Georgia Peaches and Other Forbidden Fruit

by Jaye Robin Brown

  George opens the door and I slip past him into the throb and hum of holiday shoppers. There’s the smell of cinnamon in the air and carols are piping through the sound system. I check my reflection in the window of the Justice store as we walk past, then look at my phone. Ten fifty. Almost thirty minutes to kill.

  “Bath and Body Works?” I point to the store.

  “Yeah, Gemma likes their stuff.”

  We look around and I end up getting a shower soap–lotion–face scrub combo in their holiday vanilla peppermint smell for Gemma and something in a fruitier flavor for Betsy. At the last minute I grab a lip gloss trio for Jessica. I’ll have something if she ever comes around again.

  “It’s time,” George says.

  “Fuck.”

  “Remember, this is simple. We’re going to be completely absorbed in each other’s conversations. We are not going to see them. So don’t look.”

  “Oh man. That makes no sense, George. Gemma would totally come running over to see you. Why didn’t I think about that?”

  He sighs. “This is where Gemma gets devious. She’s going to be surprised to see us together. Maybe—”

  “Suspicious, right.” I finish his sentence. “I don’t like this. Deirdre won’t fall for the bait.”

  “Trust Gemma. She’s certain that all she’s going to have to do is open her eyes wide and grab Mary Carlson’s arm and Deirdre’s going to take off with the rest. Anything to make you look bad.”

  “And then what?”

  “We have another pass by.”

  I go along with the stupid shenanigans. I keep my eyes completely focused on George and never ever look away. We laugh and whisper and I bump him with my hip a few times for good measure, and once we’re about five stores away from American Eagle I drop the façade. “Did they see us?”

  “Give it a minute. But follow me.” We go into the bright lights of a jewelry store. George is walking between cases. A salesman approaches. “Can I help you, kind sir? Young lady?” George colors.

  “You need to buy something for Gemma here.” This bit of information is a secret I don’t mind keeping.

  His phone buzzes and he tilts it again so we both can see. Mission accomplished, Captain. The speculation is swirling. Girl’s showing her true colors.

  We look in the cases. George is fixed on a group of petite necklaces with bright stones. “That one,” I say, pointing at the little emerald bird. “Green is good on her.” The salesman cocks his head in his own birdlike fashion. George nods. “Yeah, I’ll take that one.”

  As he’s buying Gemma’s present, I look in a different case. When I see the elephant, a small charm in silver with sparkly stone eyes, a happy look on its face and its trunk up—for luck—something overwhelms me. All of this is so stupid. Manipulation, plans. If I’d been me all along, been honest, not listened to Dana, stood up to Dad, what could have happened? Even if I’d asked Mary Carlson to stay closeted for a while, things might be different. But I know it’s not true, because then Mary Carlson wouldn’t have come out, I wouldn’t have stood up to Dad, Elizabeth wouldn’t have noticed, and I’d still be trying to toe the line.

  George is busy typing something in his phone, so I motion for the salesman. “Can I have that charm? And a silver charm bracelet chain to go with it?” If I’m making big gestures, I might as well be prepared. Mary Carlson will love this. And who knows, if I’m lucky, maybe I’ll get to keep adding charms onto the chain.

  “Feeling confident?” George nudges me.

  This time it’s my cheeks’ turn to heat up. “Not at all. But preparation never hurt a person. I can always have B.T.B. pretend it’s from him.”

  “Actually, you holding that bag might work. Next stop. Food court.”

  “I’m starving, but George, can we be done after this? I don’t want to play any more games.”

  “We’re almost done. Hang on. This is going to work, I know it.”

  I’m glad he’s feeling so confident. We put on the same show as before as we walk toward the China Doll. I think I see our target audience over by the Souper Salad, but I keep my glance casual so I can pretend I didn’t see them. We get our food and are walking to a table when George stops abruptly in front of me. I almost slam my Tso’s Special #4 right into his back.

  “What the hell?”

  “Roll with me. I’m acting.”

  He lifts a hand in an overexaggerated wave and then changes course, walking right to Gemma, Mary Carlson, and Deirdre’s table.

  George sits down next to Gemma and leans over and kisses her. “Hey, babe.”

  She looks confused. I’m now convinced everyone should try out for the school’s shows. “What are you doing here? With Joanna?”

  I’m trying really hard not to look at Mary Carlson or growl at Deirdre.

  “Oh, you know, just shopping. Joanna needed my expert expertise helping pick out something for her dad to give to her stepmom.”

  Gemma flinches. That was off script. George was supposed to say he was helping me shop for friends.

  I jump in to save us. I slip the jewelry store bag onto the table and look up at Mary Carlson and Deirdre. Wham. The air in my chest gets sucked out like somebody stuck a vacuum hose in my mouth. I gasp for a second, regaining my thoughts, lost in the gold and green flecks of Mary Carlson’s hazel eyes. “Um, right.” Then I pull my own acting skills out, like a rabbit from a hat. “We went to the jewelry store. I found something there.”

  Mary Carlson glances toward Gemma, who’s busy close talking with George, their hands curled together. Then she turns to Deirdre and under her breath says, “See, I told you it was a simple explanation. There’s nothing going on between Joanna and George. Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions.”

  My chest reinflates. Because in that simple gesture, those simple words, I hear a subtext. A maybe. She’s not looking away from me and she’s actually schooling Deirdre. Maybe it worked. Maybe it helped Mary Carlson see how toxic she is.

  Deirdre must hear it, too. She jumps up and tugs at the shoulder of Mary Carlson’s sweater. “Come on. I still need to find something for Kiana.”

  Gemma looks up. “Do y’all care if I catch a ride with my boy and his lesbian BFF?” She looks at him and slugs him. “Always got to be doing whatever I’m doing, don’t you?”

  Mary Carlson hesitates and looks between the three of us. “You told them?” she asks me. This was the other part of the plan, letting her know that I’d confirmed everything Deirdre had dug up on me. And that George and Gemma still liked me, despite my deception.

  Deirdre is getting more and more agitated, crumpling up napkins and paper wrappings from the table, then slamming her tray onto the waste basket. I can tell she wants to get out of here, fast.

  I lift my shoulders. “Cat was out of the bag. Didn’t want to lose the rest of my friends because of someone’s loose tongue. Especially since I’d already planned on telling y’all everything.”

  Deirdre huffs. “Oh, that’s convenient. Do they also know you were already hooking up with some girl in Atlanta?” She pulls out her phone, ready to exhibit the evidence.

  “I wasn’t hooking up with her, Deirdre. That’s my best friend, Dana. The kiss was not what it looked like. We are not, and have never been, together. Ask whichever friend’s page you grabbed that picture from. Everybody down there knows that Dana is a player and I’ve been nothing more than her wing girl for years.” I look at Mary Carlson. “I never found anybody in Atlanta I wanted to get serious with.”

  Deirdre rolls her eyes, then takes a step away. “Come on, Mary Carlson. Are you going to believe more of her lies? You saw the pictures. You even said it looked heated. Besides, she lied to you. She lied to everybody. Let’s go.” She takes another step away from the table.

  I see it. Sweet heaven and Jesus, I see the hesitation in Mary Carlson’s movements. Is Gemma and George’s plan working?

  “Can we please go now?” Deirdre’s voice gets sharp when she’s upset, and right now i
t could cut stone.

  Mary Carlson snaps to, almost like she forgot Deirdre was even there. “Oh, right, okay.” She looks at us. “I’ll, um, see you later.”

  Might as well go for the kill and sprinkle her situation with confusion. “I would love to see you later.” I hold her eyes with my own. I won’t be the first to look away.

  Deirdre snatches her hand and pulls her away so hard, Mary Carlson stumbles.

  Gemma watches them leave. “Well, I think that was made to order. Now, you want to show me what’s in that bag you’re carrying?”

  George’s eyes widen.

  Good thing I’d slipped his gift into the pocket of my jacket.

  Thirty-Eight

  IT’S THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS Eve and I’m at the radio station getting ready for a special live broadcast. Elizabeth, Dad, and I had brainstormed and decided that since young people easily get caught up in the consumer part of the holiday, this would be the perfect start to remind folks about the real reason for the season.

  I’d also convinced them to let me have Gemma, George, Betsy, Jake, and B.T.B. on the air with me.

  Elizabeth pokes her head out from the back offices. “We’re set up and ready to record. Are y’all ready?” She’s wearing a sweater dress that shows off the tiniest start of a baby bump.

  I grab Gemma’s arm as we go in. “Are you sure she’s going to be listening?”

  “Girl, there is no way she’s going to miss this. You’re putting her brother on the air and I spent last night singing your praises for inviting us to be a part of this. And I’ll have you know, she told me that Deirdre was not really her girlfriend, that they were only ‘hanging out.’ Unsolicited. I never bring up that girl in our conversations.” Gemma shudders like she got a bad peanut in her bag.

  “She said that?”

  Gemma purses her lips. “Yes, missy, and she also went on and on and on about the cool thing you did for her brother and how she was going to have to find you at church tomorrow night and thank you in person.”

  I’d surprised B.T.B. with an early Christmas gift from Dad, Elizabeth, Althea, and me. We made him the official sponsor of all the elephants at the Elephant Sanctuary in Tennessee for an entire year, which guarantees us at least a day to volunteer over the summer. Extravagant, sure, but also tax-deductible for Dad, and so worth it to see B.T.B.’s reaction.

  “She said she wanted to thank me in person?” My heart flutters and I feel a smile working its way up my cheeks. I’d sworn never to go back to the main services at Foundation, but this changes things.

  Betsy butts in. “What’s this? A love-struck smile?” She elbows Gemma. “Is our magic working?”

  “Our magic always works.”

  “I like magic tricks.” B.T.B. takes my hand.

  We pack tight into the recording studio. Elizabeth and I are at the main microphones. Everyone else is in chairs with their own mics. We’re still and silent as we count down to go.

  Elizabeth nods and I lean in.

  “Welcome to a special live broadcast of Keep It Real. A program where we’ll be figuring out how to be a teen in the twenty-first century and still hold true to our faith. I’m Joanna Gordon.”

  Elizabeth leans in. “And I’m Elizabeth Gordon.”

  “And together we’ll be throwing out ideas, taking your responses, and answering your questions. Remember, keep it real and keep it kind.”

  I wait a beat and then jump into our prepared talk about the holidays and consumerism and how really the season should be about holding those who are near to us dear. Then I introduce the panel. “On today’s show I’m really excited to introduce some friends of mine who’ve agreed to come in and share what’s so special about the holiday season to them. When we’re finished we’ll open up and take your calls so you can share with us, too. First up is my friend Betsy.”

  Betsy tells a story about her grandmother and the knitted stockings she made for every family member and how one year, when she heard about families that didn’t have stockings, she started knitting them for every baby born at the Rome hospital and how eventually the idea started a community of knitters at the senior center. With a lump in her throat, Betsy continues. “This is the first year without my grandmother, but I’m happy because they’re now knitting in her honor. And each stocking has a little tag with her name on it. I even went and knitted with them this year. Sorry if your family got one of my stockings.”

  Jake talks about the football team and how he was surprised when his coach insisted they all go serve at the homeless shelter after their trip to state two years ago. “Since then,” he says, “I realize how lucky I am, but also how fleeting it can be and how it’s important not to get stuck on all the crap you want.” Then he laughs. “Um, sorry about saying ‘crap.’”

  I lean in. “You’re great, Jake, and these are fantastic stories. How about you, George?”

  He speaks into his mic. “This Christmas I’m grateful for friends who can believe in the teachings of love, not hate, and accept my moms. It’s this time of year when I really get to see the people who care about us.”

  Here’s a chance for me to speak my truth and see what happens. I know I’d promised my dad the New Year’s recording, but it’s only a week away. He’s not going to fire me now. There’s a thud of fear in my veins. I channel the Ellens (Page and Degeneres). If they can be out to millions of television viewers, I can be out to my dad’s listening audience. I take a deep breath and strengthen my voice so that it comes out strong and confident. “I appreciate that, George, as you know I’m not only a Christian, but I’m also a lesbian, and it fills me with such gratitude to have friends who understand my struggles and love me the way God made me.” Oh my gosh, this is really happening.

  Elizabeth smiles at me and leans in, not even pausing on what I just said. “I bet there are more of you out there with two moms, or deceased family members, or struggles of faith, real or imagined. Let’s take a couple of callers.”

  We hear from a boy who says Christmas is hard for him because they have no money but listening to this show is making him feel better. Gemma wipes the corner of her eye after he’s done talking.

  A girl tells the story of getting to travel on mission to Honduras for last year’s holiday season and what struck her was that even in extreme poverty, the kids seemed so happy with their Christmas pageants and homemade toys. This year she’d asked for donations to the orphanage instead of presents.

  Gemma tells a story about how every year her family sings together and it’s her absolute favorite part of the holiday.

  Jake chimes in again, sharing that he’s Jewish. “My favorite part of the holiday is getting to hang out with my girlfriend and her family, and her hanging out with mine for Chanukah. It’s faith in action. We may not believe in the exact same things, but the belief in doing good and being grateful is the same.”

  Elizabeth leans in again. “Why don’t you and B.T.B. take it from here, Joanna.” B.T.B. is bug-eyed. She pats his hand and nods. “Any parting words on faith and the holidays?”

  I speak clearly and keep smiling at him as I talk, hoping he’ll remember his part. “The main thing is to remember yourself. When the bombardment of media overwhelms you, it’s time to put your phone down and take a step back. Spend some time writing in a journal, or reading a book. Go play a ball game with friends. Remember what it is to laugh and joke around—”

  B.T.B. manages to interrupt as planned. “Hey, Jo . . . anna?”

  “Yes, B.T.B.?”

  “What do you call an elephant at the North Pole?”

  “Um. I don’t know. Santaphant?”

  “No. You call it Lost!”

  Elizabeth hits a laugh track button. Which makes all of us laugh for real.

  I lean over to his microphone and speak into it. “Very clever, B.T.B. Besides jokes and elephants, what do you love about the holidays?”

  “I love my family. I love my friends. I love my sister.” He pauses, and I nod for him to keep
talking. “But you love her, too.”

  I’m stunned. This isn’t the plan.

  Elizabeth’s eyes get very round and she glances at my friends, who are all smirking with self-satisfied expressions. But she doesn’t pull the mic from me.

  Finally I’m able to talk. “You’re right, B.T.B., I do.” I channel my dad’s skills and roll with this unexpected development, my brain whirring with how to say everything I need to say and praying hard that she’s listening.

  “It goes back to what I was saying when I started, B.T.B., it’s important to remember yourself and be honest. Earlier this year, I wasn’t. I told lies and made mistakes, especially where your sister was involved. But I’m hopeful that she’ll forgive me. For all of you, if anyone out there has messed up with their parents, friends, boyfriend, or a girlfriend, take the time to say you’re sorry. Seek out the people you might have wronged during the year, hold out your hand, and say, ‘It was me. I did this and now I’d like to make it better if you’ll let me.’” I take a sip of water and go for broke. It’s totally off topic, but I hope the message lands where it needs to. “So that’s it. Will you let me? Make it better? I want to be with you in Paradise.”

  Elizabeth cocks her head in confusion. Betsy and Gemma cross fingers at each other.

  I lean in again. “Be sure to tune in every other week when we’ll be sharing issues and taking your thoughts here on Keep It Real. Remember, keep it real, keep it kind. And have a merry Christmas.”

  When the broadcast goes off the air we all blow out a collective sigh.

  Elizabeth hugs me. “It got a little murky at the end, but you recovered well. Your dad is going to be so proud. You came out. On the air!” She cocks her head, but when I don’t offer up any further information, she doesn’t press.

  Dad’s waiting for us as we exit the back of the station, his big hands clapping a thunder for all of us.

  I walk into his arms and squeeze. “I love you, Dad.”

  “I love you, too, Joanna.” He holds me away from him. “You’re right, you know.”