  “Well you shouldn’t make assumptions,” she quips back.

  I bury my eyes on the menu, trying to decide between the different veggie wraps.

  “I’m getting the Cajun ones,” she mutters under her breath. I break out in a triumphant giggle and she gives me a pouty face and says, “You suck.”

  “No I don’t,” I object, then lower my voice and lean across the table, “but I will if you ask.”

  She smirks and shakes her head. “I can’t believe this is the same girl I couldn’t get to admit she was gay a week ago.”

  “I was the one who made the first move, you don’t get to complain,” I say wagging my finger at her jokingly.

  “Ten points to Gryffindor,” she replies.

  * * *

  Lunch and our walk goes too quickly. I spend the rest of the day hanging around the cottage and reading. We get pizza for dinner and afterward, I screw around on the net and chat in messenger with Justin. Of course, mostly I’m just waiting for Rach to get online.

  It’s after nine when she finally messages. I say a quick goodnight to my parents and run upstairs to my bedroom. The knowing smiles on their faces make it obvious they don’t even need to ask who I’m chatting with.

  Rach and I talk for a little while about, well, I guess not anything important. It’s nice to be talking with each other. After we run out of this or that, we decide to watch a show and she talks me into this new zombie thing. I really get creeped out by zombies, but this is diff
erent—more Warm Bodies than The Walking Dead.

  The episode is coming to an end when my mom knocks and pokes her head in the door. “We’re heading to bed. Goodnight.”

  “Night, Mom. I’m going to stay up a while and watch TV with Rach.”

  “I’ll never understand watching TV when you’re not physically together.” She shakes her head.

  I give her a look.

  “I’m old right?” she bemusedly asks.

  I give her another look and she nods and half-shuts the door.

  ‘Rents went to bed, I message.

  You can stay right? she asks in reply.

  Yup got to watch more brain slurping.

  See told you. Zombies are great.

  When the show’s over, I send a quick message, Hold on, changing for bed, and get into my pajamas.

  What you wearing? she asks.

  I take a quick selfie and send it to her.

  Cute, she replies.

  What about you? I ask.

  Tank top I wore to ptown.

  The purple one? I ask.

  That be the one! she answers.

  Send a pic.

  That would be unwise, she replies cryptically.

  Why? I ask. I think I know where she’s going with this and the warm feeling spreading through my lower body is making me really hope I’m right. Still, no matter how much I’m hoping, there’s no way I’m going to be the first to bring it up.

  Why isn’t the question. You didn’t ask what else I was wearing, she replies.

  I can feel my mouth go dry and a tingle start in my tummy. Ok Rach, what else are you wearing?

  Nothing.

  My mind floods with images and I’m wonderfully warm. RU sexting me? I message back nervously, holding my breath.

  I’m sure trying, she replies and I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle. I glance up at the door, not quite latched, then I put the tablet down, slip across the room, shut it as quietly as I can, and slowly turn the little knob to locked.

  Chapter 20

  The next day, I kill time around the cottage, waiting to find out where I’m meeting Rachel. In the end, we don’t have to go anywhere. Rach’s parents want to go to a beach with big waves, so they head over to Coast Guard beach over on the ocean side. It’s about twenty minutes away. I’ve seen the signs for it, but I’ve never been there and the name gives me images of people swimming in front of one of those big white coast guard ships you see on TV. Maybe with a helicopter or two flying around and people in scuba kits jumping out.

  Well, at least they’ll be safe.

  And while they’re gone, we have her house to ourselves, so instead of going out, I just go over to their cottage, and we, well, we make out. I guess I could try to be more mature and say we talked about stuff or make it sound romantic, but that’s not how it is. Pretty much the minute the door shuts, her arms are around me and then my hand is under her shirt and we’re stumbling over to the couch. If it was a TV show, my mom would make a joke about “teenage hormones.” If she actually saw me doing it? Well, no matter how good she’s doing, I think she’d keel over with a heart attack.

  And that’s where we are, still half-lying on the couch, when, as I’m drifting kisses across her neck, I gaze over her bare shoulder and see her parents’ car pull into the cottage’s driveway.

  “Shit,” I mumble and pull away from her abruptly.

  “What?” her eyes dart around in confusion for a moment and then the blood drains from her face as she sees the car. “Oh. Fuck.”

  We try to compose ourselves. I wouldn’t say we were only kissing, but we still have our clothes on. Mostly. Not a total disaster. Well, except that I’m there and she’s here. I can’t even sneak out because while there’s two doors, you can see both of them from the driveway. Crazy ideas like hiding in a closet or trying to get through a window and “do a bunk” Snape-style drift through my imagination. But I know for real that we’re completely busted and we’re just going to have to deal with this.

  Rachel’s mom is smiling when she comes in the door, but I can tell the exact moment she realizes I’m here because it’s like someone slapped her. Her smile falls and her eyes widen, but then it’s like there’s some kind of reset and the smile reappears, this time seeming sculpted and fake.

  “Hello Sarah.”

  “Hello Mrs. Gill,” I chirp hopefully.

  “How was the surf?” Rach asks in her best detached cool girl voice.

  “Wonderful,” her dad says. “You should head over there before the week’s done.”

  “Rachel?” Her mother’s voice is chilly and she draws out her name. “I thought we agreed you were going to be working on your calculus practice test?”

  “Carol, perhaps this isn’t the best time,” her dad tries to intervene.

  Her mom’s head whips around and she glares. It’s like watching the slow motion montage in a disaster movie. I open my mouth to try to say something, but nothing comes out.

  “Jim, you know how I feel about this,” she snaps.

  “Oh, come on Carol,” he pleads. “You knew when we left her alone that she wasn’t going to be doing calculus problems, just like you knew we were meeting Stephanie and Sarah when I took her to lunch yesterday.”

  Apparently her dad has decided that this is the best time for this sort of thing. I do my best to turn invisible, wishing I was a chameleon or something and could change my color to match the couch. I turn my head and catch Rach’s eyes. They’re horrified and I try to give her the tiniest smile to take away some of the hurt.

  Ms. Gill is still babbling, “She does not need this distraction right now. She only has a few weeks before school and this is such an important year.”

  “Carol, you have to let her live her own life.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You don’t know what it’s like.”

  Her mom and dad stare at each other in dead silence. The whole thing is surreal. If my parents argue, they don’t do it in front of me. I can’t imagine how Rach feels. This must be so scary. And embarrassing. I squeeze her hand, trying to offer her some undefined support or comfort or something, but it just sits under mine, motionless.

  “Maybe, we should go for a walk,” I mumble, but nobody pays any attention and I start to wonder whether they didn’t hear me or whether I didn’t say anything and only just thought it.

  After a few more moments of the stare off, her mother’s eyes narrow, she tilts her head up, and doubles down. “You don’t. You know that. You really don’t know what it’s like.”

  “Carol. Rachel is doing fine.”

  Her mother shakes her head and glowers for a moment, then tersely hisses, “We’ll talk about this later” and storms out of the room.

  “Rachel?” her dad asks in a concerned voice. “Are you okay?”

  She nods silently and finally takes my hand.

  “Come here,” he says, holding his arms open. She gives my hand a last squeeze, gets up, and darts into her father’s arms, burying her head in his shoulder.

  I’m glad she has him, but it feels wrong that I’m seeing any of this. As they embrace and he whispers something to her, I wonder if I’m still here because he’s forgotten me or whether this is something when you go from being friends to girlfriends.

  It’s the first time I think about whether we’ve moved too fast, but that thought is banished because even after a week, the idea of not being with her isn’t something I can even tolerate.

  He releases her and she takes a step back.

  “Take your phone. I’ll call you when it’s a good time for you to come back,” he suggests.

  Rachel makes a thumbs-on-phone-keyboard motion at him and gives the slightest smirk as she cocks him a mock-disgusted look. Brief as it is, the touch of a smile fills me with relief.

  He nods and grins. “Okay, I’ll text you.”

  * * *

  We walk down to the beach. Neither of us seems to have words suitable for the occasion, so we hold hands and let that b
e our communication. At the bottom of the long wooden stairs, we stop and sit on the edge. She kicks her Tevas off and runs her feet through the sand, then leans her body into mine.

  Straight out from where we’re sitting, there’s a sailboat at sea. Through the hazy humid air, I can just barely make out a blue chevron on its sail. We sit there, quietly, and watch as it slowly moves across our line of sight, until it’s almost to the point at the end of the cove.

  “I don’t know how much more I can take of her,” Rach says, her voice a quiet monotone. “All I want is to finish school and go off to college and be myself.”

  There was nothing about me in what she said. “And be with me?” I ask, trying not to plead.

  She pulls her head back from my shoulder and peers into my eyes “Of course. Are you still on about that?”

  “Yeah,” I answer honestly.

  “If I didn’t want to be with you, I could be a good little girl and do my math problems and my mom wouldn’t be trying to figure out if she’s a Tiger Mom afraid of me not going to Harvard, or just a plain old everyday homophobe.”

  “Okay,” I mumble, feeling a bit embarrassed. She seems to sense it and caresses my hand. “Sorry,” I continue, “I know stuff sucks and I don’t want to be needy.”

  “I like you, needy or not.”

  “Me too.”

  “It’s gone,” she says, matter-of-factly.

  “What’s gone?”

  “The sailboat, it’s past the point.”

  “You were watching it too?”

  “Yeah.”

  Chapter 21

  There’s a “Good morning” waiting for me on my phone, then a note that Rach’s family is taking her to Wellfleet for the morning, so I spend the day kicking around the cottage and waiting for the one or two messages she can send when her mom isn’t looking and she has a signal.

  What a waste. It’s Thursday and we leave Saturday. Only two days, and we’re blowing one of them not being together. Not much I can do though, so I wait, and between messages Sierra and Justin are on vid and keep my mind off the whole thing.