Date Me, Bryson Keller

by Kevin van Whye

  “I think we’re now official official,” Bryson says. He looks at me. “You okay?”

  “I’m okay.” I turn to him. “But are you okay? Isn’t this too fast? I mean, you just came out to your sister.”

  Bryson smiles. It’s the tight-lipped one that means he’s nervous. “It feels weird how sure I am about you.”

  I blush. “No pressure.”

  Bryson laughs. “Not to add to that, but it’s almost time for you to meet my mother.”

  And suddenly I’m not okay anymore.

  26

  We’re all currently seated in the family room. Bryson and I are sitting on the two-seater. All morning he hasn’t left my side. His presence is calming, especially considering that I am about to meet his mother—I am about to meet my boyfriend’s mother.

  The unbelievability of the thought does not escape my notice. I steal a glance at him. Even his profile looks sculpted by the gods. We’re sitting so close that our thighs are touching. We’re both silent, me from nerves and him…I don’t know. Is he worried about his mom finding out about us? That thought takes me back to my own mother and the mess that awaits me at home.

  I sigh. I wish this day could last forever and I would never need to go home.

  “There’s no pressure,” Bryson says to me. He gives me a smile. “You can relax.”

  “Are you going to tell her?” I ask.

  Bryson shrugs. “I don’t know.” He chews at his lip and runs a hand through his hair. “This coming-out business is weird.”

  I snort. “Tell me about it.”

  Crystal lounges across one of the large leather couches. She’s watching some reality program on TV. The front door opens and Bryson’s mother saunters in a handful of panicked heartbeats later.

  She is the picture of elegance. Wearing a casual blouse and faded jeans, she has her red hair piled up into a messy bun. She looks just like an older version of Crystal. Bryson’s mother smiles. My breath catches because it’s one that I recognize. Her son has the exact same smile. It’s the type of smile that can make a heart race, or even stop it altogether.

  “Hello, everybody.”

  “Mom, this is Kai,” Bryson says.

  “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  “Please, call me Hannah. It’s nice to meet you, too, Kai,” Hannah says.

  “How was your trip, Mom?” Crystal asks.

  “Fine, until I heard my precious daughter was hurt.” She crosses the room to Crystal. “Are you okay?”

  Crystal gives a thumbs-up with the hand in the cast. “It’s just a fracture.”

  “And yet she made me miss school to babysit her,” Bryson says.

  “We’re family, it’s what we do,” Crystal says.

  “You must be hungry,” Bryson says to his mom. “I’ll cook something. Come on, Kai.” Bryson leaves the family room and I follow him to the kitchen. Even though I’ve seen it before, the opulence amazes me all over again.

  “Have a seat,” Bryson says. He taps the barstool before heading to the oven to preheat it. Bryson then moves to the large double-door fridge and opens it. He peers inside for a while. Then he carries an armful of ingredients to the counter before returning for more. I watch as he works. He rinses the vegetables and starts to chop them.

  “What are you making?” I ask. I swing from side to side.

  “A bacon breakfast casserole as the main, something with greens, and then something sweet for you.” He taps the waffle iron.

  “For me?”

  “Yeah. You said you like sweet things.”

  “You remembered?” I ask.

  “Of course,” Bryson says. “I always pay attention to you.”

  I feel my face start to redden, and to distract him I ask, “Is there anything I can help with?”

  “Cute.” Bryson laughs. “Just sit there and enjoy the show.”

  And so I do. Never before did I think cooking could be sexy, but watching Bryson work changes my mind. Judging from the happiness that he radiates, it’s clear that he loves cooking.

  “Maybe this can be your new dream?”

  “You haven’t tasted my food. How do you know it’s any good?”

  I shrug. “You just look so happy. So I figure if it can make you this happy, then it should be your new dream.”

  “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  Bryson and I continue to talk as he cooks. And it is effortless and easy when my life feels anything but.

  Eggs crack, bacon sizzles, and time passes. Soon the kitchen is filled with an aroma that makes my stomach growl. Bryson must hear it, because he smiles.

  “Come here and try this,” he says. “It’s scrambled eggs with green peppers and mushrooms.” He blows on the spoon before holding it up between us. I lean forward and taste it. Flavor bursts in my mouth.

  Bryson’s mother enters the kitchen when we’re standing like that. She barely offers us a glance, as if it’s the most ordinary thing in the world.

  “He’s a really good cook, isn’t he?” she says. She leaves with the bottle of water that she came for.

  I pull back—startled.

  “I think she knows,” I whisper.

  Bryson studies my mouth. He reaches for it and wipes away a bit of egg. I feel his thumb dance across my top lip, and I freeze. Later, I will recall this moment and relive it in vivid detail, but for now I am simply numb.

  Hannah reenters the kitchen. Like a breath being held, everything stops. Bryson’s mother looks at us before picking up an apple from the fruit bowl and leaving again.

  “She most definitely knows,” Bryson says. He sighs, but it doesn’t hold any fear or sadness or anything. It’s a simple Oh well. He leans down and gives me a peck on my lips before starting to stir the pot once more.

  I can’t help but feel envious and think about how different our situations are. Bryson’s family has barely batted an eye at us. In comparison to the disaster that was last night, this feels so strange. I sigh. Why couldn’t my parents have been this chill?

  “You’re not allowed to think about anything bad today,” Bryson says. He bumps me with his hip. “Try to forget for a bit.”

  I exhale, releasing the bad thoughts. Bryson’s right. Today I just want to relax and enjoy myself. I just want to enjoy one day before I have to go face the storm.

  I return to my seat and watch as Bryson mixes the batter for the waffles. When he’s done, I help him set the table. We carry over the freshly baked casserole, the scrambled eggs, and the waffles with whipped cream—the only thing that’s store-bought. Soon we’re all seated and ready to eat.

  “It looks so good,” I say.

  “If I’d had more time, I’d have properly planned a menu.” He offers me a tight-lipped smile. Is he nervous to have me eat food he’s cooked?

  “My brother has skills to pay the bills,” Crystal says as she digs in. “So good.”

  “Thank you for the food, son,” Bryson’s mother says before she, too, starts eating.

  I take my first bite and savor the taste.

  “How is it?” Bryson asks me.

  “So good.”

  “Really? I’m glad you like it.” Bryson’s smile grows now. He shows off the dimple that has become one of my favorite things about him. I mirror him.

  “It’s so cute I might die,” Crystal teases. She’s stopped eating and is watching the two of us.

  “Crystal, behave,” Hannah says. She cuts into her casserole and takes a bite.

  “Yes, Crystal, behave,” Bryson echoes.

  Bryson’s mother turns her attention to me. “What do your parents do, Kai?”

  “Mom owns an accounting firm and Dad’s in IT.”

  The conversation flows from there, and I find myself relaxing and opening up. We eat and we talk and I forget. And i
t feels nice….It feels normal.

  “Dad called me this morning,” Crystal says, and everyone tenses.

  “Crystal.”

  “It’s okay, Mom. Kai knows.” Bryson smiles at me.

  “It was ridiculous to me when he made someone who is two years older than me my stepmother. But now she’s pregnant. I’ll be twenty-four years older than the baby.” Crystal shakes her head. “Does this make sense?”

  “Whether you agree to see him and spend time with him is a decision that I’ll leave up to you two,” Hannah says. “At the end of the day, he will always be your father, and he’s at least trying to make an effort now.”

  “I suppose it beats him trying to buy our love.”

  “I had my eye on a Louis Vuitton bag,” Crystal says. “He’s free to buy my love, thank you very much.”

  “Crystal, please.”

  “I’m kidding, Mom,” Crystal says, but she shakes her head at me as she does so.

  Hannah sighs, but there’s a smile dancing at her lips, too.

  “Oh, did you let your professors know about your accident?” Hannah asks.

  “Yes. I’m sure Professor Bartley was more than thrilled to hear I wouldn’t be there to ask him questions.”

  “Crystal studies at UCLA,” Bryson whispers to me. “And Professor Bartley is her archnemesis.”

  “It’s truly impossible for me to explain how much I loathe that man,” Crystal says. “Just thinking about him gives me a headache.”

  “What are you studying?”

  “Psychology.”

  “For now,” Bryson says. He turns to me. “She’s changed her major more than a few times.”

  Crystal looks at us, and her face is dead serious. “Bryson, I just met Kai. Don’t make him have a bad impression of me. These impressions matter. How will I face him at Thanksgiving or Christmas?”

  I blush at her words.

  “Oh. My. God,” Crystal says. “That is the cutest.”

  Bryson smiles. “I know, right?”

  “Kai, please forgive my children.”

  “We’re not that bad, Mom,” Bryson says.

  “We’re practically angels,” Crystal adds.

  “Whatever helps you two sleep at night.” Bryson’s mother puts her cutlery down.

  At the end of the meal, Bryson says, “Since I cooked, Crystal has to do the dishes.” Bryson grins in that way of his that tells me he’s really enjoying this moment. “Fair is fair.”

  “I literally have a cast on my arm. Do you want me to lick them clean?” Crystal asks her brother.

  “I’ll do them,” I offer.

  “Fine, I’ll help,” Crystal says. She stands and looks at her brother. “Prepare for your ears to itch because we’re so going to talk about you.” She looks at me then. “Let’s go, Kai.”

  I stand and follow Crystal into the kitchen.

  27

  “So, how did you two meet?” Crystal awkwardly scrapes leftovers into the trash can. I offered to do it for her, but somehow she’s managing. “I mean, I know you go to the same school, but how did you two start going out?”

  “I asked him out.” It feels so weird to be talking about this openly, especially with Bryson’s sister. It’s weird, but not at all uncomfortable because I can tell that she’s genuinely curious without any hidden motives, agendas, or judgments.

  “And he said yes?”

  “Well, it’s part of his dare.” I scrub a plate clean as we talk. “You know about the Bryson Keller dare, right?”

  Crystal groans and rolls her eyes. “Dustin told me about it when it first happened. I’ve even clicked on that hashtag a few times.” She shakes her head. “It’s good to know Fairvale Academy doesn’t change. And it doesn’t surprise me in the least that Bryson is at the center of something so absurd.”

  “I’m not complaining about the dare,” I admit. I would never. It’s how this all started with Bryson. I wouldn’t be here without it.

  Crystal shivers. “You just gave me goose bumps.” She studies me. “You’re so whipped.” Crystal hands me a plate and I wash it before placing it on the dish rack to drip-dry. “Do you kids even say whipped? Everything changes so quickly, it’s hard to keep up with what’s in these days.”

  “You’re not that old. Why are you acting like you are?” Crystal and I turn to find Bryson standing at the kitchen doorway.

  “It’s rude to eavesdrop,” Crystal says. “So, is the dare over?” She looks from Bryson to me. “Did he lose?”

  “Yes,” we say at exactly the same time.

  Crystal clutches at make-believe pearls. “Oh, the drama…the scandal…the romance.” She brings the back of her hand to her forehead and performs a fake swoon.

  “You’re insufferable,” Bryson says to her. He looks at me. “If you’re done, I’d like to take my boyfriend and leave.”

  Warmth spreads up my neck toward my face.

  “Where are we going?”

  “No meal is complete without dessert,” Bryson says.

  “Bring me back something nice,” Crystal calls out as we leave the kitchen.

  “No, buy your own.”

  “Rude!” Crystal shouts back. “You better sleep with one eye open tonight.”

  I laugh. The relationship between Bryson and Crystal is surprising. I don’t know why, but it is. Maybe I just never thought of Bryson Keller as someone who would be close to his sister. He just didn’t seem the type. I don’t know what made me judge him in that way, but I’m glad that I got to witness this. I’m glad that I got this window into Bryson’s life.

  “What are you smiling about?” Bryson asks as we head to the Jeep.

  “Just thinking.”

  “About?”

  “You.”

  Bryson stops walking, and I do, too.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “You can’t just say things like that,” Bryson says. Dread starts to grow as I think I’ve done something bad. “You’ll make me fall for you harder than I already have.” I exhale a sigh of relief, then smile.

  We climb into the Jeep, and after a stop for gas, Bryson drives us toward a famous ice cream parlor in town. Because it’s a Sunday afternoon, Swirl It Up is filled with families. A pang shoots across my chest at the sight of all the happy little families. In the past, my family often stopped here for a Sunday treat after church.

  “What are you having?” Bryson’s question pulls me from the past and grounds me in the present. The girl behind the counter looks up from what she’s doing and her eyes snag on Bryson. She doesn’t look away from him. I can relate, because sometimes I, too, find myself staring at Bryson Keller.

  “I’ll have the three-scoop Berry-Berry Delicious,” I say.

  “And I’ll have the Mega-Choc,” Bryson says. His dimple is showing. He’s clearly very pleased at the idea of three large scoops of chocolate.

  We wait for our orders and then head back to the Jeep. Bryson drives us toward Melody Beach.

  “I hate that Dustin’s ruined this spot,” Bryson says.

  “The good outweighs the bad,” I say, and open the door. “Let’s go.”

  We walk down to the beach and sit side by side. We eat our ice cream in silence, both perfectly content with just being next to one another.

  “You know, I don’t have any photos of my boyfriend,” Bryson says after a while.

  “You keep saying that,” I say. “ ‘Boyfriend.’ ”

  “Why?” Bryson asks. “You don’t like it?”

  “No,” I say. “I really, really, really like it.”

  “Good.” Bryson smiles and leans toward me. “Boyfriend…boyfriend…boyfriend.” He punctuates each word with a kiss to my cheek. On the last one, though, I turn so that our lips meet.

  “I also really, really, really like m
y boyfriend,” I say.

  “He really, really, really likes you, too.”

  We kiss.

  When we pull back, we’re both breathless.

  Bryson reaches for his phone. “I was being serious earlier. I really want photos of you.”

  Bryson opens his camera and leans in to pose next to me. We take a few selfies of us just smiling or making funny faces. Then he leans in and kisses me on the cheek. He takes a picture of us in that position. It is almost an exact mirror of the one we took before, in the photo booth. The one that my mom destroyed.

  “This one can’t be ruined,” Bryson says as he studies it. It’s like he’s read my mind. As I stare at him I wonder how I got so lucky. How the stars aligned so perfectly to lead me to this moment. I don’t wonder too hard, though. I simply accept it.

  “Send them to me.”

  “Will do.”

  Bryson swipes through the pictures that he’s taken for a while. Then he opens the camera again. He takes my hand in his and interlocks our fingers. He holds them up toward the sky so that they are framed by the sunset. He takes a picture. I watch as he goes about setting it as his wallpaper.

  “You’re so extra,” I say.

  Bryson smiles. “I’m romantic. There’s a difference.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  We sit like that, watching the sun go down in our own little piece of the world. Both Bryson and I know what has to happen next. This has only been a short reprieve. It’s been perfect, sure, but perfection has a nasty habit of not lasting very long. Most times it’s simply an illusion and not reality.

  “I think we should go now,” Bryson says. His voice is soft and soothing.

  “I know.” I sigh, dreading what waits for me when I go home.

  Bryson stands and dusts the sand from his shorts. He offers me his hand and pulls me up. But he doesn’t let it go. Instead, he leans down so our foreheads are touching.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” he asks. “I can.”

  “I think I have to do it alone,” I say.

  If I were in any physical danger, I would have said yes. I know what awaits me at home isn’t fists or physical abuse. It’s disappointment and words shaped by religion and tinged with prejudice.