He + She

by Michelle Warren

  “Maybe you’ve been holding out on me and you’re the geek extraordinaire.”

  She laughs. “If I can’t figure out a camera, I certainly can’t figure out that.”

  “That reminds me. I think it’s my turn to guess what you do for a living.”

  “You’ll never guess. Not in a gazillion years.”

  “I accept the challenge.” I look her over, considering every inch of her body as if something she’s wearing will give some indication of her job. I try not to let my gaze linger in any one spot, but I take my time, which I can honestly say that I don’t do often. I’m the type to plunge into everything without thinking. Or, that was the old me, anyway. But it’s the new me, controlled by that don’t-fuck-up voice who reminds me, Take your time on the good stuff. And the old me agrees that Shea is definitely the good stuff.

  “Come up with anything yet?”

  “Still processing the possibilities,” I say, but I think she knows what I’m doing, but she doesn’t seem to mind. I’m about to say something witty enough for our regular banter, but the truth is that I don’t want to answer. I want to keep the free pass to look at her anytime I damn well please, when really, I just want to memorize every freckle and every curve, even if it’s just for one more day.

  “Well?” Shea asks, pressing for an answer.

  “I’ve decided to withhold my observations until a later date.”

  “Ha! Which means you’ve got nothing!”

  I bob my head, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. After all, I don’t claim freaky carny fame like Shea does. But when I do guess, I need her to be as impressed and stunned with the truth of my words as I was with hers. And though she believes she’s been hiding behind her half truths, winks, or just full-out lies, what she’s really been doing is slowly painting a picture of herself for me, one that will give me a clear impression of who she truly is. “We’ll see.”

  “In that case, I win!” She smiles triumphantly.

  “For now. I’ll allow it.”

  When the train halts at a final stop a few blocks from Fisherman’s Wharf, Shea jumps off. “Come on, this is it.”

  “This is your favorite spot?”

  “This is just the first stop in a series, so prepare yourself.” She grabs my hand, locking our arms, and eases her body close to mine the way I love.

  “I’m scared,” I say jokingly.

  “You should be.”

  We stroll into the wharf area but quickly work our way out, distancing ourselves from the tourists. Several blocks west, Shea parades us in front of a row of old cheesy souvenir shops where she points out the classy array of T-shirts—cartoon squirrels with surfboards asking if you touched his nuts; the classic stick-man/woman, man/man, but no woman/woman sex-position shirt; and a shirt that claims happily, “I pooped today.” Thankfully, she buys none of these gems and we move on.

  “There it is!” She points in the direction of another building.

  “A store?”

  “No, not the store. This.” She stops in front of a wooden penny-pressing machine.

  “I think I have to call foul on this, Miss What-ever-your-last-name-is.” I pause because it’s so strange that we’ve spent all this time together, that I’m this infatuated with her awkward sincerity, and I still don’t know her name. “This penny machine can’t be your favorite place in the city because it is, in fact, a thing, not a place.” I lean on the case, draping my arm across the top.

  “Calm down, thing police, it’s just something I love to do when I travel. Find a small token.” She digs through her pockets and comes up with two quarters and one penny.

  “So this thing takes fifty cents and gives you back one illegally defaced penny?”

  “I don’t know if defacing money is really illegal or not,” she says. “I see dollar bills with websites written on them all the time. How come those people don’t get in trouble? And why would this machine exist if every time someone used it, they would get fined by the government?”

  “Or maybe all penny-pressing machines are government owned and it’s their get-rich-quick scheme to get us out of national debt.”

  “How very conspiracy theory of you.” She laughs. “Well, in that case, I’m just being a patriot and doing my part.” She leans in to consider her penny-design options. “Which one do you think I should pick? They all say Fisherman’s Wharf, San Francisco, but we can choose from a crab, the bridge, a sailboat, or a trolley.”

  “Trolley,” we say at the same time.

  “Great minds.” Shea taps her head, but I don’t think she realizes how alike we are. With the unanimous vote, she rotates the crank to the trolley image and then drops her money into the machine. She rotates the handle, using all her strength as the revolution grinds the penny through the gears and cranks. The resulting coin spits out into a silver cup, making a high-pitched ting, ting sound.

  She leans over to grab it and holds it up between two fingers. “Hew, I give you ultimate flat-assness. This is what you should be aspiring to.”

  I turn my back to her and pull my pants tight over my backside, then flex my muscles. “Any flatter today?” I look over my shoulder for her reaction.

  “Hmm.” She moves in close and slowly slides her hand over my ass, feeling me up as if she’s examining the goods, which causes me to flex more. Each stroke causes a twitch in the front of my pants that I try to will away. The truth is, she doesn’t have to do much to get that reaction. Just the right look will set me off.

  “Let me see what we have here.” She cups my left butt cheek and squeezes, then gives it a quick double slap. “I’m afraid not, bubble-butt,” she whispers in my ear. The heat from her breath sends tingles down my arm.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to check again?” God, I hope she does.

  “Maybe later.” She blushes, which makes me think I deserve a rating better than “bubble-butt.”

  “Any ideas about what I can do to help out my poor cheeks?” I say flirtatiously.

  “Feng Shui Tacos!” she screams and points across the road.

  Chapter 20

  She

  “Somehow I don’t think that Feng Shui Tacos is the answer to flat-assery,” Hew says, seemingly sad that our playful ass touching stopped.

  I am, too, but I have to be careful. Part of me feels I can’t let this go where it seems to be going. But my other half wants to touch him, laugh with him, and have a good time. Being with Hew is too easy. Teetering on the edge of a decision, I go for the diversion—food. The highlighter-yellow food truck sits across the road. My tummy rumbles at the spicy scent that saturates the air.

  “So, how do you think one feng shuis their food?” I ask him as we mosey toward it. “You are the resident architect, after all.”

  “Quite easily. You arrange your food in a harmonizing manner, preparing them with the five elements,” he offers in a somewhat academic tone.

  “Let’s see if you’re right.” We step to the front of the truck. There, next to the logo, in thick black hand-painted lettering is the mantra of the Feng Shui Taco: HAPPY KITCHEN – HAPPY FOOD – BALANCING THE FIVE ELEMENTS OF TASTE.

  “Ding, ding, ding. You win the prize, Mr. Whatever-your-last-name-is!” I clap my hands and whoop, simulating the roaring crowd of a TV game show.

  “Why, thank you. What is it that I win?”

  “A Nun Chuk Chicken, avocado, tomato, won-ton, secret spicy cream dressing, on a sesame-seed wheat taco!” I read from the menu.

  “I’ve always wanted one of those!”

  “Great, we’ll take two.” I step to the counter and order.

  The truck owner takes my money and a few moments later, hands over two cardboard boxes of food. As it turns out, the Nun Chuck Chicken Taco is pretty good, and Hew and I eat as we stroll along the waterfront, stopping several times to bat away the seagulls that seem to threaten our lives simply because we’re holding food.

  “The seagulls must have tried the Nun Chuk Chicken and know it’s worth the fi
ght.” I wave my arm at a one-legged bird that dive-bombs me from above.

  “They are kind of vicious!” Hew waves away two predators as we duck into the alcove of a marina shop to try to finish our meals in peace.

  “But isn’t it weird that seagulls want to eat chicken? Seems all cannibally or something.” I take the last bite of my taco and lick my fingers.

  “The Cannibal Seagulls of Fisherman’s Wharf? Sounds like a B movie horror flick.”

  “Only if the seagulls were mutant-size, brain-eating zombie birds. Maybe they could help King Kong beat off Godzilla in your sculpture?”

  “I’d pay money to see that one—maybe.” He chuckles.

  “We could make the film together. You can do everything on your phone now. There are apps for everything, probably even for moviemaking.”

  “It’s a deal!” Hew finishes his food and throws the box in a nearby trash can. The twenty or so mutant, brain-eating zombie birds that followed us quickly dive-bomb the trash can, fighting over what’s left, and we use the diversion to make a quick getaway.

  The sun manages to fight its way in front of the crowd of gray clouds so that I don’t look like a complete idiot wearing sunglasses. Of course, I’m hiding from Luke, but I realize the chances of him finding me in this large city are slim. Though the fact that Hew keeps finding me gives me reason to think that it’s not impossible if someone is determined enough. The thought causes a shiver of anxiety but I fight the fear, trying to remain in this moment.

  Several blocks later near the Aquatic Park, I drag Hew onto a new trolley, but this time we sit next to each other, squished between two railings.

  “So, what do you do with all your flattened pennies that you’ve collected?” he asks.

  “I’ve always wanted to make a bracelet out of them, like a charm bracelet, but I haven’t had the time. For now they sit in an old cigar box on my dresser.”

  “How many do you have?”

  I hold up the one penny, considering if I should tell him the truth, that this is the only one, that there aren’t others because I really haven’t been anywhere or done anything in my life. Yes, I’ve been everywhere and done everything in my daydreams, made pin boards and collaged journals of photos of every place I’ve wanted to go, do, or see, but I’ve never done anything for real. Bren and I were going to travel the world together after college. We never got around to it.

  “I’ve got so many I can’t count.” I lie instead; it’s so much prettier than the truth.

  “And here I always thought they should get rid of pennies completely. They seem kind of useless to me.” Hew takes my flat penny and holds it close to his face, inspecting the design.

  “That’s why I love the thought of reusing them. Everyone deserves to become something new—to have a second chance. Even a little old dirty penny.” I want so badly to believe that it’s true.

  “Is this the part where you tell me you have a butterfly tattoo tramp-stamped on your backside because it symbolizes renewal?”

  “Don’t make fun. And yes, I have one for that exact reason.” I laugh.

  “You don’t.”

  I nod my head, egging him on.

  “Seriously? Where? I don’t believe you.” He teasingly lifts the edge of my shirt, and I fight him off with playful swats to the head and arm.

  “You’ll never know.”

  Everyone around us on the trolley is giving us that eye roll, “get-a-room” look, but I don’t care. With Hew here, I’m happy to be laughing and smiling. Happy to just be happy. I think that’s why I keep giving in to him and hanging out. I can feel myself drifting closer to my normal self, like the bad minutes in my day are slowly being captured, kicked in the ass, and defeated by the good minutes.

  Before I realize it, we’re almost back to where we started, close to Chinatown. “Let’s get off at the next stop.”

  We jump off the trolley at the California and Powell Street stop and make our way down the hill.

  “Should I even ask if we’re there yet?”

  “Almost, I promise.”

  “Why does it look like we’ve made a complete circle?”

  “We have. If I would have walked you to my favorite place in the city from where we started, our adventure would have been over in fifteen minutes.”

  For the first time since we met, Hew grabs my hand. Yes, we’ve held hands or locked arms, but I always initiated it. I’ve been touchy and affectionate with him, probably in a way that I shouldn’t have been since I only proclaimed us just friends, but everything between us since the moment we met has fallen into place so naturally, like we were meant to meet. The truth is that, messed up or not, I can’t help flirting with him because, well, with his thick dark hair, warm eyes, and deep, raspy voice and genuine kindness, I find him incredibly attractive and charming. Anytime he elicits a giggle from me, I feel myself falling for him a little more. All the things that should make me run the other way, but I can’t seem to.

  I don’t pull away. I allow the closeness, even though it means something more than it has every minute before now. To me, to him, or both. The good minutes are winning, and I turn my face away from him to hide my smile. My hearts beats faster at the thought of my little crush.

  In Chinatown we stop for another pressed penny, this time the impression is of the Chinatown Gate. So now I officially have two. Ninety-eight more or so to go, and my lie won’t be a lie any longer. One hundred seems like it may be an acceptable too-many-to-count number. Now if I can just make every other lie I’ve told Hew in the last few days into the truth.

  I stop and sniff the air, mostly for the benefit of driving Hew crazy, but that’s part of the fun between us. “You can smell the sweetness of my favorite spot from here.”

  “Smell it?” He sniffs, too.

  I pull him down a narrow alley of fire escapes and intricate Chinese signs to the propped-open double doors of a small factory.

  “Ta-da! I give you my favorite place in the city.”

  “The fortune cookie factory.” He nods. “I definitely approve.”

  We step in and are immediately greeted by an overzealous Chinese manager. “Welcome to the our fortune cookie factory. Please come closer.” He gently pushes us in the direction of the busy factory workers. The room is narrow and mostly taken over by the enormous cookie-making machine. A conveyor belt of mini flatirons, like waffle makers, produce flat, round, caramel-colored disks. The workers remove one at a time, place a paper fortune in the middle, expertly fold the cookies in half, and then bend them over a silver rod to create the unique shape.

  Hew, of course, is already snapping pictures of everything and everyone in the room. As he does, I drop a large tip in the workers’ bucket, whose sign reads, FIFTY CENTS PER PHOTO. Ten dollars probably won’t be enough for the damage he’s doing.

  “Fresh cookies.” The manager hands us fresh, unfolded cookies, warm from the conveyor belt.

  “Thank you. They smell delicious!” I take a bite and the cookie melts in my mouth.

  “So good.” Hew finally stops his picture-snapping for the treat.

  “Can I buy a bag?” I point to the rack of them on the wall.

  “Of course. Would you like plain, chocolate, mixed, or plain with dirty fortunes?” The manager lifts his eyebrows playfully, looking between Hew and me.

  I look to Hew. “Well?”

  “Do you really have to ask? I think it’s clear which ones we should buy.”

  “You’re such a boy!” I laugh. “How about one plain and one dirty?” Which makes the manager giggle, too. I pay him and he drops them into a reused plastic grocery bag, then hands me my change.

  Hew and I walk out, and I turn to face him. “So now that you’ve seen my spot, our day seems to be over.”

  Chapter 21

  He

  In the back of my mind, I’ve been dreading this moment all day. The moment when I would be confronted with Shea telling me she’s going to be leaving me for the third time, or maybe it’s bee
n more times. I’ve already lost count.

  “I think we should break the rules and plan to meet each other,” I offer and dig my hands into my pockets, knowing her response already. That heaviness in my chest creeps back, waiting for her response.

  “We can’t keep meeting like this and flirting. The truth is that I like you. Probably more than I should, and more than in a friendly way,” she admits, her face flushing into a beautiful lively shade.

  I’m certain they’re the few truthful words that she has allowed to pass her defenses, and her perfect pouty lips—ones that I’ve been dying to kiss for days. I lift my arms, lacing my fingers behind my head and walk in a circle, thinking of a way that I can stop this, something that will change her mind, and I spout off the first thing I can think of.

  “Okay. I have a proposition for you.” I stop in front of her.

  “I’m listening,” she says as she loops the bag of fortune cookies around her wrist.

  “What if we leave it to destiny. The bitch is in charge anyway, right?”

  “She is.” Shea rocks back on her heels and smirks, and I know I have a chance because she’s still standing here.

  “So, hear me out.” I push my camera strap around my shoulder to my back, and begin to gesture with my hands. “You’re leaving to go on your road trip, right?”

  She nods.

  “I was going to use my car to drive around and see more of the city, but I’d much rather spend my time left with you.”

  Shea rolls her hand in the air as if to say, “Get to the point.”

  “We’ll leave each other now and meet up again in two hours, after I return my car to the nearest rental facility.”

  “That’s not fate or destiny, that’s planning,” she points out.

  “I wasn’t done. Here’s the destiny part. We have two meeting places—one at your favorite place, right here, and one at mine, across town. You drive to one of those spots with the intention of picking me up. If we separately choose the same place to meet, then that’s destiny telling us we should hang out for a few more days. If not, we move on with our lives like we never met.”