by Claire Adams
Mom didn’t really have any interest in talking to me about the exhibit though—she wanted to know if I had any plans on Thursday night.
“I’m not sure,” I said hesitantly. If I said no, I didn’t, she was probably going to try to get me to go with her to a wine tasting or to some function at the yacht club, which was the last place I felt like spending any time.
“Do you remember my friend Alison? They’re from California and they rent the O’Conner’s house for a few months every summer?”
“Uh ... not really.” It would be impossible to remember every single person that my mother considered a friend.
“They have a son, about your age. His name’s Riley. Nice boy. Anyway, they’re here now for a few weeks, and Alison and I were at lunch the other day and we got to talking. About you two.”
“Us two?”
“Yes, you and Riley. It sounds like the two of you have a lot in common! So, Alison and I were thinking it might be nice to arrange a little get-together. Just the two of you, of course—we wouldn’t be there. How does that sound?”
“You’re setting me up on a blind date?”
“You make it sound like it’s a bad thing! And it doesn’t have to be a blind date—here, I’ll show you a picture. Alison texted me one. He’s very handsome.” I sat there, trying not to roll my eyes, as my mother started tapping away at the screen of her phone. “Here,” she said triumphantly, turning the screen to face me. “Isn’t he handsome?”
The picture showed a guy on a boat, in a sky blue polo shirt, his short, light brown hair blowing in the breeze. He had a smile on his face, showing off perfect, white teeth. He looked incredibly wholesome, like this was a picture out of some Christian Bible camp pamphlet or something.
“He looks nice,” I said finally. I looked at her. “Please tell me you didn’t text his mother a picture of me.” I hated having my picture taken and did whatever I could to stay out of photos, but my mother was notorious for sneaking around and getting candid shots, which usually meant in the photos she had of me I was mid-sentence or about to take a bite of food.
“Don’t worry, Chloe, I wouldn’t send a bad photo of you,” she said. “Anyway, Riley is free this Thursday, and Alison and I thought it would be splendid if the two of you went out to dinner together. And before you start trying to think of excuses, I’d like it if you were just open to this idea and went out this one time. If it doesn’t work out, fine, you tried, and that’s the most anyone can expect.”
“I just don’t understand why you’re trying to set me up on a date. Did I ask you to do this? No.”
“Well, if you must know the truth, Riley just went through a ... how did Alison put it? A rather traumatic breakup, I think was what she used.”
“Oh, I see. So, I’m his rebound.”
“No, that’s not it at all. The breakup was almost six months ago, so it’s not recent, relatively speaking. He’s moved on. He’s ready to get back on the dating scene. And I figured since you’re not seeing anyone, it might work out really well!”
She seemed so earnest and good-intentioned that I could almost believe her. “But what sense would it make for you to set me up with someone who lives all the way across the country? What if things did work out between us, just for me to have to say goodbye to him when he went back to California?”
“Well ... let’s just say you two really did hit it off ... who’s to say you couldn’t move out to California? It’s a lovely state, you know. No more harsh winters to deal with. Remember how your father and I were talking about exploring your options? Living in California might be a great way for you to do that.”
“Are you serious, Mom?” I couldn’t quite believe what she was saying, though I should’ve known better. Of course this whole date was part of her bigger plan. “I didn’t realize how much you and Dad hated the idea of me being in art school. And what other options do you think I’ll be exploring out in California? Being someone’s housewife?”
Mom gave me a patient look. “Now, Chloe, you’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think? No one’s saying that you and Riley are going to get married, nor is anyone suggesting that you become a housewife! Riley graduated from Stanford, though, did you know that? Just this year, in fact. Alison said he’s thinking about grad school but might take an off-year—but I’ll let him tell you all that. I’ll just text Alison back and let her know that Thursday is good for you too, all right?”
I sighed. There was no point in arguing with my mother when she got like this. I could refuse this date, but then she’d just find someone else to try to set me up with. If I got it over with now, then maybe she’d leave me alone.
“Fine,” I said. “Go ahead and set it up.”
My mother grinned. “I think this is going to work out splendidly, I just have a feeling!”
I forced a smile and reached up to brush a few loose strands of hair away from my face. “Oh, boy, not another one of your feel—”
“What is that?”
My mother stared at me, her mouth slightly agape. “What?” I said.
“That!” She pointed, and I realized that the slightly loose-fitting, three-quarter sleeve had slid up when I raised my arm to brush the hair back from my face, putting my tattoo on full display. I knew that by choosing to have it there, my parents would eventually see it, but I hadn’t expected it to happen quite yet.
“Oh ... um.” I yanked the sleeve down.
“Please tell me that’s temporary. One of those henna things? What is it called?”
My mother gave me a hopeful smile, which wavered and then disappeared when I didn’t say anything.
“Chloe,” she breathed, looking at me as though I’d just informed her I liked to drown kittens in potato sacks in my spare time. “Has your father seen this? No, I know he hasn’t because he would’ve told me. Chloe, what on Earth were you thinking?” Her voice was starting to get shrill.
“I just wanted to,” I mumbled, feeling like I was five again. I hated that I felt like this whenever my parents got upset with me, even when I knew that I hadn’t done anything wrong. And there was nothing wrong with the tattoo I got—the way she was looking at me it was as though I’d gotten something inked on my face. “It’s nice. And it’s small. I really didn’t think that you guys would mind.”
My mother opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it and just shook her head. “I’m going to have to talk to your father about this,” she said after a minute. “And we both know he’s not going to be happy. How are you going to get a respectable job with a tattoo like that?”
“I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”
She sighed. “Well, whatever you do, make sure you wear something to cover it up for your date with Riley.”
Chapter Eleven
Graham
On Sunday, Todd and I were up at the ass crack of dawn, driving up to New Hampshire for a race. Todd was drinking distilled water and eating energy gel packets while I nursed a hot coffee and thought about eating a second donut.
“Aren’t you supposed to eat those when you actually need the energy?” I asked.
“I always need energy,” he said. “And by the way, I’m going to shoot myself if you come in ahead of me today. I mean, really. What did you have for dinner last night? A bacon cheeseburger? I had whole grain pasta and baked whitefish.”
“Close,” I said. “I hung out with Chloe and her friend Tara and we got some food at Fish Fry.”
“Wait, you hung out with both those girls who came in for the tattoos? And you didn’t invite me along?”
“It was kind of a last-minute thing. And I knew you were at work.”
“Fuck man, that’s what personal days are for! I would’ve called in. I was only doing a half day, anyway. How’d it go?”
“It was totally G-rated in every way. Nice, though. Went to the beach.”
He groaned and shook his head. “You’re fuckin killing me. I don’t want to hear that you went to the beach with two
hot chicks and it was G-rated. Let me guess—you ended the day with ice cream cones with rainbow sprinkles.”
“Something like that.”
“You’re pathetic. Seriously. You’re taking this whole ‘giving up dating’ thing way too far. It’s offensive, if you want to know the truth.”
“Are you offended?”
“I am. I’m getting stood up and you’re swearing off women. What—do you think being celibate is going to help you win races?”
“I don’t care about winning races.”
“Yeah, everyone knows that.”
And when we got to where the race was being held, I was again reminded of the fact that most people here thought of me as an outsider. I knew that a lot of the guys I raced against didn’t consider me on their level—despite the fact that I’d beaten a good many of them—since I wasn’t affiliated with a club and I didn’t wear Spandex or eat that energy gel shit. Most of them didn’t have the balls to say anything to my face, though, which was fine—I didn’t care what they thought, I wasn’t here for them. The one person who didn’t seem to mind giving me a hard time, though, was this kid Parker. I had never beaten him before, which was a fact that he reveled in. Maybe today would be the day.
“You been training, Graham?” he yelled to me as he rode by on his carbon fiber bike that probably cost almost as much as my truck.
“That’s a nice color pink,” I said, nodding at the thick pink stripe going across the front of his Spandex jersey. “Really good color for you.”
It was, in a way, the sort of good-natured banter that happened when people competed against each other, yet there was this undercurrent of something else, like it could quickly deteriorate if either of us took it there. There was something about Parker that made me simultaneously want to be his friend and also deck him. It was an odd juxtaposition of feelings to have toward someone I didn’t really know at all.
The race was three 10-mile laps through mostly singletrack, a lot of rock gardens, some pretty big roots. As usual, I started toward the back of the group, but midway through the second lap, I started overtaking guys.
“Fucking bitch,” Todd growled at me as I zipped around him. I was not, however, able to catch up with Parker in time, though maybe if the race had been a little longer, I would have. He was definitely tiring toward the end, but was able to sprint the last 10th of a mile and make it to the finish line before I did.
Chapter Twelve
Chloe
I recognized Riley right away, standing out front of the restaurant in another polo shirt—dark gray this time—and beige Bermuda shorts. He had his hands in his pockets and he looked nervous, which, for some reason, put me at ease a bit. I knew he was about a year or two older than I was, but he looked so young, with his clean-shaven face and naïve expression. I realized as I walked up, before we’d even exchanged one word, that I was comparing him to Graham.
Stop it, I told myself. I arranged my face into a smile. “Riley?” I said.
He snapped to attention, as though I’d startled him. “Chloe? Um, hi.” He held his hand out. “Yeah, it’s me, Riley.” His palm was clammy, but he smiled, showing off those perfect, white teeth, most likely the result of expensive orthodontia. No one’s teeth were naturally that straight and uniform.
We went inside, only to follow the hostess back out to the outside seating area.
“Have you ... have you been here before?” he asked, and immediately started blushing as though he’d just blurted out something terribly embarrassing. It was an odd turning of the tables; usually it was me who was blushing and feeling foolish. I felt a strange, almost maternal feeling come over me. I wanted to make him feel comfortable, not because I was trying to impress him or wanted him to like me, but because he appeared to be so painfully out of his element. I’d only been on a few dates—which had all either ended disastrously or unremarkably—but I’d always been the one feeling nervous or shy.
“I haven’t, but my mother talks about it so much that I feel like I may as well have!”
He laughed. “Yeah, same here. My mother treats shopping and going out to restaurants like it’s her job. And matchmaking. She’s been trying to set me up on dates since I was about 12 years old.” He leaned toward me, looking around first as though he were afraid that someone nearby might be eavesdropping. “I’m sure it’s pretty obvious and everything, but I’m gay.”
“Oh,” I said, genuinely a bit surprised. Well, that explained why I was feeling so at ease! I knew plenty of gay guys from art school, though they were all a good deal more flamboyant about their sexuality than Riley was.
He waved me off. “You don’t have to pretend to be surprised. I’ve only been trying to tell my mother for about ... oh, the past eight years or so ... that I’m gay, but she refuses to believe it. She just thinks I haven’t met the right girl, despite her claiming not to be homophobic in the least.”
I had to fight back my own laughter. “My own mother actually thought it might be possible for me to fall in love with you and follow you back out to California. Because she and my father think that I’m wasting my time in art school and that I should, how did they put it? Explore my options.”
“Yes!” Riley clapped his hands together. “Exactly! Except my mother keeps referring to the option exploring in terms of how many dates she can set me up on. It’s so tedious. So, you’re in art school? Tell me everything about it! My parents forced me to go to Stanford, my dad’s alma mater. But I’d always wanted to go to art school! I admire you for going against what your parents wanted. It’s not always the easiest thing, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” It was nice to talk to someone who had a similar family situation.
“What?” he said. He was looking past me, over my shoulder. “Sorry, I just saw a hella hot guy go by on a bike.”
“Oh yeah?” I turned, but didn’t see anyone.
Riley shook his head. “You just missed him.”
“Figures; I always miss the hot ones.”
He raised an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. Someone with your looks—I bet the guys are just lining up to meet you. If only I had such problems.”
“Yeah right. That’s a nice thought. When it comes to guys, I have had pathetically little experience.” I thought about Graham and the mixed messages I was getting from him. “In fact, it seems that I actually sort of repel guys.”
“Oh my God, you are so full of it. Stop fishing for compliments!” Riley shook his head, giving me a quizzical look.
I laughed. “I’m not, I swear! I actually was hanging out with this guy that I might kind of like—even though we don’t really know each other—and at first I thought he might feel the same way, but then ... I don’t know. There was this perfect moment for him to kiss me and he didn’t.”
“Maybe you intimidate him.”
“No way,” I said. “If you saw him, you’d understand. It was like, everything was going great until the very end, and then it suddenly felt like he couldn’t be away from me fast enough. And then the next day we ended up going to the beach with a friend of mine, and we all had a great time, but it was more like we were just this group of friends. I guess I’m just not good at this dating thing. I mean, it’s not even dating, it’s ... I don’t know what it is.”
“It’s all one big mind-fuck,” Riley said. “Every single bit of it. Like our parents trying to set us up like this. But I am so glad to have met you! The last girl my mother made me go on a date with took it all personally when I told her I was gay, like it was some sort of reflection of herself! I’m so glad you’re not like that. And where the hell is our waiter? We’ve been here forever! We should just go get ice cream somewhere. Want to do that?”
“That sounds great,” I said. “My mom will be so thrilled to hear how much fun we had going out together!”
Chapter Thirteen
Graham
I knew it was Chloe before it registered that she was at a notoriously romantic restaurant with some guy I�
��d never seen before. They were sitting at one of the outside tables and she was actually facing my direction as I approached, but I was on the other side of the street and she was clearly very caught up in whatever it was she was saying to that guy.
I slowed a bit as I went by, and the guy actually turned to stretch and caught my eye. It might’ve been a good opportunity for a stare down, except in this part of town, you actually had to have your eyes in front all of the time, or you’d end up getting doored or, at best, running over some hapless tourist.
So, she had a boyfriend. Big fucking deal. It’s not like I was expecting to be her boyfriend. I even thought about going over and just saying what’s up, which, if anything, would show that I was completely unbothered by the fact that she was out to dinner with whoever that guy was. But, I decided not to, and I kept riding. My plan had been to just ride the mile and a half back home, but I took a detour and went for another six miles. I pushed myself hard, even though I’d already been pushing it—the last thing I wanted was to have to think about Chloe out with another guy.
Chapter Fourteen
Chloe
At breakfast that morning, my father drank his coffee and cleared his throat several times before asking me what sort of person I hoped to come across as.
“Huh?” I said. My brain still felt clouded with sleep and it seemed way too early to have this sort of conversation. Plus, it had turned incredibly humid overnight and everything had a heavy, sticky feel to it. The sort of weather you just wanted to sleep right through.
He put his coffee mug down. “There is something to be said for not caring what people think about you. Or caring too much, rather. But I’d like you to tell me how it is you hope to come across to people. Do you want people to take you seriously? Do you want to be a respectable person?” He looked pointedly at my tattoo. “The choices you make now are going to have ramifications later in life. You do know that, don’t you?”