Ghosting You

by Alexander C. Eberhart

  “Here we go,” he says giving my hand a small squeeze. “Scorpios. They are forthright and honest, not afraid to speak their minds.”

  Well that’s dumb. Of course, I speak my mind. Everyone does that.

  “They don’t show vulnerability often and can come off as prickly and cold to outsiders.”

  Especially if they’re Outsider outsiders. But that’s half the town. It has nothing to do with what star I was born under.

  “They’re not intimidated easily and stand up for justice, defending those they see fit defending.”

  Yeah, this doesn’t fit me at all. Nope, nope, nope.

  “Most Scorpios show an immense amount of empathy that dials them into other’s needs. They know when someone is being earnest, and fakeness is frustrating beyond all measure.”

  Okay. Now I’m feeling personally attacked.

  “Anything hitting home?” Nick asks.

  “A couple things. But I’m skeptical.”

  He grins. “Spoken like a true Scorpio.”

  “Shut up,” I say through a laugh.

  I notice the absence of pattering against the roof. The rain’s slacked up.

  “Should we go back now?” He asks, making no actual effort to detach himself from me.

  I nod slowly. But I don’t want this to end. I don’t want to leave this car, because then this moment will be just a memory, and I’m not ready for it to end just yet.

  “There’s one more thing I wanted to do, first.” Nick says.

  “What’s that?”

  He pulls on my hand, bringing me over the console before kissing me. Where the first time we kissed was rushed passion and water getting in my nose, this time is infinity sprawled at our feet and careful hands.

  When Nick pulls back, he doesn’t recline in his seat but holds me there with a hand on my chest. And I swear, in the reflection of his eyes, I can see climaxing supernova of my heart as it explodes and rearranges the universe.

  I kiss him again.

  And again.

  And again.

  “What do we do now?” Tommy leans back against the foggy window, strands of his dark hair sticking to the wet glass.

  Our fingers are intertwined, in his lap. “What do you mean?”

  He pulls gently on my arm to lean forward. Even after dozens of kisses, my heart leaps as he gets close. “I mean, where does this leave things? What are we doing?”

  “I’m looking at the boy that I like. What are you doing?”

  His brow droops and he squeezes my hand. “You know what I mean.”

  “I think a better question is what do you want us to be doing?”

  He doesn’t answer right away, but squints his eyes and rumples his nose, lost in thought. When he does speak, his voice is low, like he’s afraid to say the words too loudly. “I want to go on a date.”

  “Okay, so let’s go on a date. Where do you want to go?”

  His eyes get wide. “Wait, you mean right now?”

  “Did you have something better to do?”

  “No, it’s just…” He pauses, eyes dropping down to our tangled hands.

  “What?” I ask softly, my pulse thrumming. am I coming on too strong?

  “I’m soaking wet. And I really don’t want to spend the entirety of our first date worried about chafing.”

  I can’t help but laugh. The edges of Tommy’s cheeks tinge red.

  “Okay, so maybe we go change first?”

  “Yes, please. Then I’m totally down for whatever.”

  I cock an eyebrow.

  The tinge of red spreads further into his face. “Probably could have phrased that better.”

  We both laugh, but my stomach twists in that kind of very specific way and I need to change the subject, or I’ll start pitching a tent right here and now.

  “Was there anything specific you wanted to do on this first date? Maybe go see what Brenda is whipping up at Tom’s?”

  Tommy shakes his head, “Hell, no. I can’t take you there. I’d never hear the end of it. That and Brenda would tell my mom like, immediately. No offense, but I’d like to keep you to myself for now? Is that okay?”

  My stomach twists again with this giddy feeling. I nod. “Of course. So, why don’t I drop you off at your apartment and then pick you up in an hour?”

  “Sounds good.” He smiles, then leans in and kisses me, slow and sweet. When he pulls away, the smile is still perfectly in-place. “Let’s get a move on?”

  I clear my throat, sinking back into my seat.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Where have you been?”

  Mom sits at the table, a cup of coffee and her laptop positioned between two piles of puzzle pieces. How she manages any work among the chaos is a mystery to me.

  “I went up to the school with Kayla,” I say, clutching the box of prints in front of me as proof. “She let me into the developing room. I had some old stuff that needed printing.”

  Mom pulls off her reading glasses. “I’m so glad to hear that. How did it go?”

  “Good.” I grip the box tighter. Mom knows what’s inside. That’s why she isn’t asking to see the prints. She knows I’m not ready to share those moments with anyone. Not yet.

  “That’s great, honey.” She looks back down at her laptop, then back up at me. “I’ve got to go into Gainesville for an event tonight. The office—and by office, I mean, myself—was nice enough to book me a room so I don’t have to drive back after midnight.”

  “Wait, so you’re not going to be home tonight?”

  “I know, isn’t it terrible? Whatever is a seventeen-year-old to do without parental supervision for a whole night?”

  I roll my eyes. “It’s not like that.”

  “Mhm. Sure it isn’t. Just be sure not to party too hard, son. Alcohol poisoning is no joke. Just ask me about spring break of ’98.”

  “I’d really rather not.”

  “Oh, come on, Tommy. I’ve got so much wisdom I need to impart before I get old and senile. Like, don’t drink something called a ‘blue motherfucker’ and Jell-O shots are only okay if you watched them being made. You know, real useful information.”

  “Sounds like it,” I lie, shuffling a few steps towards the hallway. “But seeing as you’ll also be unsupervised tonight, I think I’d better impart my own wisdom. Have fun, tonight. Don’t drink a blue motherfucker, whatever the hell that is. Be safe. I don’t want to ruin this whole ‘only child’ vibe I’ve been rocking. And lastly, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “That’s a long list, sweetheart.”

  “Maybe not as long as you think,” I mutter.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing! I’m going to go hop in the shower. What time are you leaving?”

  “In a few minutes, actually. I’ve got to get to the event space early. I’ll see you tomorrow, kiddo.”

  “See you,” I say, then bolt down the hall to my room. My heart is pounding in my chest. I still can’t believe this is happening. I’m going on a date. Like, a real date. My first date. Hundreds of romantic comedies with Mom have prepared me for this exact moment. Now where is my sassy best friend who helps me get ready? Where is my makeover montage, that reveals I was beautiful all along? Where’s my a-ha moment when I realize that the most important relationship is with myself?

  Most importantly, where the hell are my jeans?!

  I tear through my laundry basket, tossing boxers and t-shirts across the room in a fury. I finally uncover my jeans, at the bottom of the hamper, huffing a sigh of relief. My phone buzzes in my pocket as I check them for stains. I check the message.

  What’s new, Stranger? 4:43pm

  I tap back a quick response.

  Me: Can’t talk. Only have fifty minutes. Gotta be cute. Sorry. 4:43pm

  I make it three steps before my phone buzzes again.

  Now you have to tell me. You can’t just leave me hanging here. Rude. 4:44pm

  Me: Okay, fine, highlights. Guy from work turns out not to
be jerk. Does something incredibly sweet. We kiss in the rain. Then again in his car. Like, a lot. And now I’ve got less than an hour before he picks me up for our first date—MY FIRST DATE—and I’m totally fucking freaking out. 4:46pm

  Wait, are you saying this is your first date, like ever? 4:46pm

  Me: YES! HELP ME 4:46pm

  Oh, shit. I dunno! Um. Tell me what you’re going to wear. 4:47pm

  Me: Jeans. And a shirt. 4:47pm

  Me: Of course I’m wearing a shirt. Jesus. I mean like, a nice shirt. With a pocket. And maybe a tie? Should I pull out my suit? I don’t even know where we’re going. 4:48pm

  That might be a bit formal for a first date. You’re not going to the Fox Theatre are you? 4:49pm

  Me: Definitely not. Best case scenario, we go to the next town over and eat Italian food. 4:49pm

  Ditch the tie. Ditch the pocket-shirt. In fact, why don’t you go shirtless? That’ll really get his attention. ;) 4:50pm

  Me: Not helpful. 4:50pm

  In all seriousness, take a deep breath, put on your jeans and grab a comfy button down. That way, you feel a little dressy, but keep it casual. Wear a nice pair of sneakers if you feel too formal. 4:51pm

  Me: Right. I can do this. I CAN do this, right? 4:52pm

  From what I can tell, yes. Absolutely. Just relax and have a good time. I’m sure the other guy is just as nervous. 4:53pm

  Me: I sure hope so. 4:53pm

  Go get ‘em, tiger. Tell me all about it when you get back. 4:54pm

  Me: You got it. Thanks. 4:54pm

  I toss the phone onto my bed, peeling my damp shirt off and toss it to join the rest of my wardrobe on the floor. The light in the bathroom flickers to life, and I take a second to give myself a once over in the mirror. I grab my razor, catching the few stray hairs I missed the last time I shaved. Next, I check on the whitehead at the crease of my nostril. It’s still there, unfortunately. Maybe he won’t notice. Or maybe I should go ahead and pop it. Or maybe I should just crawl into bed and pull the covers over my head and pretend none of this happened.

  The shower is still warm by the time I pry myself away from the mirror, but the hot water is bound to run out eventually so I hurry through the motions of scrubbing myself clean, taking an extra few seconds on my intimate parts, which is making me think about sex. And kissing Nick. And sex with Nick.

  And holy shit, I’m not ready for tonight.

  “You kissed him?!”

  “Keep your voice down,” I hiss at Reese, smashing the volume button on the side of my phone. I set her down on the bed then pull my shirt together to button it. She continues on, unfazed.

  “Like, are we talking a peck or full on ‘let me taste your tonsils’ kissing?”

  “Uh, somewhere in-between.”

  “Hot. And it was raining? Like, you for-real kissed in the rain? The Notebook made it look so romantic, but honestly, I’m not about that soggy make out life.”

  “Most of it happened in my car,” I correct her, finishing the last button. I check my hair in the mirror, tousling it one last time before it’s completely dry. “Which was really hot, I’m not going to lie.”

  “So, what are you two going to do—”

  A knock on the door drowns out the rest of Reese’s question. I dive for the phone, whispering a quick, “Sorry!” as I end the call.

  Ma lets herself in. She opens her mouth to speak, then starts coughing. “Good lord, Nick. Didn’t we talk about a little cologne goes a long way?”

  “My hand slipped,” I say, cheeks burning.

  “Well, open a window. I don’t want to come home to find you passed out from your own fumes.”

  I actually take a second to look at her, and I realize she’s dolled up for the gods. “Where are you off to?”

  She rolls her eyes, then pulls a wrinkle out of her skirt. “Your father’s charity event in Atlanta. He’s still stuck up north, so I’ve got to host the damn thing. Thankfully, Caroline will be there to take care of most of the heavy lifting. She’s actually swinging by in a few minutes to pick me up. I’ll be back around lunch tomorrow.”

  My mind begins to race. I’ve got the cabin all to myself for the night?

  “Gotta love Caroline,” I agree, checking my phone again. Reese has already texted me five times. “What’s this fundraiser for again?”

  “Some family value bullshit that your father has gotten himself involved with. Just be thankful I’m not dragging you along with me.”

  I give her a grin. “I was just thinking that.”

  Ma gives me a good once-over, her brow raising with a dozen unspoken questions.

  “Well, try not to have too much fun without me, Nick. Wish me luck.”

  “Good luck!” I call after her, watching as she descends the stairs. Another minute or so later, the front door opens and closes.

  I check the clock. I’ve still got time. I hit Reese’s name on my contacts.

  “I don’t enjoy being hung up on,” she says, huffing.

  “Sorry,” I say, checking myself in the mirror one last time. “Ma ambushed me and I had to think fast.”

  “Fine, I guess I can find it in my heart to forgive you. Now, finish filling me in. What are you two going to do tonight?”

  “Well…”

  The thing is, I had it all planned already. It was going to be dinner at this cool Italian restaurant I found online. Then ice cream at Sheila’s. And in the picturesque simulation running through my head, we’d end up taking a moonlit stroll to some secluded oasis and make out while a swarm of fireflies circle in perfect formation.

  But now, I have another idea that’s quickly taking over.

  “Ma’s gone for the night,” I say, still mulling the idea around. “So I was thinking maybe he could come over to the cabin and we could bake something together.”

  There’s silence on the other end of the phone and then the smallest squeak followed by Reese, “That idea literally has more romance than I’ve experienced in my life. It’s not fair.”

  “I’m guessing you approve of that idea?”

  “Uh, yes. Absolutely. What are you going to bake?”

  “I’m not sure yet. But I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” I check the time again. “Hey, I’ve got to get going or I’m going to be late. I’ll text you, okay?”

  “Don’t forget about me. I’m waiting with baited breath over here!”

  “I won’t, promise. Wish me luck!”

  “You don’t need it. Byeee!”

  I’m waiting on the stairs to my apartment as Nick pulls into the parking lot. If I had any sense, I would have waited inside, but all I kept thinking about was him knocking on the door and me letting him and all-of-a-sudden it’s just the two of us, alone, in my apartment and I would have spontaneously combusted.

  So here I am, sweating on the steps.

  “Hey!” Nick calls from a lowered window, like he thinks I don’t see him. After today, I’m pretty sure I could spot him halfway across the universe. It’s strange, how different he seems to me now. Like I’m gravitating to him, trapped in a tidal lock just like the man in the moon. It’s that force that drags me down the stairs, in complete conflicts with the rising panic in my chest.

  I climb into the passenger seat, relishing the embrace of cool air. Nick is wearing a solid shirt, for once. The top two buttons are unfastened, and I catch a glimpse at a patch of tanned skin under the material.

  I reposition the vent to blow directly on my face.

  “Where do you want to go?” I ask, focusing my gaze forward so he doesn’t catch me ogling.

  He looks both ways before pulling out of the lot. One hand stays on the top of the steering wheel while the other drifts over to the console, resting palm-side up. “There’s this Italian place I found online. They’ve got decent ratings.”

  “It’s not Margo’s, is it?”

  He glances over at me, his brow pulling down. “How’d you know?”

  “The place is a tourist trap,” I explai
n, pulling my phone out of my pocket. “I’m almost one-hundred percent positive they bribed their way to every five-star rating. If you want the real deal, you’ve got to go to Giordano’s, over in Clarksville. It’s about half an hour from here.”

  I search for the address, then type it into the GPS on the dashboard. The little red arrow tracks us, lining a path to warm breadsticks and tomato sauce stains.

  “To my rescue again,” Nick says, flashing me a smile. “First it was the perfect theater seat, now you’re saving me from mediocre Italian food. My debt is just stacking up over here.”

  “You can start with buying dinner.”

  That catches his attention.

  “Really? Are you sure that’s okay?”

  I nod, suddenly feeling very self-conscious about making this a thing. But it’s better to go ahead and lay out the expectations now. It will help me stick to the plan.

  “Awesome,” he mutters, a smile creeping across his face.

  The highway outside of town moves along at a decent pace. The sun is starting to sink toward the tops of the Blue Ridges, casting long shadows across the valleys, like giants laying down to rest.

  Nick talks as we ride, filling the silence with funny anecdotes and frustratingly vague details about his family life. For as much as the boy talks, he’s very tight lipped when it comes to his parents. But he does talk about Sammy.