by Rachel Kane
“Life is too complicated.”
“No,” she said. “Life is actually pretty simple. There is a handsome boy staying at your place. You are both in your physical prime. The laws of nature dictate that you ought to at least take your shot. Maybe you miss. Maybe he’s not interested, or he’s secretly disgusted by you, or whatever. But maybe you go have a drink, and things are fun, and you manage to blow off some steam? Again, I’m not even talking about something lasting more than a week. But you are so wound up, you need some kind of release--”
“Oh god, please don’t say anything sexual.”
“Fine. You’re the little teapot, short and stout.”
“I’m not stout!”
“But you’re all steamed up and you need to shout.”
“That is literally the worst innuendo I have ever heard.”
She shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. When life gets too stressful and my shoulders get all tight, I call up one of my prospects and get some drinks, and if things work out, voila, tension resolved. In this case, the prospect would be Joan.”
“You’re like the opposite of those abstinence pamphlets they handed us in high school.”
“Trust Dr. Rhody on this,” she said.
Among the badly thought-out decisions of my life, taking the week off work wasn’t super-high on the list, but considering I couldn’t really be in my condo while the crews were in there fixing and filming, I found myself without anywhere to go, and nothing to do. I spent some time walking the pier; it was still early in the day on a Monday, and the crowds weren’t too bad yet. I was trying not to think about what Rhody had said, but it was hard.
I was really mad at Owen. That was the main reason I couldn’t ask him out.
Wasn’t it? Wasn’t I still mad? I couldn’t be sure, and that bothered me a little. He was so shallow and so thoughtless. Yet I don’t think he meant what he said maliciously.
It was ridiculous to go back and forth on it in my head. What good did it do, to chase my thoughts around? I’d talk to him. There, that was a nice resolution. I would talk to him, we’d get things out in the open like mature adults, and then I’d stop thinking about it so much.
When my phone rang, I worried that it was him. I wasn’t quite ready to talk yet. I needed to, but hadn’t planned out all the things I’d need to say.
“Hello?”
“Nathaniel, this is your father.”
“Yeah, dad, I’ve known you all my life, I recognize your voice.”
“I can barely hear you, son. It’s this damned cell phone. Your mother bought the smallest one for me. It doesn’t even reach from my ear to my mouth. I’m telling him I can’t hear him, Debbie! I can’t--”
“Dad, hold the phone to your ear, not your mouth.”
“Debbie, he sounds like he’s a thousand miles away! I told you we should have kept the house phone! Do I press a button? Can I press this button?”
“Dad!” I yelled. “Put the phone next to your ear!”
“What? Oh...oh. That’s clearer.”
“You don’t have to move it down to your mouth when you talk. It’s got a good microphone.”
“It’s this tiny little rectangle of glass and plastic. I’m scared I’ll drop it in the toilet.”
“Maybe don’t talk while you’re in the bathroom?” My dad was more anxiety-prone than I was, and that’s saying something.
“These lithium batteries, they catch on fire. It’s not safe to have it pressed to your head all the time. You’re not one of these people always talking on the phone, are you, Nathaniel? I told your mother to keep a box of baking soda nearby in case there’s a fire.”
“How are things going, Dad? Everything okay? Usually, it’s Mom that calls.”
“Nathaniel, your mother and I are very concerned. Very concerned. She asked me to speak to you, man to man.”
Uh-oh. “What’s she concerned about?”
“She recently had a conversation with Rhoda.”
“Oh god, she talked to Rhody?”
“Every week she speaks to Rhoda. You know we play spades with her parents every Thursday night. Roy and Edna. Roy used to be your chemistry teacher.”
“Dad, I’ve known them forever, I know Mr. Christensen.”
“He cheats. I’m convinced of it. Edna wears those big glasses. I think he sees her cards in the reflection of her glasses.”
“You’re calling me because the Christensens cheat at spades?”
“What? Why would I call long distance for that? At these rates? To talk to you about Roy Christensen? Nathaniel, you’ve got to learn to manage your money better, if you think you can just call about a man cheating at spades--”
“Whoa, whoa dad. Okay, two things. One, you don’t have long distance charges on your phone. Two, what was this big conversation with Rhody?”
“Your mother spoke to Rhoda. Because you never call!”
“I send you emails every week!”
“Email? The internet is full of criminals and vice. You may as well write us a letter and mail it directly to the penitentiary!”
This was why I never called them. At least with email, I could keep the conversation on track.
“But Rhody, Dad, why was Mom talking to Rhody?”
“She says you are going to be on television! I don’t mind telling you that we are all very concerned.”
“Dad, it’s a good show. They’re going to fix my kitchen.”
“But Rhoda says you are taking on some sort of boyfriend? Some boy we’ve never heard of!”
I made a mental note to yell at Rhody about this later...she should know you can’t just drop information like that on my parents! Then again, maybe my mom interrogated her until she gave up the information.
“It’s not like that--” I began.
“Is it so much to ask that you should introduce us to this boy before you show him off on national television?”
“Dad, it’s not--”
“Your mother thinks you are ashamed of us! She was sobbing in sorrow over it!”
“Mom was sobbing?”
“Weeping.”
“Mom doesn’t really cry, Dad.”
“I saw a glistening in her eye! We always knew that when you left the nest, one day you would abandon us for good, but we never thought it would be like this!”
“He’s not real!”
“What do you mean, not real? Is he imaginary? Is this a hoax?”
“He’s not imaginary. He’s just not really my boyfriend. He’s just...he’s just this guy.”
“It is a hoax! Son, have you consulted with a lawyer? This is fraud! You could go to jail! Debbie, your son is committing a felony, did you know that? A felon! The next time you see him it’ll be behind plexiglass!”
“Dad!” I shouted. “It’s not a crime! I needed a boyfriend for the show, and so I solved the problem. It’s not a big deal. Seriously.”
“I just don’t see why you need a fake one. Why don’t you go get a real boyfriend?”
“Please let’s not go down this road again.”
“I always thought you should have dated Morton Fenwick. You know he’s doing quite well in the tax business. Your mother and I see him every March with our taxes. He drives a Lexus, did you know?”
“Dad, Morton Fenwick is straight.”
“Nonsense. I think I know a gay man when I see one. Your mother says I have--What did you call it, Debbie? Sonar? Like sonar but for the gays? Gaydar. Your mother says I have gaydar. It means--”
“I know what it means, Dad, but you have to trust me, Morton is straight.”
“He’s so clean-cut. His shirts are always pressed.”
I looked down at my wrinkled shirt. “You’re kind of going by a stereotype there, Dad.”
“But he has that lisp.”
“Oh come on! He had tongue surgery when he was 12! Also--agh! Dad! Quit it with the stereotypes!”
“We just want you to be happy, son.”
I was on the verge o
f giving him a big lecture about it, when I heard a voice behind me. “Nat? Hey, Nat, is that you?”
I turned, and there was Owen, with Mr. Thurgood, approaching us through the small groups of tourists and day-trippers.
“Dad, I’ve got to go.”
“What? Hold on, your mother is--”
“Dad! I’m hanging up now! I’ll talk to you later!”
“Debbie, what was the name of that other gay boy you mentioned? Was it Francis? The one who worked at the Christmas-All-Year Store?”
I hit the disconnect button and slid the phone back into my pocket.
“What are you doing here?” I asked Owen, hoping it didn’t sound too challenging.
“We were just out getting lunch.”
“At ten in the morning?”
Owen shrugged. “Fine, we were on a head-clearing break. But also--”
My conversation with Dad had left me feeling rattled. I understood the need for head-clearing. But I also knew if I didn’t deal with this morning immediately, I’d lose my nerve. “Owen, I feel like I need to say something about this morning,” I said. “Look, I know we’re very different people--”
“Yes, exactly, like two snowflakes, none of which are alike--”
“--and we have different ways of dealing with the world, and with stress, and everything--”
“Fingerprints are maybe the better analogy, even the ones on the same hand aren’t alike--”
“--so I’m trying not to be mad about what happened--”
“I mean, if you think about it, we always use snowflakes and fingerprints, but nothing is really exactly like anything else, no two apples are alike, no two oranges, no two buildings. It’s amazing that we ever find any commonality at all, everything is so different than everything else.”
“...are you actually listening?” I asked.
“Sorry,” he said. “I thought I was agreeing with you.”
“I mean, you went on a bit of a tangent there.”
“I know.”
“Oranges and stuff.”
“It really is kind of profound when you think about it, though.”
“Focus?” I requested.
“Okay.”
“You hurt my feelings during the interview. I don’t think you meant to. Oh, this is going to sound awful, but I put a premium on my dignity. I don’t want to seem like a flake.”
He stared at me a minute. “You mean, you don’t want to be laughed at.”
“Well, yeah.”
“Why do you care what people think, how they react?”
“Does it matter? I do care. And the crazy stuff you were saying means people will laugh. That hurts.”
Owen looked both stricken and bashful at the same time. “I feel really bad about that.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “Awful. And a little bit stupid? And evil. Not like, destroy-the-earth evil, but a little bit evil, for not thinking about your feelings. I got caught up in the moment, and--”
“Can you just apologize?”
“I’m sorry! Yes! I can apologize!” He looked away from me, then slowly looked back into my eyes. “I promise I won’t make up any more crazy stories about you.”
For the first time all morning, I relaxed. I didn’t realize how instantly his apology would work on me--or how truly, physically tense I had been. It wasn’t quite as good as having my shoulders massaged, but it was something.
We left the pier and wandered for a little bit. “Do you want to get lunch?” I asked.
“As you pointed out, it’s ten in the morning.”
“But I missed breakfast, and I realized I don’t have anything to do, aside from going home and standing next to the wall and watching them fix things. I’ll have to go back in a little while anyway; Joan wants some more footage of me.”
Rhody would have groaned at me. This was not exactly asking Owen out. Grabbing lunch was the lowest form of asking someone somewhere. It was right down there with Hey look there is a coffee shop, let’s drink coffee at the same table in the great continuum of getting together with people.
Still, I didn’t want to ask him out. I mean, I did, but even after the apology, I felt a little wary of him. He probably didn’t like me--you didn’t blurt out that sort of thing about people you liked--and I was in no mood for a big rejection, especially not if it led to him dropping out of the show. So I played it safe.
“I don’t know,” said Owen, “I guess Mr. Thurgood and I should get back to work. Lots of advertising for tourist season, you know. I’m not even supposed to be away from my desk right now.”
I looked down at my feet. “Good point, I forget everyone has to work. Okay. Guess I will see you later.”
“Oh come on,” he said.
“What?” I glanced back up.
“You’re going to give me a guilt trip over not having lunch with you?”
“I’m not doing that!”
“You literally just looked sadly at the ground! You moped!”
“I never moped! I was being deferential! I was being respectful of your needs, you know, the way grown-ups do things!”
He laughed. “You were totally trying to manipulate me. Maybe subconsciously, but you were doing it. Fine, I give in. Take me to lunch.”
“Okay, but I wasn’t manipulating you.”
“You just made me apologize to you, now you should apologize for this.”
I peered at him. “Tell me I didn’t offend you by glancing down at my feet. You’re not actually offended, are you?”
“I’m still a little miffed that you didn’t let me fully elaborate on my No-Two-Oranges-Are-Alike idea.”
He tied Mr. Thurgood to a post outside Sunny Side Up, and we got a table near the window so he could see us.
“Fine,” I said, “I apologize for seeing my shoes. And for cutting off what was truly one of the great figures of speech of our day.”
He picked up a menu. “Don’t you feel better now? Apologies are wonderful things.”
We both ordered really light things--him because he’d already had breakfast, and me because I was going through this weird combination of hunger and nervousness. After working out the issues from this morning, it seemed like all I’d done was make room for worrying about the next thing on the horizon, my follow-up interview with Joan.
I tried to get my mind off that subject while waiting for my tempeh salad. “So how was the couch? Comfortable enough?”
He smiled at the waitress who brought him a cup of tea, then shrugged. “It was certainly a couch! They never make them quite long enough to stretch out on. Still, I think my futon is giving me elderly-person back problems.”
“Every time I’ve taken a nap on the couch, I’ve woken up with a sore neck. My mattress is okay, but I’ve thought of saving up for one of those big memory foam ones. Those are supposed to provide support while--”
“Nat?”
“Yes?”
“Nat, this is the most boring conversation two people could possibly have. Not even mattress salesmen have conversations like this.”
“Do you know a lot of mattress salesmen?”
“Tons. They invite me to their yearly conferences. Lots of presentations on the latest coil technology. Panels on how to remove mystery stains from display mattresses.”
“Ew.”
“Oh come on, like you’ve never thought about doing it on a display mattress in the middle of the store.”
“The thought has never once crossed my mind.” What did suddenly cross my mind was my dream from last night. I tried to cast the image from my thoughts. Don’t think about his cock! I told myself.
“I forget how moral you are compared to me,” he said.
I laughed. “By moral you mean boring.”
“That too. You don’t ever get ideas in your head like that? Totally inappropriate places to bone somebody?”
“If I ever use the word bone as a verb, I immediately start blushing so much I look like I’m having an allergic reaction.�
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“It’s so funny,” he said. “Not that I’m trying to be your relationship counselor here--someone has already tried to make me play that role once today--but I’m really curious about why you’re so shy about this stuff. I knew you were a wallflower whenever you came to a party, but now that we’re getting to know each other, I figure I can just ask.”
“Am I a wallflower?”
“You’re a creeping vine. You’re like the ivy crawling up old houses, clinging to the walls.”
“That’s kind of unflattering,” I said, although I couldn’t deny it was true. “I don’t know why I do that. I don’t know why I can’t make jokes about...you know.”
“I think they call it sex.”
I involuntarily flinched.
“Wow,” he said. “You look so uncomfortable.”
“We’re in public,” I said. “It’s a little--”
“We are literally the only people in this diner.”
“I know, but--”
“See, the problem is, now I know there’s a problem. There’s a reason you’re nervous about this subject. And that makes me curious. Do you know how awful it is to be curious about somebody?”
I nodded. “I know that feeling. You wonder something about someone, and then you’re not sure how to ask.”
“You’re not sure how to ask because you’re anxious about it. I’m not sure how to ask because I worry about hurting your feelings again. But fine, let’s edge away from the topic. I hate to see you so uncomfortable.”
I was grateful he wanted to change the subject, but at the same time, I felt terrible about it. I glanced around nervously. He was right, the last couple at the table by the wall had already paid and left, leaving us with the whole place to ourselves until the real lunch rush started.
There’s nothing worse than that feeling that you’re so uptight and restrained that other people start to notice. It’s one thing to feel like you can hide it, by guiding conversations towards safer territory, by being careful not to drop innuendoes and double entendres. But Owen wasn’t even trying to conceal the topic. He’d just launched into a fantasy about public sex at a mattress store! Is that how people talked?