by Sunniva Dee
“I can get us another blind date, pretty sure. My cousin works at this dot-com place that survived the heyday. They’ve got tons of nerds in need of saving.”
Mr. Dakapoulous is sick. It’s just a cold, but he’s so thankful when I get him his pharmacy remedies and take the dogs for the day. He’d hate it if Daisy/Dolly/Dixie and Ralph/Rough had to lie around watching him like this all day. He wants to pay me a babysitter price, but I can’t. The man is old and has no one else. How can I rip him off just because he’s sick?
I don’t have work until late, so I bring the dogs to Mom’s.
“Ooh, looky at the babies,” she coos. “You know what I need to do? There’s this place up north. Have you heard of the Arctic? The polar bear is suffering because of everything. The climate and all that. Did you know it’s almost extinct?”
“Mom. What the heck would you do in the Arctic? There’s hardly any people there. Anyone you know? Any job? How will you survive?” I go for the kill right away, shortening Ciro’s longer, nicer version that worked miracles weeks ago.
She folds her hands, a patient moment while she waits for me to come to my senses. Then: “Savannah. How can you be so worried all the time? Let people live their lives and do what makes them happy. Have I ever tried to stop you from pursuing your passions?”
“I don’t have any passions, Mom,” I mutter. “All I want is to survive financially and make sure you don’t get into trouble.”
“No? No passions? I beg to differ. For instance, I don’t believe in marriage.” She slaps her chest like she wasn’t married for twenty-one years to the most patient man in the world. “But did you hear me complain about your relationship with that boy, Ciro? I want what’s best for you, and I could tell right away that you are happy when you’re with him. I’d be a poor mother if I tried to stop something that made my girl happy just because of my own principles.”
“Wow. Well, that’s a little different, don’t you think?” I make a scale with both hands, tipping it in the air. “Having a boyfriend versus uprooting and hightailing it to the North Pole.”
“It’s not the North Pole, silly. I think.” She frowns, scanning the room behind me and stretching her head to see out the window toward my car. “Where is that boy anyway? You haven’t brought him in a while.”
“Traveling.” I don’t feel like going into detail with her.
“Oh cool. When’s he back?”
“In five and a half days.” And yes, I know I shouldn’t be so aware of this.
“Aww, I bet you’re excited, sweetie.” Her face takes on a mischievous sheen, and I’m pretty sure I won’t like what comes out of her mouth next.
“When your dad had been away for a while, he always made it up to me. I’d get you kids off to school, and he’d take a sick day, and we wouldn’t leave the bedroom until it was time to pick you up.”
“Oh Jesus, I did not need to hear that.”
“What, is it so hard to believe that your mother and father also had a sex life? Did you think the three of you were brought to us by the stork?” She laughs heartily, and that’s when Daisy has an accident on the kitchen floor. It’s a happy accident; it gets me out of my mom’s house.
It bothers me that he hasn’t tried to contact me. It’s been ten days! He proposed to me for crying out loud. Doesn’t that count for something?
I’m in class, supposedly listening to the professor, but my pen shakes too hard in my hand. Or more like I wiggle it, whip-whip, whip-whip, between index and middle finger, slamming it against the top and the palm of my hand.
“Miss Nichols. Do you mind?” Professor Hargrove juts his face forward and stares over the rim of his glasses.
“Of course. Sorry.” I put the pen down and cross my arms, staring up at the whiteboard. Bottom-line Business Growth. Closed-Loop Marketing. It doesn’t ring a bell at the moment. Better study when I get out of here. We have a quiz on Tuesday, also according to the whiteboard.
Texting Ciro wouldn’t do any good. He probably has roaming off on his phone, what with it be crazy expensive to keep on in another country. And again, texting your ex never does any good, no matter where he is.
I check his Twitter. Oh wow. There are photos of him in a stunning suit holding some trophy. He has the same girl at his side in all of them. She’s a dark-skinned, dark-haired beauty, co-star from the film that won Hottest Scene of the Year, and she smirks in all of them as if she’s aware that I’m stalking his Twitter.
So then I stalk her Twitter too. @EsmeBabe isn’t as shy about videos as @DrakeC is, and she’s apparently very proud of their “work” in said film. I glance around me, but my classmates pay no attention to me and my sick new hobby. I get off Twitter and onto Facebook. I find him there too, but not to read his wall. I just re-friend him. He accepts immediately.
Hey, baby girl.
My heart kick-starts in my chest. Hey, yourself. Grats with the award.
You saw that? he types.
I did...
You don’t like it.
It’s whatever.
It’s just a job.
Just a job.
It looks like he’s writing again, but then he stops. He starts up again a moment later, and I can picture him do what I’m doing in my head, formulating and erasing stuff I want to tell him.
I miss you, he finally says. I want to go straight from the airport to see you.
Do you ever take no for an answer? I key out, and neither of us follow up with the obvious, that I’m the one who contacted him this time.
Not with you, I don’t.
You should.
I disagree.
I smile.
Ciro...
Yes, baby girl.
When you come back, can we just be friends? Because I miss being with you too.
So just being friends will be good? he asks.
Yeah. I won’t have to worry about “faithful.”
But I would be faithful. He adds an emoticon of a small animal shrugging.
I know you say that. Anyway.
Around me, people are packing their bags. The girl next to me apologizes and gives my pen back after accidentally putting it behind her ear. I tell her no worries.
Savannah, can I call you?
I get up too. Shove my notebook and pen and laptop into my backpack and leave the room behind the others. When my phone buzzes, I take a deep breath and appropriate one of the chairs by the lobby vending machine.
“Hey.” I puff it out as if I’ve been running.
“Hey, you. How are you?” he asks, and he sounds so close, that silky voice almost more than I can bear after ten whole days without him. I shut my eyes and inhale deeply. I can almost smell him.
“I’m okay.”
“Just okay? What’s wrong?” The concern in his voice is so genuine.
“No, it’s all good. Just, you know—life. How about you? Is South Africa everything you hoped it to be?” I deflect.
“How’s your mother?”
“She’s fine.” I groan. “For the most part.”
“So it’s her, then. What’s she up to? Any more terrible ideas?” We chuckle quietly together, bonding.
“Yeah, you could say that. I haven’t seen her this... active in years.”
“Oh boy. More traveling? Saving the world””
“Yeah. On the good side, she hasn’t started packing yet. She seems to consider the practical side of things at the moment. Like, she might not move to save polar bears in the wild without having financial stability and a job up there first.”
“The North Pole, huh? Has she applied to Santa? From what I know, his toy factory needs upbeat, energetic people.”
I laugh. “Yep, she’d fit right in.”
He joins me, but our laughter dies quickly. “Keep her safe until I get there. I’m home in five days,” he says a
s if we live together and my mother is our common problem. “I’ve got an idea, but it’s better to talk about it in person.”
“Ha, you’re making me curious.”
“So, Savannah. I have questions about the friend zone.”
That’s not an expression to be uttered in a deep-red-pillows-and-smooth-sheets voice. I should disclose this to him.
“What about it?”
“How far do friends go with each other?”
All the way, every day! That wasn’t me screaming. It was my girly-parts.
“Not as far as you’d think.”
“Only as far as to the dog park?”
“Maybe a little farther. Probably to the grocery store. Maybe the boardwalk.”
“Hmm. If friends go to the boardwalk, do they buy popcorn for each other?”
“They could, I believe.” I bite my lip, smiling.
“Okay, and after they’ve polished off a couple of churros or what-have-you, would friends go on rollercoasters together?”
“Definitely.”
“Sit in the same seat?”
“If they’re two-seaters.”
“Now, let’s say, hypothetically, that the girl friend is very scared of the rollercoaster and needs a hug after they stop.... Are you picturing the scenario?”
“I am.” Definitely.
“And the boy friend needs to comfort her and make her feel safe again. You see it?”
“I do.” Sadly, my smile is growing.
“Would he put his arms around her and hug her close, perhaps even let her rest her head under his chin?”
“I think that would work.”
“And if he kissed her head, would he have overstepped?”
“Kissing of heads should be within the roam of opportunity for friends,” I say. “Don’t see an issue with that.”
“Cool. What if—”
I snort, because I can’t see him stop any time soon. He’s too entertained.
“Are you laughing at me, Miss Nichols?”
“A little bit?”
He lets out the softest snicker. “What if he tilted her head up, pressed his lips to hers and opened her mouth with his tongue. Then he kissed her until she was panting and wanted him to lift her and carry her to the car so he could drive her home to his funkis bunker. When they got there—”
“Shut up, you’re so naughty.” I laugh, tingling.
“See you in a few days, friend.”
21. FRIEND ZONE
I’m biting nails. It’s ridiculous. All because Ciro’s coming home today, and he’s already warned me he’s driving straight to my house from the airport. That’s not what a friend does. Friends go home and sleep, then they set up some leisurely not-boardwalk-rollercoaster-related playdate with their friend.
“But you said you’re just pals now.” Frieda levels her gaze on me, brown eyes serious and not sparkling. Yep, she definitely isn’t into the kind of fuzzy borders Ciro envisions for us.
“We are.”
“Stop chewing on your nails. Nail polish can leave you paralyzed if you eat enough of it.”
“I won’t be inhaling my own weight in it any time soon,” I mumble, eyes flickering through the curtains. It’s nine o’clock, and I wish I were at work.
My phone buzzes. It scoots forward on the coffee table, making the tabletop resonate in a low hum.
“Don’t look so jumpy.”
“I am jumpy.”
“Come on, there’s nothing he can do to you if you don’t want it. You’re acting like a little girl.”
Almost at your house.
“What’s he saying?”
“That he’s about to pull up.”
“Well, just shake his damn hand and send him on his merry way.”
“Have you met him? He’s impossible to say no to.”
“And you don’t think it’s time you do something about that? Reminder: what does he do for a living? Hint: something no girl in her right mind would approve of. Especially someone like you, with her self-respect intact.”
“No need to hammer it in,” I mutter once she’s done dragging out “self-respect.”
“No? Because I just thought that you might need it.” She folds her arms, and I wish Charlotte weren’t at work. She’s nicer about certain things than Frieda.
Lights in the driveway. Lights going out. Car door slamming. Steps up, up, up to the second floor and then a knock on the door. Frieda runs ahead of me, but that makes me feel like the child she says I am. I’m pretty emphatic myself when I tell her to back the hell off.
“You sure you don’t want me to tell him right now? I’ll send him off.”
“I can take care of things myself, thank you.”
Ciro is golden when I open the door. He’s had just enough sun. Those tousled blond bangs and the exposed skin on his arms and neck cause my breathing to stutter.
“Hey, baby girl.”
Aqua-colored eyes go brighter after a few weeks in South Africa. His I’ve seen gleam before, but man, they are sparkling, and then there’re those deep pupils, which drag me in, and—
I’ve never missed anyone as much in my life!
“You jerk,” I say, feeling my brows contract.
He bites his lower lip, which makes it look impossibly plumper. That’s so odd. I mean, he bites it. The thing should look flatter, right? No. No, no, just juicier and more perfectly mauve-colored.
I throw my arms up. “Sorry, that’s not something one says to a pal.”
“Unless you’re mad at them,” Frieda helps from behind me. “She’s mad at you for not being boyfriend material in case you wondered. And you can go home now, thanks. You’re tired, right? Time zones and all that.”
I turn to glare just as she clamps her hands on her hips.
Ciro shakes his head slowly, a small smile lifting his cheeks. “I can’t win in this house, can I?”
“No, nuh-huh, we liked you before. Until you broke my best friend’s heart.”
“Will you shut up?” My anger explodes out so fast. “Stop freaking meddling in my life!”
She freezes, incredulous, and I meet her stare head on. Frieda breaks our stare-down first and huffs off. Small steps punctuate her anger until she hits the stairs to the Gross Dungeon where the boys are holding court.
“Ciro, come in. I’ll make us some tea in the kitchen.”
Tea, no alcohol. In the kitchen, not in my room.
Ciro gives me the courtesy of remaining quiet until I’ve got him seated by the breakfast bar. I occupy myself by boiling water. Steeping tea. Grabbing small fistfuls of sugar and pouring them into our cups because the dishwasher is running with all of our spoons. I hear him stifle a laugh behind me. I ignore it.
“So, how was Cape Town?” I ask conversationally, still busy with the cups and not meeting his eyes. He’s too fucking handsome right now. I want to throw myself at him.
“It was good.”
“Great award ceremony, yeah?” I ask, suddenly British. Maybe South African. He laughs softly. Enough with the silky voice, please.
“Quite so. It was quite nice.”
“You’re mocking me.”
“Not really, no. It just feels like you’re making small-talk. I don’t remember you as a small-talk girl. Then again, I was gone for a long time, so maybe you’ve changed?”
My cheeks do that burning thing they like to do. “I guess you remember me as a get-down-to-business, ask-the-tough-questions girl.” I slide his cup over the table and into his hands. He accepts it and takes a blow.
“I’m thinking it’s only a matter of time.”
“No. I’m a new person now that you’re my friend. Friends aren’t so judgmental,” I explain to him and smile pretty serenely. I can do it and not even go behind him and embrace him from behind, nuzzle
against his back and stretch my arms up his entire chest, encapsulating him in me while I let out some ridiculous mm-hmm sound. “Friends, you see, let other friends’ livelihood be their livelihood.”
I haven’t moved. I’m still in front of him and not touching. His hand trails toward me on the table, and then he’s rubbing a thumb over my wrist and it’s the single most erotic thing of ever.
“You hearted my Instagram pictures,” he murmurs.
“Yeah, you’re a good photographer. You’re really artistic. You know that?” I ask and bite my tongue so I don’t add, You should make a career out of it.
“Not that good. Just a hobby I enjoy.” He looks me over. “I’d take pictures of you.”
“Tell me about South Africa.” I think about his “my lady” comment on Twitter. “Would I like it?”
He nods slowly. “It’s absolutely beautiful. And the food, the architecture, the people. Say the word, and we’ll go. There would be nothing like discovering more of that country with you.
“One day, we went to a cheetah rescue, and I thought of your mother. I could picture her there, running around and helping with that bright enthusiasm she has. I got to pet one of the cubs.”
He browses through his phone and pulls up a heart-stopping picture of a cheetah baby and himself. The cheetah lounges on the grass, lids half-closed against the sun. Ciro sits behind it, a hand on its back and a wide smile on his face. He’s wearing a thin white cotton shirt with four buttons open. His chest is in-your-face tanned, muscular, oh god and there’s a nipple.
“Wow. So cute.” I swallow lovesickly.
He chuckles and blows the picture up for a close-up of the cheetah cub. “See how soft she looks?”
“Yeah. I want to pet her right now. So jelly.”
“She wasn’t. Her fur was so coarse it felt like petting a steel brush.”
I look up. “Seriously?”
“Yep, I don’t know what it was. Maybe the oils in her fur?”
“Or it could be that they just hadn’t washed her. A good cheetah shampoo and conditioner would do the trick, I bet.”
His nostrils flare with humor. “You suggest washing cheetahs?”
“Yep! If my mom worked there, that cheetah baby would’ve been as soft as a rabbit. Its mother too.” I grin.
