Our Demented Play Date

by Kat Fletcher

  I also finish the book about the basketball players. Spoilers. They end up together. Big surprise for a romance novel huh? It finishes with one passing the ball to the other, who shoots to win the state championship. Maybe it’s a little cheesy. Okay, maybe it’s cheese in a can cheesy, but I don’t care.

  It’s been almost fifty-five minutes, the longest we’ve gone all day without exchanging messages, and it’s already the afternoon and I’m losing patience. I send one more “Miss you” and a minute later, instead of my phone beeping in a reply, she shows up at the door, wearing a bathing suit, her hands so full of things that she can’t even knock. I bound up and run to the door to let her in. She takes a step and the Sport-Brella, swung over her shoulder, bumps against the door jamb and she giggles and dumps the whole lot of stuff and wraps her arms around me.

  Our lips meet in a long playful kiss that goes on and on until my mother clears her throat.

  Blushing, I pull away and give my mother a look of apology. Every time she sees Rach and me together, that deer-in-the-headlights thing gets more and more worn down. Good sign I guess. Maybe if Rach’s mom could actually see us together it would help. Or maybe not.

  “Hello Mrs. Fisher,” Rachel says, suddenly in polite-to-parents mode.

  “Hello Rachel.” My mother can barely suppress her amusement at the sudden change in tone.

  “Come on, get your bathing suit on, and we can hit the beach,” Rach says and flashes me a smile.

  I glance at her, then at my mother, and no, taking Rach to my room with me when I change is not going to fly, so I give her a peck and announce, “Be right back,” and bound up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I grab the blue suit that matches hers and slip into it, then stuff things into a tote bag. Sunscreen, a towel, hat, sunglasses, and a book since it’s too hard to read on my iPad in the sun. Then back downstairs.

  “See ya later,” I say to my mom and we head out.

  Once the Sport-Brella is up, we take a quick dip, treading water and trying to steal kisses without going under. After we’ve had our fill, we head back and lie down and relax. It’s weird. It’s nothing I wasn’t doing before back at the house. Just reading and relaxing. Except we’re together.

  “I’m hungry,” I announce, and rest the book on my tummy.

  “Yeah, me too,” she says and starts to nibble on my shoulder.

  “I meant for food.”

  “Brains…” she mumbles, “I want to eat your tasty brains…”

  “I’m serious. Starving here. Let’s go up to the house and grab something. I think there’s some chips.”

  “What kind?”

  “Who cares? Potato chips.”

  “I do! I can’t eat just any chip. I need a quality chip.”

  “Don’t get all excited. They’re weird. My dad got them. Vinegar and sea salt.”

  “I love those!”

  “You would,” I say, giving her a poke.

  “You’ve been known to eat a few odd things,” she says raising her eyebrows.

  “Shut up.” I roll my eyes.

  * * *

  We slip in the kitchen door and I toss the chips to her. She takes off the bag clip and reaches in, crunching one and making all sorts of crazy “loving it” faces when she does. I smile and watch her. She looks back with those gray-blue eyes and it takes my breath away, but I tear myself away and start looking through the fridge.

  “We have some turkey and bread if you want a sandwich.”

  “Sure,” she says, spinning a chair around backwards and straddling it.

  I pull the turkey and the tiny jar of mayo out and set it on the counter. “Actually, there’s not much.” I hold out the two slices of turkey. “How about half a sandwich?”

  “You had me at chips, the turkey’s the bonus round.”

  I spread the mayo, toss the turkey slices on, cut it in half, and we sit and munch. We’re finishing up when I hear voices through the door to the living room.

  “I hope we were supposed to eat that,” Rach jokes.

  “Our dinners here at the Fisher abode are a little more substantial than a turkey sandwich with barely any turkey,” I note.

  “Split three ways,” she adds.

  “I should let my mom and dad know we’re here,” I say, getting up.

  When I get into the living room, I wonder for a moment if I can turn around and head back out. I’m not sure where my dad is, but Ms. Gill and my mom are facing off across the small living room.

  “Is she with you?” Rachel’s mom snaps at me.

  “Yes,” Rach says from behind me in a defeated-sounding voice.

  Her mom glares at her in scowling disappointment. I’m not sure why, but that’s more than I can take. Something goes click and I jump in.

  “Do you have a problem with her being with me?” I shout, surprised at the anger in my tone and that I’m brave enough to say anything at all.

  “Well, now that you ask, I do.”

  “Tough,” I bark back, crossing my arms in front of me. “Why don’t you lay off her anyway?”

  “Because I care about her future.”

  “Yeah, well, welcome to the future. Nobody cares about being gay anymore. Didn’t you see that on Fox News or whatever the hell you watch?”

  “I do not watch Fox News,” she says bitterly.

  “Then grow up and stop acting like you do.”

  Wow, I told an adult to grow up. I wonder for a moment if I’ve totally screwed myself and glance back at my mom. She’s been watching this silently, her arms crossed in front of her. I’m convinced I have overstepped my bounds because my mom has the completely disgusted look on her face that she gets when I’m in serious trouble. I wait for it, but my mother doesn’t say anything to me. Instead, she turns to Rach’s mother.

  “Carol,” my mother says firmly. “This is absurd. We. Need. To. Talk.”

  I know that voice with those staccato enunciations making each word clear and distinct. My whole life it’s been the “stop digging the hole and take your punishment” warning. Rachel’s mom apparently recognizes it too. She’s looking at her, mouth open as if she was about to say something back, but thought the better of it.

  “Mom?”

  “Not now, Sarah,” she stifles me.

  My mother turns her attention back to Ms. Gill. “You cannot keep doing this. It’s not fair to your daughter and it’s not fair to yourself.”

  “Don’t tell me about my daughter,” she snaps back.

  “Oh, I will tell you about your daughter. Your daughter and my daughter are in love. Deal with it. I have and I didn’t even know Sarah was gay until this week. You’ve had quite some time to get used to the idea and it’s time you did. They’re both nice girls. Be happy they found each other.”

  When my mom says it, the words hit me and I spin around and look at Rachel and blurt out “I am. In love with you. And gay.”

  “Me too,” Rachel says, a tear forming in the corner of her eye.

  “Oh please,” Ms. Gill says. Her voice is disgusted, but she can’t take this away from us and I’m not ashamed at all. I’m so happy and I want to tell her that.

  “Carol?” my mother says.

  “This is none of your business,” Ms. Gill barks back.

  “You’ve made it my business. And one more thing, you are not going to rope me into doing your dirty work for you. I have no intention of stopping Sarah from seeing Rachel. This is your problem. You are not making it mine and you are not making it my daughter’s.”

  My dad pokes his head out of the bedroom. “What’s going on?” he asks, clearly confused. “Oh, Carol, hello.”

  “Mike. Carol and I have things to discuss. Take the girls and go visit Jim.” It’s clear this is a command and not a request.

  He nods obediently.

  “Oh Mike, before you go, is that bottle of Scotch you think I don’t know about still in your laptop case?”

  “Yeah,” he admits, confused.

  She turns her attention
back to Rachel’s mother, who has gone from angry to dumbfounded. “You’re an attorney. You drink Scotch?” she asks. There’s no answer. “Oh, of course you do.”

  My father puts a hand on each of our shoulders and leads us back through the kitchen and out the door. “Well, come Monday, this is all going to make for an interesting day at the office,” he notes as we step out into the late afternoon sunshine.

  My father’s dark bit of humor reassures me and I relax a little. Rach gives a tiny tentative laugh, but I can’t tell whether it’s legit or she’s trying to acknowledge him.

  “What now?” I ask.

  “We do what your mom says and go to see Jim,” my dad replies.

  “My umbrella and stuff is still down at the beach,” Rachel adds.

  “Well. She took my Scotch. I have a feeling they’re going to be talking a long time.”

  “Really? You don’t know my mom then.”

  “I might surprise you. I’ve worked with her for seven years. This might be just what she needs.”

  Rachel cocks her head up and raises an eyebrow, clearly dubious.

  “I’ve also been married to Stephanie for twenty-five and wouldn’t underestimate her. We’re going to have a couple of hours. Go take a swim. Chill out.”

  * * *

  There’s an awkward silence as we walk back down the stairs to the beach. Halfway down, she mumbles, “I’m sorry.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “I’m sorry,” she repeats. “About everything.”

  “Rach. You can’t control your mom. I wish I could do more for you.”

  “I don’t mean her. I mean me. I haven’t stood up to her or tried harder to message you when I could or whatever. I feel like you and your parents have been great. Plus, you’re the one who’s coming out of the closet and all that shit. I should be supporting you. You know. ‘Support.’ It’s the punchline to lesbian jokes.”

  “No, I get it. Plus, you’re the one who found out how to message me with the Kindle. Am I right? And you set us up for meeting at the Clam Basket?”

  “I just wanted you to know I care. I meant what I said. I love you,” she says.

  The look on her face in the afternoon sun melts me and I whisper, “Love you,” and press my lips to hers. Her hands glide to my hips, pulling my body into hers and this sense of peace comes over me, like somehow this has all been worth it and we’re going to be okay. As our kiss ends, we hold ourselves together hip to hip, and I lean back so I can take a long view into those gray-blue eyes sparkling back at me.

  “That was nice,” she says softly.

  “It was…” I reply.

  “But the Sport-Brella. And our stuff.”

  “And our dads.”

  “Soo…” I ask mischievously, “what’s the lesbian joke?”

  She laughs. “How many lesbians does it take to change a lightbulb?”

  I have no idea, and after a moment’s silence she bumps me with her hip. “Four. One to change it and three to provide support.”

  “I’m not even sure I get that,” I say tentatively.

  “Go to a few GSA meetings and you will,” she says and gives me a mischievous smirk.

  “Oh, wait. Yeah, I get what you mean.”

  * * *

  We pack things up and head up from the beach. When we walk into Rachel’s cottage, my dad and hers are sitting on the couch and a baseball game is playing on the TV. I almost break out laughing. Sometime in the spring, out of loyalty to our New England roots, he watches a Red Sox game. When I say a game, I mean a single game—like for the whole year. And he doesn’t even watch it. After a half hour, he picks up a book and ignores it while he reads.

  On the other hand, I have a feeling that makes him a big sports fan compared to Rach’s dad. He doesn’t seem the type, and from the amused look I share with Rach, I’m pretty sure I’m right.

  “Hey,” she says, announcing our arrival.

  “Hi honey,” her dad says, looking a bit hopeful that we might rescue him.

  My dad nods in greeting. “Get a last swim in?”

  “Just a dip,” Rachel responds.

  I think about sitting down and realize that all my clothes are in the other cottage, with my mom and Ms. Gill in the living room. “Can I borrow something to wear?” I murmur.

  “Sure,” she answers.

  “So…” I say, trying to sound casual. “We’re going to go change out of our suits. If that’s okay.”

  “Sure,” they nod in agreement and return to their careful study of the ballgame.

  Their answer is so casual, I wonder to myself if they miss the implication that if “we” go to change that means both of us changing. If they do realize this, does that mean it’s a tacit approval or a gesture of deep trust we shouldn’t betray? From the raised eyebrow that Rach gives me, she’s wondering the same thing.

  “These should fit,” she says, picking out a T-shirt, sports bra, undies, and a pair of sweat pants.

  When I thought about how two girlfriends could share clothes, underwear wasn’t what I was thinking of. It’s a little weird. Kind of a little kinky too.

  We glance at each other for a moment and she shrugs silently, and I squinch my mouth up in a disappointed answer, then grab the clothes and head to the bathroom to change, leaving her alone.

  Well played, Dads. I’m still not sure you even meant to do it, but very well played.

  Thankfully the clothes fit. The sweat pants probably fit loose on her. I’m a bit curvier and they’re a little tight in the hips and butt on me, but wearable. Barely. I hang the wet bathing suit in the shower and go back and knock on the bedroom door.

  “Yeah. Come in,” she says, her voice sounding a little frustrated.

  She’s wearing jeans and a cute T-shirt. She’s already got her hair halfway sorted out.

  “Looking great as usual,” I say and sneak up behind her to plant a kiss on her neck.

  “You’re not looking bad yourself,” she replies, leaning her body back into mine.

  “They’re a little tight on me.”

  “Yeah. ‘Xactly!” she says, a playful tone in her voice.

  We stand there, just enjoying the moment. My arms are wrapped around her and she’s leaning her head back and we’re gently touching, taking pleasure in simply being there. She’s warm and I try to let go of the nervous tension and just believe that things will come out all right.

  She must be thinking the same thing because she pulls her body away and asks, “Do you think your mom can talk my mother into letting us see each other?”

  I’m not stupid or anything. I knew what was going on, but it’s always been in the softened discussion about not being able to come over or whether or not she could respond to messages or sneaking around. But we aren’t adults, not legally. This is the first time either of us has put it in the stark terms that someone has the power to simply prevent us from dating each other.

  “I hope so?” I answer tentatively, then I think more. “No, I think so. She’s… I mean your mom is an attorney and stuff and my mom is a stay-at-home mom, but she’s strong willed and if anyone can do it, she probably can.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she murmurs.

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to stop seeing you. I don’t care what your mother says.”

  She leans back again. “Thank you for saying that.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know you do, but I needed to hear it.”

  I spin her around gently, so we can see each other and peer into her eyes. “Trust me. We will survive this.”

  “Somehow.” She gives me a little smile. “We should go save my dad from sportsball.”

  I smirk at that, and break out into a full giggle.

  “I know,” she replies, “my dad is not Mister Sports Guy.”

  “That’s not it. What’s funny is mine doesn’t watch sports either.”

  “Seriously?” She rolls her eyes. “Men. We should let them suffer.”

  *
* *

  Our two dads are still sitting there, still watching the TV, and still looking uncomfortable. It’s getting late, so we suggest the food idea and after a short discussion, decide to do a take-out order from The Clam Basket. Her dad runs out and picks it up and we eat the deep fried morsels out of cardboard boxes while we watch American Ninja Warrior.

  It’s nearly half-past nine when my dad’s phone finally beeps.

  “They’re coming over,” he says.

  “And?” I ask.

  “And that’s all she said,” he replies.

  Now it’s Mr. Gill’s turn for his phone to ring. He reads the message quickly and says with a shrug, “Carol says she’s heading back.”

  “And that’s all?” Rachel asks, sounding both dubious and disgusted.

  Her dad shrugs in response.

  “I’m sure it’s fine,” my dad says.

  Rach and I exchange a quick glance. She’s no more certain it’s going to be fine than I am. There’s not much to be done though, and we sit waiting. It’s only a minute between the cottages, but I probably have one terrible scenario go through my head for every step they take.

  When they walk in from the darkness, as if by mutual agreement, Rach and I let our hands part and slightly lean away from each other.

  “We’ve had a little talk,” my mother announces. She’s trying very hard to act normal, but my mom and dad don’t drink much, and I can tell she’s not entirely sober. “Sarah will get the car tomorrow after lunch and you two can spend the afternoon together, then we’re all going out to dinner together.”

  There’s a long pause and my mother gives Ms. Gill a look of expectation. She stares at the floor, but the anger on her face has been replaced by embarrassment.

  She lifts her head and stares straight at Rach. “I’m very sorry if I haven’t been dealing with everything in the best possible way, but I am very concerned about you. Your Dad and I are going to need to have a serious conversation with you about getting ready for school and about your SATs and college applications.”

  “Let’s all get some sleep,” my father suggests.