Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit

by Jaye Robin Brown

  It takes a few minutes of back-and-forth to figure out where she is and my credit card number, which was tucked in my phone case, but I feel pretty certain help is on its way to Dana.

  “What are you doing?”

  I jump at the sound of the voice.

  “Hi, B.T.B.” I’m relieved it’s not Mary Carlson. I’m not sure how I’d explain sitting on her sofa staring at my phone like I’m waiting for the Second Coming. “I couldn’t sleep and then I had some texts from an old friend in Atlanta.”

  “They have elephants at the Atlanta Zoo.”

  “They do. We should go sometime.”

  He sits next to me on the couch. “Do you want to watch a movie?”

  My phone says 2:46 a.m. “It’s kind of late.”

  “I have Dumbo.”

  I realize I won’t sleep till I hear back from Dana, so I nod. “Sure, but let’s keep the volume down low. I don’t want to wake up your parents.”

  “You want some cereal?”

  I nod.

  Four hours later, two things happen simultaneously. My phone buzzes with a text and Gemma pushes me awake.

  “You going to get that?” She eyes my phone suspiciously.

  “Wait. What?” I rub my eyes and sit up. B.T.B. is head back on the arm of the couch doing some serious mouth breathing. The television’s now showing an early morning infomercial for some sort of muscle-building supplement.

  “Your phone. That George must really like you to be texting this early.”

  “Oh.” I glance at the phone and see Dana’s name, which is actually just labeled Bad to the Bone per her request. “It’s my dad.”

  She plops on the couch and grabs the remote. “Well, don’t let me stand in your way.” She flips till she finds a Discovery program show about cesarean sections.

  “God. You can watch that at”—I look at my phone—“seven a.m.?”

  “It’s fascinating.”

  There’s the sound of shuffling behind us. Mary Carlson’s standing at the kitchen counter all squinty-eyed. “What the hell are y’all doing?”

  “Watching babies being pulled into the world,” Gemma says.

  I tuck my phone away when Mary Carlson makes it to the couch, flopping across all three of us, waking B.T.B. up in the process. She smiles at me.

  My heart yammers.

  “Aren’t you going to answer your dad?” Gemma says.

  “Don’t mind me,” Mary Carlson says.

  “I want pancakes. Ooooh, ooooh, ooooh, wake up slow.” B.T.B. sits up, moving us all in the process.

  “Actually he wants me to come home.”

  “Why?” Mary Carlson pokes me with her bare foot. “I thought you got to hang out for a while.”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Change of plans. Something he and Three need.” I stand up. “I better go get my stuff.”

  Mary Carlson gets up. “I’ll come with you.”

  “Y’all are like Mary-Kate and Ashley or something lately, can’t get more than two feet apart.” Gemma pulls the abandoned blanket over her legs.

  “Please never compare me to an Olsen twin again,” I say, too loud, too fast.

  Gemma waves her hand. “I’m just saying, y’all act like y’all are in love or something. Don’t mind me. My former bestie feelings won’t get hurt.”

  I can tell Gemma doesn’t really mean what she says, but she’s poking awful close to the truth.

  Mary Carlson laughs. “Gemma. I love you so much.” She leans over and hugs her, mussing her hair in the process. “But I love Joanna, too. Just different.” At this she reaches back with her foot and tries to toe pinch me.

  “Ouch, get off.” Did she say she loved me?

  “For real, get this Amazon off me,” Gemma says to me, then to Mary Carlson, “And bring me some damn pancakes.” She burrows farther into the couch cushions.

  Mary Carlson minds her manners until we walk out from her kitchen into the carport. “How come you’re leaving?” She grabs my hand. “Did your dad really text? Don’t lie, because I was serious about hating liars.” She rubs her nose against mine and pulls me close. “You’re not trying to ditch me, are you?” Then she laughs as my lips open immediately to hers and she works me up into a heavy-breathing puddle of take-me-now in zero to five seconds.

  “Does this look like I’m trying to ditch you?” My hands crawl through her messed-up morning hair and I bury my nose in the crook of her neck before pulling her pajama top askew and tracing my tongue along the top of her shoulder. I know she’s kidding, but she’s intense, too, like underneath the joking maybe she has a sense that something is the tiniest bit off and it’s making her insecure. I really hate lying to her. I know I shouldn’t. But revealing Dana means revealing my whole life, and even though I know I need to, I know it’s the right thing, I can’t. Because if Mary Carlson knows I’ve been gay this whole time, she might be more compelled to come out, with me, and that’s sure enough the kind of drama my dad asked me to avoid.

  I hold my hand up flat against hers and play piano on her fingertips. “I’ll call you later. Maybe we can hang out. Go somewhere? Just us?”

  She pulls me into a good-bye hug and she smells so sweet. Like sleep and warm comforters. “Okay. Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  My limbs feel heavy as I walk away.

  Twenty-Two

  I MEET DANA HALFWAY BETWEEN Rome and Atlanta for a Waffle House post-jail powwow. She looks like hell. Huge circles under her eyes and she’s skinny, like she hasn’t been eating. I can’t believe I didn’t notice when I saw her a few weeks ago.

  “You’re not puk . . . I mean purging again, are you?” Dana had a brief stint with an eating disorder in middle school, which her nurse mom was quick to get her treatment for. The whole time we were hanging out she was healthy, but now I’m worried. It’s a deadly spiral and something that could definitely make a comeback. Her mom made sure I knew all about it so I could help her keep an eye out to make sure Dana never relapsed.

  “No. But I’ve had a hard time eating lately.”

  “Really?” I stare at her, waiting for her telltale look to the side when she’s lying.

  She stares at me straight on. “Really. I just can’t eat.”

  I wait for a second, then nod. “Okay, I believe you. Stress, probably.” I order pecan waffles to share, and the waitress walks away, leaving us with privacy. “What the hell happened, D?”

  She drops her face into her hands and I see a rare sight, the shake of her shoulders and tears. I quick jump to slide in next to her. “Shhhh. Whatever it is, it’s going to be okay.”

  She looks up at me through mottled eyeliner. “No, it’s not. My fucking heart is broken and I’m going to have a criminal record.”

  I grab her hand in mine and hold it tight. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

  “Holly. Her business, remember how I said it was legit?”

  I nod.

  “It wasn’t. She’s a hacker. And she’s into identity theft.”

  The waitress drops off our waffles and big plates of scattered, smothered, and covered hash browns.

  “And you got caught up in it?” I want to yell at her. To lecture. To strangle her. But I also could see how tempting it might be for Dana to get caught up in something like that, with a girl like Holly.

  Dana sighs and slumps down in the booth. “I liked her so much I went along with it. She convinced me it was foolproof.”

  “What was she doing? What were you doing?”

  Dana sucks in a shuddery breath. “We were having sex like crazy. She was telling me she’d never met anyone like me, and how she wanted to take care of me. That my mom didn’t have time for me, and why bother with college when she could keep us in style? It was a new phone, my tattoo, clothes, shoes, whatever I wanted. All I had to do was go online, point, and she’d give me some sucker’s credit card number.”

  “How did she even get the numbers?” I poke at the butter on my waffle, making sure to fill all the squa
res.

  “She stole them. She’d target the elderly. Break into their cars, their mailboxes, anything where she might get access to a Social Security card number and open new card accounts.” Dana finally takes a bite of her hash browns. “Everyone should memorize that bitch and never, ever carry the card in their purse.”

  I shake my head. “How did you even think it was a good idea?” Dana’s always been a wildling but never a criminal, at least not a felon. Until now.

  She drops her head in her hands. “Look, don’t judge, okay? Holly said there was no way we’d get caught. We used a burner phone to place the orders and she even had a post office box to ship the stuff to. But you know what happened? She gave the cops my name as her partner in crime. I mean, I know I screwed up, and I know I have responsibility, but . . .” Dana sobs again. “She told me she loved me, Jo. Me. She loved me.”

  I’m holding back words. I love Dana, too, and I’d never have led her on a crime spree. But she doesn’t need a sermon right now. She needs a friend. I grab her hand. “Hey. No judgment. And I’ll shank the bitch for you if you want. You are one hundred percent worthy of love. Real love. Good love.”

  “Really?” She looks up at me, her eyes hopeful.

  An asshole at the counter mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like “fucking dykes.”

  Dana whips her head around, ready for a fight.

  “Forget it,” I say. “He’s not important.”

  I’m relieved when Dana picks up her fork and starts eating like she’s hungry. In between bites she garbles out a question. “So we’ve talked about me. How about you? How’s hillbilly high school?”

  I slide the little lever on the syrup container, open and closed, open and closed. There are more questions I want to ask, but I’ll let it go for now.

  “I met this girl.” A smile creeps onto my face without my permission.

  She sets her fork down. “What?”

  I nod and squeeze my face in my hands.

  “No way.” She laughs, but it’s a nervous kind of laugh. “You’re totally into it.”

  I sit back. “I am. She’s amazing. Smart. Gorgeous. I thought straight, but boy was I wrong.”

  “Wait. A straight girl?”

  “A coming-out girl.”

  “What about your whole lying low thing?” It’s weird but I swear she sounds a little jealous. Huh. This is an ironic role reversal.

  “Just as I’ve snuck off to be at this fine gourmet establishment with you away from the prying eyes of Rome’s finest, I’m sneaking around with Mary Carlson.”

  “Mary Carlson? What kind of jank Southern name is that?”

  “Hey now. I give you no judgment. I expect the same from you.”

  She taps her fork in the air. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. But if your dad catches you, doesn’t that mean no summer trip? No surfing and señoritas?” Her face turns serious and she grabs my hand. “Please, Jo. I’m counting on this. I’m going to really need to get out of town. If I don’t end up in jail.”

  “Don’t worry. Mary Carlson understands my situation.” Something in my face must prompt the next question from Dana.

  “What does she understand?”

  I shake my head at my own stupidity, because as I give it voice I realize how ridiculous it is. “She understands that I’m coming out, too, and that I’m not comfortable with our relationship being in the open.”

  Dana blows out a mouthful of hash browns. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

  I laugh, but it’s not a funny laugh. “I might also have a boyfriend. Except he knows I’m gay. But he doesn’t know she is. And she doesn’t know that he knows about me.”

  Dana shakes her head. “And here I was feeling sorry for myself because I spent eight hours in jail, but you, my friend, are in the real hell.”

  “No. I’m an asshole.”

  She nods in agreement and finishes her waffle. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Status quo? Sneak around? See if it sticks?”

  “Might work for a while.” Dana shrugs. “Maybe it’s only a first fling for her.”

  “I thought about that.”

  “But maybe it’s real. And what kind of person are you going to be if you hold her back and teach her shame?”

  “I thought about that, too.”

  Dana folds ketchup into her hash browns and I eat a few bites of my own.

  She nods, like she’s decided on something. “You’re either going to have to tell her or break up with her.”

  Mary Carlson’s last words ring in my ears, but surely this deception doesn’t qualify as a meant-to-harm kind of lie. “I can’t keep sneaking around?”

  Dana looks up. “Well, you can. But I’m proof of how doing sneaky shit is definitely not always in one’s best interest.” Then her eyes crinkle. “But if you’re going to continue sneaking around with her, do you get to sneak around with me, too?” Her grin is back to the Dana I love.

  “Only if you’re done with Holly and back on a path of righteousness.”

  “Pastor Jo, I have learned my lesson.”

  “In that case, I don’t have to sneak. It just can’t be in Rome. Next Saturday?”

  “Deal.” She sighs and pats her stomach. “That was just what I needed. Thanks.” Then, “You think you could come to my house today and help talk my mom down off the ledge? I really screwed things up with her. You’re so good with words and making people see what’s important.”

  “Can’t today, but next week. You’re going to have to face your jailhouse blues yourself, I’m afraid.”

  “Got it,” she says, then in a quiet voice, “I’m going to pay you back for the bail. And don’t worry about me taking off for Montana or something. I need to get this shit off my record.”

  “I know that, D. It’s why I’m here.” I look at my phone. “I better go. Dad thinks I’m still at Mary Carlson’s house.”

  She smirks. “Have fun with that. When do I get to meet her? Oh, right, never mind. Because you have no queer friends because you’re a fledgling lezbo, too.” She grabs the check.

  I grab it back. “Save your money for your lawyer.”

  At home, I find Dad puttering in the garage.

  “Hey.”

  “Come here and hold the end of this board while I cut it.”

  I walk across the concrete and grab the two-by-four. “What are you making?”

  “Elizabeth wants some Adirondack chairs for the back patio.”

  “Fancy.”

  The saw starts up with a grind. Dad smiles. “We’ll see.”

  The blade eats away at the wood and I hold it steady so it doesn’t pinch and kick or break the saw blade. When he’s got it cut, he pushes up his safety glasses. “Have fun?”

  I nod. “The play was good.”

  “Maybe you ought to get involved in something like that. Bound to be more fun than religious programming.”

  “Dad.”

  “Right. Not your thing.”

  “I had to use the emergency credit card last night.”

  He stills. Dad’s good about not rushing to judgment when it comes to me, but he also knows this is big. Then asks, “What’s the charge I’m going to see?”

  “A bail bondsman in Atlanta.”

  “Dana.”

  I nod.

  He shakes his head and brushes sawdust from his hair. “Joanna.”

  “Dad, don’t. She’s my best friend. And yeah, she’s kind of crazy. And yeah, she makes stupid mistakes, but I think she really wants to change this time.”

  He quiets, then puts an arm around me. “Come here.”

  I bury my face in his chest.

  “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” His mouth brushes the top of my hair in a kiss. “What can I do to help you help her?”

  I hug him hard. “Maybe see if your lawyer can help? She got involved with the wrong girl, but she’s never been arrested before. She had a clean record—before this, anyway—and really the other
girl was initiating everything. Dana was kind of along for the ride. She promised she’s going to pay me back. You’ll help her, right?”

  “What’s her mom say in all this?”

  “She’ll be furious, I’m sure. You know what it’s like for her, though. She works all the time. She’ll be grateful for our help. She listens to your radio shows, you know.”

  “So you’ve told me.” He squeezes me. “You’re a good friend, kiddo.” Then he holds me so he can look at me. “I’m proud of you.”

  I want to ask him if he really is. But then I bury the thought. He’s agreed to help Dana. Without a fight.

  Twenty-Three

  AFTER WEEKS OF PREPARATION, WRITING, and rewriting after my homework is done, Dad has finally given me the approval to tape our first show, and just in time. It’s two weeks until November 3, the date we’ve been advertising as the start of Keep It Real. Because of college looming—Dad’s reasoning—combined with his fear of my saying something he’s not ready to go live with yet—my reasoning—we’re not doing the shows live. Eventually, once we’re sure there’s interest, we’ll do the occasional live show and record it as we air it. What’s cool is people will be able to download the podcasts, and who knows, it could even get picked up for syndication by a larger station. But before I let my dreams get ahead of me, we need to get the first show in the can.

  Dad and I pull into the station, and even though there’s no audience, no one to watch me or judge me, and all the digital space in the world for me to fix my mistakes, I’m still nervous. This feels big, like my future.

  “You ready, kid?”

  I wave my sheaf of papers at him. “Ready.”

  He pauses for a second and stares, then reaches out to tuck a little piece of hair behind my ear. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe how much you’ve grown up.”

  “Dad, you’re not getting all sappy on me, are you?” Even though I’m teasing him, the moment of tenderness still makes me swell up inside. I will always be my father’s daughter.

  “Nope. All business. Let’s go make a radio show.”