Who We Could Be

by Chelsea M. Cameron

  “So, Montgomery Ford, tell me a little about yourself.”

  “Oh, are we doing that?” I asked.

  “This is a date, so we have to practice conversation, don’t we?” True. Conversation was the part of dating that scared me most, second only to the sex.

  “I’m not sure what to say,” I said. Why was I so incredibly awkward?

  “If you could only eat one kind of potato for the rest of your life, what would you pick?” she said, completely startling me. I’d expected her to ask me about my job or something.

  “What are my options?”

  “Mashed, hash browns, regular fries, steak fries, curly fries, uhhh...” she trailed off.

  “Seasoned fries?”

  “Right, I knew I was forgetting at least one. Then there are those waffle ones. And tots! You can’t forget about tots. So, which one would you pick?”

  That required some serious contemplation. Tessa’s car rumbled along the road and the radio played softly as I thought.

  “Regular fries.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because they’re simple and they go with everything. Not too fancy. Just fries with some salt. That’s all I need.”

  Tessa nodded.

  “And you? What would you pick?”

  She grinned. “Bold of you to assume that I could ever confine myself to one expression of potato. It’s an impossible question because I need different kinds of potato for different purposes.”

  Of course she had a complicated answer.

  “Such as?” I asked.

  We got so many miles out of that ridiculous potato question that I forgot that we were even on a date. A fake date. A practice date. I was surprised Tessa hadn’t come up with a silly name for it, but she’d made no mention of one.

  “Shit,” Tessa said. “I have to stop for gas. Hold on.” She exited the highway and pulled the car into a gas station.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

  Tessa pumped the gas and then opened the door and stuck her head in. “Do you need anything inside?”

  “I mean, I assume that we’re eating somewhere, so other than that, I think I’m good.”

  “Yes, there will be food involved.” She finished with the gas and hopped back in the car.

  “What kind of food?” I asked.

  “You’re not subtle. You’ll see.”

  So far, we were heading in the direction of Portland, but there were also a lot of towns and small cities along the way that she could be taking us to. Or perhaps she’d picked somewhere completely off the map that I didn’t even know about. She’d certainly done her work to surprise me for this date. Normally I hated surprises, but this was actually okay. I was comfortable with Tessa, so that took out a lot of the anxiety about going somewhere new, in an outing that I hadn’t planned every single moment of.

  “You’re not starving, are you?” Tessa asked as we kept driving, now with a full tank.

  “No, I’m good. Just painfully curious about where you’re taking me.”

  “I think you’re going to like it.”

  NEARLY AN HOUR LATER we were in Portland, and Tessa parked her car in a garage instead of taking her chances with street parking.

  Tessa led me out of the garage and onto the street. She held out her arm again, and I hesitated for a second before I took it. I guess I should get used to looking like I was on a date with a girl, even though we were just friends and not really dating. Taking Tessa’s arm made something warm buzz in my chest, like lazy, contented bees, drunk on nectar.

  She used her phone to navigate, but every time I tried to see where we were walking, she moved the screen so I couldn’t.

  “Here we are,” she said, looking up at a sign under which a long line of people were waiting on the sidewalk. The building was painted in dark wood, and pretty tiny, by the looks of it from outside.

  “This is supposed to be the best place,” she said, going up to the person standing at a podium in the front.

  “Do you have a reservation?” the hostess asked. She was so tall that it almost hurt my neck to look at her, and her shoes made me feet ache to imagine wearing them.

  I was starting to feel distinctly shabby compared to her, and to the other people in line.

  The hostess motioned for us to go in. The place was dimly lit, and absolutely tiny. There were only a few tables, and a long counter on one wall, with stools for seating. No wonder there was a line outside. This place could seat twenty-five people, max.

  “I honestly have no idea how I got a reservation here, but it happened. This place is supposed to be the best,” Tessa said in my ear.

  Another hostess, equally gorgeous and dressed like she was at home in designer clothing, led us to a table that seated two and handed us menus.

  I couldn’t stop looking around at the other diners, wondering what they thought of me and Tessa here together. She seemed completely oblivious, getting lost in the menu and muttering to herself about what she should order.

  “This is really nice,” I said as we were served glasses of water. A large window in front gave a beautiful view of the street, with people constantly walking by. It was all a little overwhelming.

  “The reviews were good and I figured if we were going out, we were going out and we might as well make the most of it.” She smiled at me, but then her face fell.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “I don’t know. I feel like everyone is looking at us together and thinking we’re on a date.”

  “We are on a date.”

  “Tessa.”

  “No one is thinking anything because everyone else is so worried about what they’re going to order or how they look that they’re not thinking about us.”

  She reached for my hand. I let her squeeze my fingers.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “I guess I need to get used to being seen in public with someone.”

  “That’s why this is good practice.” She took her hand back and I focused on my menu.

  “There are a lot of grilled sandwiches on here,” I said.

  “Why do you think I picked it? I mean, it’s probably not going to reach the heights of The Lobster Shack grilled cheese, but maybe they can be second best.”

  I smiled at her for being so thoughtful. I ended up deciding on a tomato and goat cheese panini, Tessa got a pulled pork sandwich, and we ordered poutine for an appetizer.

  “I’ve only ever had terrible poutine, so this better be good,” I said.

  “Poutine is so simple, and yet so many people mess it up.”

  I kept stealing looks around at the other diners, but Tessa was right: no one was looking at us. That still didn’t stop me from feeling like I had the word LESBIAN on my forehead. Good thing Tessa wasn’t bothered about anyone thinking she was gay.

  With great fanfare, the poutine arrived and it was the real deal. Cheese curds, perfect gravy, and fries at just the right crispiness.

  “I would eat buckets of this,” I said, using a fork. Tessa had started using her hands, but switched when she saw what I was doing. It didn’t bother me if she ate with her hands.

  “Seriously,” she said. “We are going to have to do a poutine tour. Or even a grilled cheese tour.”

  My mouth started watering at the prospect. “So much cheese.”

  Our entrees were just as excellent as the appetizer, and I was thoroughly enjoying myself. I even decided to order a drink. They had a Moscow Mule, but that brought back memories from the gay bar in Savannah and my weirdo behavior, so I didn’t want to bring that up. I ordered a mojito instead, and Tessa did the same.

  “To our first fake date,” Tessa said, raising her glass. I touched it with mine, trying not to drop it.

  The drink was good and boozy, and I was warm and full of cheese and with my best friend who was wearing an incredible suit. What more could you ask for?

  “I’m definitely in the mood for dessert,”
I said, pushing my plate away and then finishing my drink.

  “Absolutely. But not here.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll see,” she said with a knowing smirk.

  “You know I hate surprises.”

  She gave me a look.

  “Okay, fine. I will go along.”

  There was an intense fight for the bill when it arrived.

  “You can get the next one,” Tessa said, holding it far out of my reach. She knew I wouldn’t make a spectacle of myself in this place, so she had me there.

  After she paid, we left the restaurant and Tessa had to consult her phone again. We didn’t walk far before she steered me toward another small shop with an industrial feel and a line outside.

  “What the hell is a potato donut?” I asked, reading the sign.

  “We’re going to find out,” Tessa said, getting in line.

  Eighteen

  Tessa

  I didn’t care how long we had to wait, I was eating a potato donut once in my life. At least we had plenty of time to look at the menu and decide what we wanted while we waited.

  After placing our orders, we waited and then were handed a box of donuts that was so fresh, I had to juggle it between my hands so I didn’t burn them.

  “Come on,” I said, nodding toward the door. Monty followed me outside and down the cobblestone street toward the wharf. The air was sharp with the scent of ocean and just a hint of diesel from the numerous boats floating in the harbor. The sun was still pretty high in the sky for as late in the evening as it was. All signs pointed to the possibility of a spectacular sunset.

  “This is perfect,” Monty said, when we found a bench and pulled out the donuts. They were still pretty warm, but I blew on mine before taking a steamy bite.

  “Oh my god,” I said, my mouth full.

  “Oh my god,” Monty said a second later.

  We looked at each other with wide eyes. “How is it possible that a potato donut could taste this good?” she said.

  “No idea.” I finished my first with just a few bites, and went for another. I was still so full from dinner, but I was going to make room. These were just too good to waste.

  The two of us sat together demolishing the donuts and listening to the sounds of Portland.

  Monty sighed happily and leaned back on the bench. “This is perfect. This was the perfect date, thank you.”

  I watched the air play with a few strands of hair that had escaped her updo. She looked happy, and it made me so emotional, I had to look away so I wouldn’t cry. Monty deserved happiness. She deserved to get everything she’d ever wanted.

  I threw the bag from the donut shop away and we kept walking, going down to where you could walk out over the water on a wooden pier. There was also a restaurant that looked like a boat, which I’d considered taking her to. Maybe next time. On the top deck of the restaurant was a tent, and what looked like a wedding reception. Music filtered down to us.

  Nat King Cole and Natalie Cole. Beautiful.

  “Hey,” I said on a whim. Monty turned around and I couldn’t speak for a moment.

  “What?” she said.

  I held my hand out. “Want to dance with me?”

  She froze for a second and then nodded her head. “Okay.”

  It wasn’t weird to dance with your date. It was completely normal.

  Monty stepped toward me and there was a moment of confusion as we tried to decide what to do with our hands. We settled on her hands on my waist, mine on her shoulders.

  “I haven’t danced like this since high school,” I said, my heart beating too fast.

  “Me neither,” she said, her voice a little breathy. We swayed back and forth to the soft beat of the music. I hoped she couldn’t feel how sweaty my hands were.

  “Are you worried about people watching us now?” I asked, and her eyes locked with mine.

  “No. I’m not worried about anything right now.” Ever so slightly, she leaned toward me. I was only about two inches taller than her, so our faces were almost nearly at the same level. I was hot with my jacket on, but I didn’t want to let go of her to take it off.

  “Thanks for taking me on this date,” Monty said, her voice barely a whisper.

  “You’re welcome. You deserve to be taken on amazing dates. You deserve everything.”

  She bit her bottom lip a little bit and I was mesmerized by her mouth. Now I was the one leaning closer. Our bodies were pressed so closely together we kept bumping feet.

  The song ended and we stopped dancing, but we didn’t break apart. The wind blew some hair right in front of her face, and I pushed it back with my hand before she could react.

  “You’re so good to me, Cin,” she said, and I couldn’t breathe for a moment. Time stopped and crystalized and all I could see was Montgomery Ford. My best friend. The person who knew me more than I knew myself. The one who I called, even before my parents. She was everything to me.

  I closed my eyes because it was too much. Looking at her right now was too much, and I couldn’t take it.

  My hands slipped from her, and I took a step back, attempting to give her a smile that probably looked completely and utterly fake.

  “Are you ready to go?” I asked, my voice cracking.

  She stared into my eyes in confusion and then nodded, rubbing her arms as if she was cold. “Yeah. I’m ready to go.”

  THERE WAS A LOT LESS talking as we went back to my car in the parking garage.

  I didn’t know what to say to her. My best friend for my entire life, and I couldn’t come up with words to say to her. What was happening to me?

  She kept shivering, even though it was warm, so I shrugged off my coat and put it around her shoulders.

  Once we got in the car, I put on a playlist and she stared out the window at the darkening city. We had a long drive back, and I didn’t know if I could go the whole way without talking.

  After about ten minutes, I broke.

  “Do you want to put on a podcast?” At least with that, someone would be talking, even if it wasn’t either of us in the car.

  “Sure.”

  “Your pick,” I said, being completely reckless. Monty knew I was extremely picky about podcasts and rejected nearly half I tried to listen to.

  “Okay,” she said, and searched through. “This is one Lindsey told me about.”

  It was actually a podcast that I’d listened to and liked, but hadn’t heard the latest episode from. That would take us most of the way back home, thank goodness.

  I kept my eyes on the highway as the sky darkened and the sun slipped below the rim of the horizon. I was acutely aware of Monty sitting in the passenger seat beside me. She kept arranging the skirt of her dress and she still had my coat on her shoulders. When I got it back, it was going to smell like her. Oranges and sage and her natural Monty smell.

  The podcast helped to pass the time, and the hosts were two funny people who made pithy comments in between speaking on the subject at hand, so the time didn’t drag as much as I thought it was going to.

  At last, I reached the limits of Crawley, Maine. Nearly there.

  The street was dead, so there was a spot right in front of Monty’s apartment for me to park. I pulled in and turned off the car and the podcast.

  “Do you want to come up?” she said. I looked over at her and something passed between us that made every single cell of my body heat up.

  “Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, I can come up.”

  We got out of the car and I followed her up the stairs. She fumbled with her keys and dropped them when she tried to get the door open. Persephone attacked us the second we got in, winding herself around both our legs, unsure of who to beg for attention first.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Monty said, bending down, my coat slipping from her shoulders.

  “Thanks for this,” she said, handing it back to me. I took it and hung it up by the door. I didn’t need it right now. I was too warm still. There wasn’t enough air in he
r apartment.

  “Do you want some tea?” Monty asked, walking into the kitchen.

  “Yeah,” I said as I gave Persephone her required attention. Her purr was so loud that the people across the street could probably hear it.

  Monty brought out the silver tea set. It had become a fixture in her home and it made me so happy to see her using it every day.

  Not sure what else to do, I sat on the couch with Persephone. It was nice she was black, so her fur didn’t show up all over my pants as she rolled onto her back for belly pets.

  Monty came back with the tea and sat next to me on the couch. She usually took the chair, so this was disorienting.

  “This is good,” I said about the tea. All of a sudden we’d turned into two women who didn’t know each other very well who had to suffer through an awkward teatime visit like we were in an Austen novel.

  I was afraid that anything I said might make things worse, so I just...didn’t say anything. And neither did she.

  So we sipped our tea and the only sounds were the purring cat and our breaths.

  I almost slid off the couch when she put her cup down and got up. What was going on? I waited while she went to her bedroom and came back with something. Her wireless speakers?

  I watched as she fiddled with her phone and messed with the speakers.

  One of her favorite songs started to play. It had been her favorite for years and years. I couldn’t count how many times I’d heard it in her presence.

  She stood up, turned around, and took a deep breath. “Will you dance with me?”

  My hand shook as I set my teacup down on the table and pushed the grumbling cat off my lap. She wasn’t just asking to dance. She was asking all kinds of questions. Questions I wasn’t sure I had answers for.

  But this, this dance, that I could do.

  This time I put one hand on her waist, and clasped her fingers with my other. She was shaking.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, as we started to move with the beat of the song. My entire body throbbed and my skin was too tight.

  “I’m okay when I’m with you, Cin,” she said.

  “I know what you mean,” I murmured, and she leaned closer. Once again, we were pressed together as we danced, only this time, there was no one to see us. No one to judge.